HEARTSTOPPER SHOWS HOW TO MAKE TEXTING THRILLING

When I was in grad school, one of my profs warned us to beware writing scenes that involve texting. "They are the worst," would be a polite paraphrase. Basically it's worse than talking heads; there's not even the rough and tumble of dialogue. It's just watching people stare at their phones. If you want that just look around. 

Now as it turns out there is actual drama to the experience of texting. Mostly it looks like this: 

You've texted something. Ideally (because this is a script, after all), that is to say, you've taken some kind of risk. And the endless dots are the moment of truth, where you see whether it pays off or your life is SO OVER.

HEARTSTOPPER adds a great wrinkle. I would go so far as to say it is a must see for anyone who wants to figure out how to make texting really dramatic. 

And it works by finding just as much drama in what each character themselves decide to text as in the waiting for response. 

Probably the most streamlined version happens in episode 107. Charlie has come to this belief that he is bad for everyone. (Being gay is so awesome, you guys.) And he's trying to figure out how to talk to Nick. 

And so what we watch is him laying in bed composing texts, then deleting them and composing another. And it creates a kind of process of revelation and stake-raising, each new text giving us new information as to where Charlie is at that seems worse and worse. Which means, each new text has us that much more invested in what's going to happen next, even though it's just him by himself testing things out.

It's a 4 step sequence: "i need to talk to you", which establishes a baseline for us as to what's up. But it also gets our attention. "i need to talk to you": This is serious.  

Then he erases it and goes with "i'm so sorry, it's my fault you got into that fight", which tells us what he wants to talk about and how he's feeling. We don't know exactly where it's going, but it's definitely worrisome. 

Then it's the big one: "are you sure you want us to be together". Fuhhhhhhk. No, Charlie, no. The text peels back more of where Charlie's head is, and takes our concern to a much higher level.

Finally he comes back around to where he started: "Can we have lunch tomorrow?" and that's what he sends. It's actually a more gentle version of the first text -- this isn't about need, it's "do you have time for?" But with the context of the prior texts the significance of that request is now so much different. It sets up their next encounter as a potential break up. 

Episode 102 has a much more involved version, with both Charlie and Nick trying to think through texts to each other. But once again we get this technique of texting things and then deleting them being used as a way of revealing what a character is thinking and struggling with and also building suspense or tension. The fact that Nick is not even yet at a point where he's able to face his own sexuality adds another whole layer of tension--in a sense he's not only struggling with what to say to Charlie but what to see in himself.

In a sense the lesson is that there really is a way to do just about anything, no matter how boring or lifeless it might seem. The question to ask is, What's the most dramatic way of doing this activity? 

And watch HEARTSTOPPER. It's really good. 

LEARNING FROM LA CAGE: WRITING YOURSELF OUT OF A CORNER

We enter into Act II of LA CAGE faced with this terribly sad situation of Albin having discovered that his son doesn't want him present at the introduction of his fiancee and her parents, and Georges having gone along with it. We've spent a lot of time getting here, and then we've had a 15 minute intermission to sit in the emotions that Albin's "I am What I Am" stirs up. But now the creative team needs to find a way forward. How do you do that, when you've invested so much in building pathos for Albin? How do we in a sense reset, so that Act II can finally be about the dinner?

The answer they come up with is really clever: they let Albin be sad, but now heightened in his classic Drama Queen way. He's walking along the boardwalk with their maid/aspiring superstar, dressed and postured perfectly for grief. That one choice to inject a bit of drama and humor into the moment is itself the way of moving the story just a single forward from the grief of Act I.

And then, as the two men finally talk face to face about what their (monstrous) son has requested, we get a replay of Georges' beautiful "Song on the Sand," which he sang to Albin in Act I in place of actually saying what was going on. In that moment it had been a way of expressing his own sadness about all this, the depth of his love. But now, while it still has that wistful emotional quality, Albin shares in the moment, finishing lyrics that Georges begins and then singing with him. It's not just Georges that remembers Albin lovingly, it's Albin remembering Georges. And the song ends with them facing each other, playing upon one another's melody and then singing in unison, "And I'm young and in love." It's a moment every bit as emotional as the end of Act I, the purest expression of their love. 

