Paul Sambol’s semi-autobiographical one-person play Repair of the World is being directed by BPF’s Miriam Bazensky. Paul responded to a series of questions posed by BPF Board Advisor Larry Lambert to discuss the play, his writing and his background.
L – Why did you choose to write about a drug clinic?
P – The play is semi-autobiographical. Like the character in the play, I was unemployed for two and a half years. Through Jewish Community Services I interviewed for a job working for a drug clinic’s admissions office, talking to drug addicts all day, setting them up for methadone maintenance. I had no experience in health care.
During the day, as a means of temporary escape, I’d e-mail friends and tell them about what was happening at the office, callers I’d spoken with, etc. An actor friend in New York responded, “That’s your next play, that’s what you should be writing about.” I said, “That’s a terrible idea. Who’d want to read that? Who’d want to see it?” He said, “I would. So there.” He continued, “But it has to be a one-character play. The minute you bring in another character, it becomes about them. And it’s not about them, it’s about you.”
I figured at best it might be cathartic. But I knew if I was going to try this, I’d have to do two things. (1) I’d have to be brutally honest with myself, and (2) the play would have to transcend itself, preferably ending on a note of grace. It would have to be larger than itself. Otherwise, it’s a guy sitting at a desk saying, “I have a miserable job, please feel sorry for me.” And nobody wants to see that.
L – Have you encountered the conditions you write about in your own experience or people you know?
P – The callers are a compilation of people I spoke with.
My favorite call was a woman looking for help. After going through all the questions, she said, “You’re a nice lady. What’s your name?” “Paul.” “Awwwww, that was my husband’s name … You’re a nice lady, Paul.”
Two weeks later I received a call from a gentleman looking for help. After going through all the questions, he said, “You’re a nice lady. What’s your name, hon?” “Paul.” “That’s odd. That’s like a guy’s name … You’re a nice lady, Paul.”
Naturally I couldn’t put that in the play. It would come across as an easy joke.
L – This is a one-person play. Do you find it harder to write single characters rather than using multiple characters?
P – There’s nothing easy about a one-character play. It’s a challenge for the playwright, a challenge for the director, and especially for the actor who must hold the stage by himself for seventy minutes.
L – How long did it take you to develop Repair of the World?
P – I worked on it off and on for about ten years.
L – You have written a large number of plays, mainly one-act or short plays. Do you find it easier to write in the shorter format?
P – I used to have no trouble writing full-length plays. But then I had a miserable experience developing a play for an off-Broadway company in New York. The artistic director put together a cold reading which was tremendously successful. The next day he and I had a meeting. He said, “I’m interested in this company doing this play, I’m interested in directing this play, I’m going to put a lot of work into it and I don’t want to hear about it ending up on Mike Nichols’ desk.” I laughed. And immediately realized he was being deadly serious.
I met with him in his office once a week, coming in with new material each time. He would go through the material, “We don’t wanna see this. We’re not interested in this. That character would never do that. That’s not what you’re writing. We don’t wanna see this. We don’t wanna see this. We don’t wanna see this.” By the end of ten minutes it would all be in the trash can.
By the end of seven weeks, I was starting to get just a little paralyzed. Whatever it was I was writing, we didn’t wanna see it. I finally said, “What was it that you liked about the play? What made you want to do it in the first place.” He said, “One line.” We had had a terrifically successful reading. All of it in the trash except for one line.
So I took my one line and went home.
The minute he said “One line,” I knew he had no intention of doing this play. He didn’t know it yet, but he had no intention of doing it. I was 28 at the time, this company was well-known in the theater industry. The NY Times would send their first string critic to review them. I was desperate to get my career started, which is why I put up with all that.
A month later he called. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. You got anything new for me to read?” “No.” “You’ll call me when you do, right?” “… yes.”
And I never called him again.
After that, I had to learn how to crawl all over again. Whatever I was doing, apparently we didn’t want to see it. I started writing one-acts. Mill Mountain Theatre in Roanoke produced sixteen of them as part of their lunchtime theater series. For twelve years I was king of lunchtime theater in Roanoke, Virginia.
I’ve written several full-lengths since then, but “helpful feedback” like that can cause someone to lose decades of work.
L – What is your method for character development?
P – Someone once said you don’t learn about a character by what he says, you learn about him from how he responds.
L – What is the main point you want your audience to leave the performance with?
P – When I started writing the play, I thought the point was that the reason we’re losing the “War on Drugs” is because none of us have any idea what we’re doing. By the time I finished it, it was about that moment when we wonder what exactly it is we do for a living. And does it actually help anyone.
L – What’s next for your creative world?
P – I’m sixty-nine years old. Heart problems keep me from traveling. If I can’t even go downtown for a semi-cold reading, I think it’s safe to say my writing career (which I’ve been pursuing for fifty-one years) is at an end. That’s how it goes.