doesn’t feel “written.” The documentary aspect was a symptom of wanting to let these characters just talk at me and tell their stories. I thought, “What’s an excuse to get a person to talk for a really long time?” Ah! They’re being interviewed for a documentary! And then, like a documentary filmmaker, I found myself doing an enormous amount of “interviewing” and an enormous amount of editing. I would write six pages of interview, but only keep the best six lines. As for the public performance in the play—it was another sort of accident. I had written the act one talent show scene, along with a few interviews, and asked some actor friends to read the first act out loud in my living room in Chicago, where I lived at the time. People loved it. I loved it. I heard it out loud and thought, “That’s really good.” That feels right. So I decided to extend it throughout the whole play—the concept of these characters performing live in the midst of a documentary.
TS: The character of Bobbie seems like an anti-hero. Do you see him that way? How did you go about creating a character who for some audiences may seem like a social pariah?
AL: I don’t think Bobbie’s an anti-hero. To me, “anti-hero” points to someone who is not typically heroic, but who is a main character anyway, like James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause or Jughead in “Riverdale.” I don’t think Bobbie is the main character, though. To me, the protagonist is the town. And the people who have the responsibility to be heroic are the townspeople. It’s the citizens’ journeys that we’re tracking. I care about Bobbie a lot, but it’s the group that has the greatest capacity for heroism or brutality, not the individual. What surprised me writing the play was how little of Bobbie—actual stage time and lines for the actor playing Bobbie— ended up being in it. I kept trying to give Bobbie a bigger part, but the more I tried to give him, the less compelling he became. With Bobbie—and, again, I think it’s because the protagonist is the town—less is more.
TS: The Tow Foundation has awarded you a residency at Roundabout this season. Can you tell us how The Tow Foundation residency has affected your work as a playwright?
AL: I’ve been writing plays for the past ten years, and in that time I’ve been a waiter, I’ve worked at a UPS store, I’ve tutored, I’ve barista-d—I don’t think that’s a verb—I’ve been a barista. I’ve never been able to support myself on playwriting alone, until now. It’s insane. I can just write! I’m savoring every minute of it. Oh, and the other fantastic thing is that it’s allowed me to be in the offices at Roundabout. I’ve been able to work with the education department, chat about new plays across cubicles with Jill Rafson, and have readings of new scripts I’m writing with the artistic fellows here. It’s incredible. Thank you, Tow Foundation. It’s difficult for me to be articulate about this.
TS: Can you describe what you look for in a director when working on a new play? How do you and Will Davis, the director, collaborate on Bobbie Clearly? What questions do you ask each other?
AL: One thing great directors do is gather in amazing team of collaborators and help everyone thrive. They do this by being generous, by getting excited about the different gifts artists bring to the table, by creating an environment where people feel like they can take risks and be their authentic selves. I’ve seen Will do that—bring that out of people— constantly. I also love that he’s a Chicago guy. I spent my formative years in Chicago after college. It’s where I became a playwright. Will went to undergrad there and is currently the artistic director of American Theater Company in Chicago. So starting out, I think we already shared a lot of theatrical vocabulary and values. We both love Our Town. We’re currently
binging true crime documentaries for research—okay, I feel like I’m gushing. But the point is that I met with many directors, and Will was the one who instantly came alive when discussing the play. His ideas for how to stage it were out-of-the-box; I would never have thought of them on my own. That’s another thing about a good collaborator: there have to be some points of overlap—shared aesthetics, values, stuff you both love—but the parts of the Venn Diagram that don’t overlap are just as important. Will has a mind for ensemble-building and a visual vocabulary that just wows me. Those are just two things—and there are many more—that I’m grateful he brings to the table. To be honest, we find ourselves talking a lot about corn.
TS: Has the script changed since the reading at Roundabout last winter? If so, what was the catalyst for those changes? Do you expect to be rewriting during the upcoming rehearsal process and previews? If so, what usually motivates your rewrites when a play is being rehearsed and performed in front of audiences?
AL: After the reading last January, I thought the second act could be tighter, so I pared it down. Once I get in the room with actors—and especially once previews start—I expect there’ll be more rewrites.
The great thing about an audience is that they teach you about a play. You can take the temperature of the audience while you’re sitting anonymously in the back row. You can tell when they’re leaning in; you hear when they laugh; when they gasp. You can also hear when they settle back into their chairs, check their program, tune out. You adjust the script accordingly. I think we’ll learn a lot in the first couple weeks of previews.
TS: Who are your favorite playwrights? How do you keep yourself inspired as an artist?
AL: My first fanboy crushes were Tennessee Williams, Chekhov, Shakespeare, and Eugene O’Neill. I’ve started reading more living playwrights as I’ve gone along: Annie Baker, Amy Herzog, Tarell Alvin McCraney, Caryl Churchill, Anne Washburn, Rajiv Joseph. I love An Octoroon by Branden Jacob-Jenkins. Simon Stephens and Alistair McDowall are two UK playwrights I love. Everyone should read Brilliant Adventures, X, and Pomona by Alistair McDowall because it feels like he’s writing the best kind of ‘90s blockbusters—Jurassic Park, Pulp Fiction, stories with that kind of danger and joy—but for the stage. I keep myself inspired by reading nonfiction a lot: Maggie Nelson is incredible. And I’ve been on this Joan Didion tear. I wish I travelled more, because every time I do, I come back refueled and re-inspired and ready to dive into a new play. Luckily, the Tow Foundation residency will allow me to travel more this summer. I’ll be seeing a lot of German theatre.
TS: What advice would you give to a young person who says they want to write for the theatre?
AL: Just start writing. And you have to be okay with some of it being bad at first. Cuz in your head, it’s perfect, right? But getting it on the page, you realize that most plays will take a lot of time and revision before they’re as wonderful on paper as they were in your head. That’s okay. That’s actually normal. That’s how it is for me, and that’s how it is for most of the playwrights I look up to. Risk, Fail, Risk Again. Perfectionism is the enemy of creativity. Find a community of friends and collaborators who will read your work and give you honest feedback. And make sure they’re people you trust. Sometimes you luck out and these collaborators are classmates you already know. But it might take going out of your way, or even moving to a different city, to find a community that truly inspires you—and vice versa.•
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