From the standpoint of the creators' bigger goals with LA CAGE, it's a brilliant maneuver: having put these two men through some real suffering at the hands of their awful son, we can have these them sing a proper love song to each other and see it land perfectly even with a super straight audience. There's a writing lesson there: If you want your audience to identify with your characters or give themselves over to their journey, let them watch those characters suffer. 

But the other thought I have watching is that, from the standpoint of moving the plot along, is the aid that humor can play. Seeing Albin ham it up in his grief still acknowledges his grief. The creators build on what has happened, rather than dismissing it. That's such a key in all this: In a story your characters have to carry every new wrinkle that you introduce. So often I read scripts (and, ahem, also write them) where you can see the writer realizing they've written into a corner they didn't and their solution is to find some way to dismiss the problem or the new emotions they've introduced. That never works. Even if the audience doesn't catch you doing it, intuitively they know something is wrong. 

I think that also means that when you feel you've painted yourself in a corner, you may very well be on the right track, rather than the wrong. The harder it is for us as writers to find a way forward for our characters that acknowledges and builds on what we've already introduced, the more it's going to land when we do. 

And if we can't see any way to that resolution, before we give up, can humor help us? Instead of going at the problem head on, what if we go at it sideways? 

 TOMORROW: MORE HEARTSTOPPER (I love this show!)

HEARTSTOPPER ADDS A LITTLE SPARKLE

HEARTSTOPPER is a wonderful new show on Netflix about two high school boys falling in love. It's funny--it's a story we've seen quite a few times before, including with queer kids. And yet it still feels very fresh and compelling.  

Obviously that's got everything to do with the the writing and performances, which are fantastic. But early in the first episode the show also introduces a small technique that I think has a huge impact. When Charlie first sees Nick, two little animated leaves blow past him on the screen. Then he sits down, says hello, Nick responds--and two more leaves blow past the two of them. Then a bunch more circle the smitten Charlie. 

It's a simple way of expressing the magic in this moment. But it sends a message, too: this isn't going to be your standard "two kids fall in love" sitcom; there's going to be more wonder to it than that and also more innocence and sweetness. This isn't going to be rat-a-tat-tat repartee and irony; we're in hearts on sleeves territory.

I've watched the first four episodes at this point, and Alice Oseman, who wrote the series (and also the graphic novel on which it is based), has used the technique very sparingly, which makes it that much more effective. There's a great moment in 102 where Nick is sitting next to a sleeping Charlie and on impulse reaches out to take his hand, and then these cartoon sparks begin to emerge. Once again it expresses exactly what that moment feels like, but in a magical, awe-filled way. 

I think it's also effective as a technique because it's so small, just a little zhuzh here and there when people are feeling something special. You could miss it if you look away at the wrong moment. That is to say, it's precious--which once again captures the feeling the show is trying to convey.

Obviously, adding cartoon special effects is not something every series can do. But as you think about a script you've finished, it might be worth asking the question, Is there something that can make my story--which 99 times out of a 100 is a story that has been told a hundred times before--visually distinctive? Is there any small element I could add to help draw out its themes, tone or feelings?

Check out HEARTSTOPPER on Netflix. It's really so good. 

BETTER CALL SAUL SHOWS HOW TO WRITE A CAPER

Last Monday AMC released the first two episodes of the final season of BETTER CALL SAUL. If you don't know this show, and you want to write television, it's an absolute must see. Their storytelling is filled with just tons of great writing techniques. 

Each week of the final season I'm going to take a day to highlight some of the things they do well.  

Today: The Caper.  

Who doesn't love a caper, right? If it's told well, people will watch it again and again, despite the fact that they already know how it goes. It's that satisfying. 

