More from our British actor, who is rewriting the unsatisfactory play script for his upcoming performance.
March 21
I wish my agent would tend to my creditors and their plethora of misconceptions, including the delusion that I purchased a hideaway love nest for Justine D. in Majorca. Why am I paying him?
Have just returned from the Lamplight to check my dressing room. So much for the respect owed a serious craftsman. The furniture appears to be upholstered in old garrison coats and Costa Rican flour sacks. Sometimes I long for a contract with Disney. I could have turned Pooh’s Heffalump Movie into a hit and been amply rewarded into the bargain.
Never mind. I am, after all, an angst-ridden artist, and I crave inventive challenge. The Talking Cure affords plenty of same.
I have decided that light, breezy, popcorn fare would suit far better than plodding psychobabble, so I have transformed this production into a musical. I have even written my signature song, “To Be Jung and in Love.” (I think that should be the title of the show.)
I make my entrance wearing top hat and tails. Then I execute a soft-shoe number conveying, in dance form, the scientific theory that the tendency of all physical systems is to run down over time; in other words, all energy eventually becomes evenly distributed, with the effect of dissipation ranging from the moment of birth until the milestone of death.
My uninspired director, Martón Pollocks, is not keen on the changes outlined above. I have instructed my agent to ring him immediately to argue in favor of said alterations or opening night will be a disaster.
No salmon rolls in the fridge. I am cheered only by the pure genius of my latest inspiration, that the glasses I wear on stage will render Jung invisible to his enemies, adding a twist to the climactic chase scene in Act 2.
March 22
I have yet to see Moody at the theatre during rehearsals, let alone the previews. I suppose he is too preoccupied slurping hot beverages and tweaking Miss Chuzzlewit’s ample posterior. Never mind, I am only his most important client.
Here is a summary of the scenes I’ve improved so far:
Scene 1: “Jung at Heart”: Introduction to our hero and his foil, Sigmund Freud. We see that Jung’s radical new theories stand Freudian psychology on its head. Jung proposes a test of his hypotheses on nubile young Russian patient, Sabine Spielrein.
Scene 2: “Forever Jung”: Introduction of Jung’s archetypes, or comic sidekicks, Anima and Animus. Jung cancels his Bosnian holiday with Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his lovely wife.
Scene 3: “To Be Jung and in Love”: A Comparative Analysis, in Dance Form, of the Traditional Scientific Theory of Entropy and Jung’s revolutionary new spin on same. The accompanying song is the number the audience will be humming as it leaves the theatre.
Have not had time to proceed further. Have had to toil all evening on the boards in the original, painfully dull version.
Have told Pollocks to locate three Canadian geese for Scene 4. I’ve a spectacular plan to illustrate Freud’s conception of the Id, Ego, and Super Ego.
March 21
I wish my agent would tend to my creditors and their plethora of misconceptions, including the delusion that I purchased a hideaway love nest for Justine D. in Majorca. Why am I paying him?
Have just returned from the Lamplight to check my dressing room. So much for the respect owed a serious craftsman. The furniture appears to be upholstered in old garrison coats and Costa Rican flour sacks. Sometimes I long for a contract with Disney. I could have turned Pooh’s Heffalump Movie into a hit and been amply rewarded into the bargain.
Never mind. I am, after all, an angst-ridden artist, and I crave inventive challenge. The Talking Cure affords plenty of same.
I have decided that light, breezy, popcorn fare would suit far better than plodding psychobabble, so I have transformed this production into a musical. I have even written my signature song, “To Be Jung and in Love.” (I think that should be the title of the show.)
I make my entrance wearing top hat and tails. Then I execute a soft-shoe number conveying, in dance form, the scientific theory that the tendency of all physical systems is to run down over time; in other words, all energy eventually becomes evenly distributed, with the effect of dissipation ranging from the moment of birth until the milestone of death.
My uninspired director, Martón Pollocks, is not keen on the changes outlined above. I have instructed my agent to ring him immediately to argue in favor of said alterations or opening night will be a disaster.
No salmon rolls in the fridge. I am cheered only by the pure genius of my latest inspiration, that the glasses I wear on stage will render Jung invisible to his enemies, adding a twist to the climactic chase scene in Act 2.
March 22
I have yet to see Moody at the theatre during rehearsals, let alone the previews. I suppose he is too preoccupied slurping hot beverages and tweaking Miss Chuzzlewit’s ample posterior. Never mind, I am only his most important client.
Here is a summary of the scenes I’ve improved so far:
Scene 1: “Jung at Heart”: Introduction to our hero and his foil, Sigmund Freud. We see that Jung’s radical new theories stand Freudian psychology on its head. Jung proposes a test of his hypotheses on nubile young Russian patient, Sabine Spielrein.
Scene 2: “Forever Jung”: Introduction of Jung’s archetypes, or comic sidekicks, Anima and Animus. Jung cancels his Bosnian holiday with Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his lovely wife.
Scene 3: “To Be Jung and in Love”: A Comparative Analysis, in Dance Form, of the Traditional Scientific Theory of Entropy and Jung’s revolutionary new spin on same. The accompanying song is the number the audience will be humming as it leaves the theatre.
Have not had time to proceed further. Have had to toil all evening on the boards in the original, painfully dull version.
Have told Pollocks to locate three Canadian geese for Scene 4. I’ve a spectacular plan to illustrate Freud’s conception of the Id, Ego, and Super Ego.