SAUL and its predecessor BREAKING BAD are very much caper shows. Pretty much every episode you're going to see someone putting big bold plans into action. And yet it never gets predictable or repetitive. And I think that's because they have a whole bunch of ways of telling a caper story. 

1) TELL US NOTHING AND JUST THROW US IN: Sometimes SAUL will simply begin a caper without letting us know there is a plan afoot at all. We're just along for the ride as usual when suddenly we discover, oh shit, this is part of something bigger. And precisely because we're surprised, we lock in that much harder on the story. Suddenly we're in a mystery; we want to figure out what is going on here. 

There's a great example of this in 602, written by Tom Schnauz and Ariel Levine. When we first see Betsy Kettleman she's getting a Native man his tax returns check. Though he gets very little there's no hint that there's anything more to it than that, and when we return to their offices later we see someone else coming out with their check. And then it turns out the whole thing is the Kettlemans' latest scam. 

It was all right there happening in front of us. The Native man even looked a tiny bit surprised when he looked at his check. But they were careful to soft pedal it, and in the end it becomes this amazing reveal (and turn) from Kim.

2) TELL US THERE IS A CAPER AND NOTHING MORE: This is a frequent SAUL technique: Withhold key information. Just in the first couple episodes of season 6 they use it a bunch of times. For instance in 602 we have Saul and Kim talking about how they're going to approach these disgraced auditors the Kettlemans. And both times, the writers give us just enough information to let us know there is a plan afoot, but that's about it. In the first case we're not even told what exactly the goal is: we know that somehow this has something to do with getting the Sandpiper case back from Howard, but that's it.

And that technique of information withheld continues even after Saul has seemingly laid out his plot. Mrs. Kettleman immediately betrays Saul, but it turns out that, too, was Saul's plan, a way to poison the Sandpiper lawyers' belief in Howard.

I especially love that aspect of this SAUL technique--making the ambiguous clear only to undermine that clarity once again. It leaves the audience in the position of realizing they're just along for the ride. And because it's executed so smartly, with the right people dunked on, that's a source of delight.

3) SHOW US A CAPER IN PROGRESS BUT DON'T EXPLAIN WHAT IT IS: At the top of 602, Mike and his men break into Nacho's apartment, throw out his drug addicted ladyfriends and then break into his safe and take everything out. We already know Gus is having Nacho killed, so it seems like they're cleaning up loose ends. 

But then instead a new safe is brought in and everything replaced along with a new envelope. We're told nothing about what this is or why they've done it. They just do it and leave. And it's not until much later that we see this was part of a bigger plan to insulate Gus from any connection to Lalo's murder. The envelope directs those who break into the new safe to believe that Nacho was working for the Peruvians instead. 

SAUL absolutely loves to do capers like this. Sometimes you find out what the scheme is in real time, and what keeps it fun is that the series of things that the character involved does don't seem to add up to anything until suddenly at the very end it all locks into place. 

And sometimes it's like this--we'll give you a couple pieces of the puzzle now, and the rest a half hour (or few episodes) later. The extra benefit of this latter approach is that it invites the audience to construct their own bigger narrative of what's going on. When I saw that envelope going into the safe, after Mike had already palmed the fake Canadian I.D. Nacho had made for his father, I thought, maybe Mike believes Nacho will make it back and this is some kind of warning or attempt to help him. I was completely wrong, but that's not a bad thing because the real answer is even better (aka more clever and unexpected). The point, really, is to invite us into the game of it all. 

One thing is key among all these strategies: Bafflement. The writers love to introduce elements that don't make sense next to each other. Like the WGA-nominated episode from season five where Saul goes to a Salvation Army-type store and spends a ton of time just looking at and picking up different objects. And when he finally settles, it's on the most random choice of all--a bowling ball. Again, the lack of continuity among elements invites us to construct our own narrative. It's also a great mine for humor. Incongruity is always funny.  

Better Call Saul airs tonight on AMC. And I'll have more SAUL content every Monday. 

I also still have one act of LA CAGE to go. I'll be back to it on Wednesday. 

Tomorrow: HEARTSTOPPER!

LEARNING FROM LA CAGE: FINDING THE BEST SETTING

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So finally, at the end of Act I, Albin learns the truth about the dinner with Anne's parents. He stumbles onto Georges and Jean-Michel taking away some of his wardrobe during a costume change, and then Georges has to explain. 

There's a hundred ways to play a scene like this. Given how long they've held us in suspense, you might think this will be just the two of face to face. But no, we already had the chance at that when they were walking along the boardwalk, and Georges couldn't do it.

The question the creative team seemed to have was this: What's the most dramatic way for Albin to find out? And what they came up with is really brilliant--he learns the news while he's dressing, out of view of us. So at first all we get is Georges' entirely heartbroken explanation. 

Then, Albin hurries out--but not to respond. He's got the show to do. Another delaying/suspense tactic on the creative team's part, but much heightened now because Albin knows the truth, and so it seems clearly something big is going to happen. 

And he goes on stage and begins the number we saw the Cagelles do at the top of the show, "We Are What We Are." But he turns it into this personal plaintive cry directed at us, because we are the audience he's supposed performing for. The setting really proves to be everything: it both builds the suspense and then crafts the moment to maximum effect. There's truly no more powerful choice than to put Albin alone and exposed on a stage having to sing to us.

Stepping back, this moment represents the fruit of all the work the creative team have put in to make these gay men's life acceptable. And again, I think a big part of what allows for that to happen is that the creators have really taken their time both introducing them to us and also allowing the pain of what Jean-Michel is asking to really settle in. The longer Albin goes without knowing, the worse we feel for him. 

But it also just begs the question, in our own scripts, are we asking ourselves What is the best setting for this moment? What is the most unexpected place to locate each scene, the most challenging to our characters, the most evocative? So often I'm so consumed with the story itself, I don't even think about these things. But they clearly can make a big difference.

LEARNING FROM LA CAGE: THE IMPORTANCE OF A PERSONAL VILLAIN

So at this point we've had three different opportunities for Georges to tell Albin what's going on. And at each step, Georges has dodged the issue--while at the same time, as I wrote about last week, the writing has never felt like a stall or a cheat, like the avoiding is there to build tension without earning it. 

And now we get one more moment like that, courtesy of Jean-Michel, who is pushing Georges to do it, already. On the one hand, their brief scene together--in wihch Jean-Michel reveals he has been busy hiding anything queer in their house and wants Albin's clothing all hidden, as well--becomes a way of justifying Georges' stalling. He's so devastated by what is being asked he can't do the deed without demanding that Jean-Michel consider one more time what he's asking. 

But the real shock of the season is to see just how horrible Jean-Michel is. Really the first act has been a slow progression in his monstrosity. First he asks Georges; then he hurries Anne away when she's about to meet Albin on the boardwalk. And now we find out he's messing with their home and wants Albin's stuff out, too, which is literally insane. 

On the one hand, doing this raises the pathos for Albin once again, if we needed that. There's nothing like a terrible child to make you love their parents. 

But it also gives the couple a clear antagonist in Jean-Michel, which is genius. Unlike Anne's parents in Act II, Jean-Michel has a deep personal connection to Albin and Georges. And a result the conflicts he creates for them are much deeper and more complex. Having strangers judge you is one thing; having your son be ashamed of you is so much more devastating. 

There's lots of different kinds of antagonists in stories. But you want your story's main antagonist to challenge not just some external goal of the protagonists but who the protagonists are, what they fear or believe.    

LEARNING FROM LA CAGE: THE GILLEN

The next scene starts with Jean-Michel convinces Anne to leave the boardwalk with him immediately because he sees his fathers coming and apparently he has not even bothered to tell her that his parents are gay. (Jean-Michel is just the worst.)

And then we finally arrive at the big moment when Georges has to admit to Albin that Jean-Michel has asked for him not to be present at the meeting with Anne's parents.

Or we think we do. Georges is definitely headed that way. But instead of arriving there we get two other beats that only further the pathos and pain that is to come. 

First, we get the reveal that Jean-Michel's biological mom has actually been terrible about keeping interested in Jean-Michel. Which is not something we had any reason to see coming, and in and of itself makes what is to come worse, because now not only is Albin going to be replaced by someone else, that someone else has actually been a bad mom to Jean-Michel. 

Kieron Gillen is a comic book writer that I really like. He's got a great gift for breaking hearts without letting the audience know it's coming. He also likes to talk about the craft of it all. And one thing I've seen him talk about more than once is about having a surprise behind the surprise. That is, when when you're writing a book, there is the big turn or moment to come that readers know is coming. Will Anthony Bridgerton really marry the wrong Sharma? Will the Battlestar Galactica make it to Earth? We don't know the answers, but we know an answer is coming. (And we may very well have a strong hunch about the answer.)

Gillen's strategy is to have another secret or surprise waiting beyond that moment that we see coming. His thinking is, A Big Moment casts a long shadow. And you can hide a lot in there. Or to put it another way, if the audience's attention is focused on the Big Question being answered, they're a lot less likely to see something else coming. 

For me, the reveal about Jean-Michel's mother is sort of a form of that. The creative team have us focused on the moment in which Georges tells Albin what is going on. And we're so ready for that, we don't see this whole other thing coming, even though it is kind of obvious. Who exactly is this biological mother? What is she like? And that information is able to hit us harder as a result. 

In Gillen's case, often that second turn is more dramatic, and happens after the first turn is resolved. Yes, you get what you want. But also, this terrible thing is happening as a result. It's almost like a handoff. It can be a tremendous technique.

(I highly recommend reading Gillen and Jamie McKelvie's The Wicked + The Divine. Some tremendous twists in there that fit this pattern. And just amazing storytelling. Gillen also wrote a blog talking about the writing and art choices in every issue. It's fantastic.)

The second part of the scene is Georges being so overwhelmed by what he has to say to Albin that he ends up instead singing him this beautiful love song. And again it's a moment that instead of answering our question reveals something else that is new and unexpected. 

The thing I really love there is the way in which what we the audience know impacts its meaning. This goes back to what I was writing about yesterday. Having "incepted" the audience with this issue of Albin being rejected, when Georges sings him this love song it is so much more sad and beautiful. What we know colors our experience, just as it does Georges singing. 

It's sort of like having painted a canvas yellow, the artist doesn't need to do anything more for the that color to have an impact. Simply by being there that yellow will change the further colors that are applied to the canvas. 

Gene Barry (who plays Georges) sang the song on the Mike Douglas show. I find his performance so deeply moving. 

LEARNING FROM LA CAGE: INCEPTING THE AUDIENCE

So having set up our main characters, their world and their relationship, we come to the inciting incident, which establishes the problem they're going to face. And it comes in a form that is once again remarkable for its relatability: their son needs them to make a sacrifice for his happiness.  Jean-Michel shows up from a few weeks away with the announcement that he's met Anne, the woman of his dreams. But in order to marry her, he needs to put on a good show for her parents, and that means "straightening up" his. Really everything about this idea is very traditional--not just his parents having to make a sacrifice but the idea of your parents being in some ways an embarrassment that you have to either control or overcome, and the whole concept of in-laws and the challenges they pose. 

The one thing that makes this turn on these old tropes stand out is what Jean-Michel is asking means erasing Albin from their lives while Anne's parents are visiting. It's a truly brutal request. The writers use a sweet love song about Anne sung by Jean-Michel to help make what he's asking more palatable. And the song very much has the feel of Meredith Wilson or Rodgers & Hammerstein, again, leaning into the familiar and compelling. But still, it's A LOT. The fact that it lands that way is itself such a statement of how much the musical has already accomplished. After just a half hour, we're already so invested in Albin that it's not even a question whether what Jean-Michel is asking is messed up. 

At the same time, the show doesn't try to wring the emotion out of that. It wears the whole thing very lightly, which is to say patiently. First, Jean-Michel asks Georges. Then he sings "Anne by My Side," which convinces George. Then Albin shows up and is told only that Jean-Michel is getting married. And Georges reprises "Anne By My Side," but now with Albin (which in addition to trying to soften Albin up for the blow is yet another canny way that the creative team normalizes their relationship; the same love song that can apply to Jean-Michel and Anne works for them). 

At no point in any of this is what Jean-Michel has asked alluded to, even obliquely. It's enough that we know it for it to hang over the proceedings. And the delay in bringing it to Albin's attention becomes a means of building tension and drama. It's funny--as writers we're so invested in the conflicts and complications of the characters. But sometimes the real source of drama is the conflict we create within the audience. LA CAGE can go on its sweet and merry way for a while without any hint of the problem because the creative team have already implanted the issue in us. It's enough that we're bearing it for it to be there. 

One other note on the sequence: when Jean-Michel sings "Anne on My Arm," Gene Barry, who plays Georges, stays seated the whole time. And it's not until the very end that he shows any kind of acceptance of what Jean-Michel is asking. Near the end of the song Jean-Michel puts his hand on Georges' shoulder, and slowly, Georges lays his hand on top of his. It's a very different choice than some later productions, and I think it's key to establishing the actual stakes of all this, the pain of what Jean-Michel is asking. A few moments later Georges asks Jean-Michel, Will you get Albin a hotel room, and it's just a complete punch in the gut. 

But again, Barry and the creative team don't milk it. They don't need to. Georges' question is like dropping a rock into a pond. Its waves roll on inside us.

LEARNING FROM LA CAGE: SELLING YOUR PROTAGONIST

This week I'm watching footage of the original Broadway production of the musical version of LA CAGE AUX FOLLES. And I'm finding it super interesting from a story point of view, so here we are. 

So after the opening with Les Cagelles, we're introduced to our main relationship of the piece, Georges and Albin. And then Albin gets a scene by himself. 

The show has the normal story goals for a moment like this: we want to introduce the dynamics of the relationship and lay out their roles within it. And having already met Georges and liking him both for running La Cage and for the knowing, playful way he interacted with us, we now need the moment that makes us love Albin. 

On the surface, neither of these goals seems particularly difficult. But in the context of the times, asking an audience of probably tourists to come and identify with a queer couple, one of whom is a drag queen, poses unique challenges. 

And how do book writer Harvey Fierstein, composer Jerry Herman and our Albin, George Hearn do it? 

First, they make the scene between the men completely familiar to straight couples. Albin cooked something special but Georges didn't come home for lunch. And he seems a little bored with Albin, which makes Albin worry about their marriage in his own over the top way. 

Honestly, it could have been lifted from I LOVE LUCY or THE DICK VAN DYKE SHOW, that's how familiar the scene is. It's a conflict every couple goes through. And just like that, the couple becomes something normal. Familiarity can often win an audience over.

And at the same time the scene still serves the scene's story goals quite well--this is a couple where Georges is the stereotypical working husband and Albin the stay at home wife. They clearly love each other but still, there is some loss or uncertainty. 

Then we get Albin alone, and the challenge is much the same--how to help the audience make an emotional and lasting connection with a drag queen. And where in the last scene the technique was familiarity, here the writing moves are intimacy and feats.  For four minutes we sit with Albin as he puts on his makeup. And as he puts himself together he speaks (sings) directly to us about what all of this means to him, the way it makes him feel about himself to dress as a woman. 

It's an absolutely genius move. In a way it answers the questions people in the audience might be having, but without feeling that way. What really sells us is utter vulnerability of the character in that scene.  He sits before us literally undressed and shares about his life. There's just no substitute for that kind of intimacy in selling an audience on a character. 

The other thing that really grabs an audience is a feat. We love a character that makes a big choice, even if it's a bad one, or who attempts something bold, even if they fail. As Albin's number starts there's no real sense of that happening here. He's just putting on a little mascara as he prepares to perform. But slowly over the course of what is just 4 minutes, without being flashy about at it, Albin completely transforms into Zaza.

I've watched a number of different versions of the scene now from other productions and I can't find anyone that is able to pull it off like Hearn does. Either they're already halfway done when they start, they go too big too fast, telegraphing where the song is headed, or they're too feminine at the beginning.

Hearn takes his time, keeps it low-key even as the song picks up so as not to draw attention to what he's slowly accomplishing here and give the whole thing away. And he starts as far away from where he's going to end up visually as possible, which is another great storytelling technique. Your protagonist is going to end up a fabulously dressed woman? Great: so at the beginning let's have him look and sound as male as possible.

When Albin stands up, fully Zaza now and throws his arms out the crowd goes absolutely wild. And with reason. He's done this incredible thing without us even really knowing he was doing it, and also--and this is so key to the feat of it all--he never leaves the stage. In fact he doesn't even leave his seat. The dress he's going to put on is unbeknownst to us already around his legs.  

Truly, there is no way you can walk away from that scene not loving Albin. He's shared too much and dazzled too well.

LEARNING FROM LA CAGE: KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE

A friend just sent me a bootleg of the original Broadway performance of LA CAGE AUX FOLLES, which is a show I don't know much about.  I'm planning to watch it little bit by little bit in the midst of a hundred other things I've got going on. And watching the beginning last night I was so struck by a story choice that I thought I might spend this week watching and writing about it. You don't need to know the musical yourself, I'm going to tell you what you need to know right now. 

The show is about a queer couple, one of whom is a drag queen and the other who runs a drag club, dealing with their son, who wants his fiancée's parents to meet his parents, but is afraid of what they might do if they discover his parents are gay. It's the musical version of THE BIRDCAGE, basically, although I think that movie is based on the French film, whereas the musical is based on the play (which is different in some ways). 

So here's how the show opens: we find ourselves at the club that Georges runs and Albin/Zaza performs at. And Georges welcomes us and then we get this long opening number, "We Are What We Are," where Les Cagelles--the drag queens of the club--slowly reveal themselves to us. And based on Georges' comments, there's a sort of game that's set up: some of the Cagelles are actually women and others are men. And so part of the "We Are What We Are" song taking its time is very much about giving the audience the chance to suss each of the Cagelles out and decide for themselves who is who. 

The musical debuted in 1984, at a time when the idea of gay family unit was just unheard of by mainstream society --hell, being sexually active and gay was still a crime in many places--and drag was certainly not in the mainstream. And the opening was very much about starting from where the audience was. Knowing that a typical audience coming to see this show would probably be uncomfortable, and would absolutely be looking close to try and "see" the man behind the drag, they start the show by affirming and encouraging that impulse. In fact as I understand it at curtain call Les Cagelles take off their wigs and you discover who was a man and who wasn’t. And the audience loves that.

And the number really takes its time getting started. The character all have their backs to the audience and then slowly one by one they turn and get a moment. Again, that’s all about playing into the audience’s curiosity and the game of it all, which is also all about making the audience comfortable so that they’ll be more receptive to the journey they’re about to take with this gay family. The opening is very much a promise that this is all going to be fine. We’re easing into this, and you don’t have to do anything but just watch and enjoy the puzzle of it all.

I’ve been writing this blog for about a year now and one thing that I’m realizing is that I’m really fascinated by the technique of audience anticipation—thinking about where your audience is at any given moment in a piece, and playing upon that. That's what sleight of hand is all about, right? Their attention is at X, so we can surprise them at Y. In a sense the LA CAGE opening is still that trick, but it’s less about surprise than it is about getting them comfortable.