“You already know what I’m about/ flying birds down south”
In 2015, I binged on the Walking Dead. It was during a month where I had a sporadic amount of tour dates lined up and couldn’t get any shifts in between, so was stuck at home. I could’ve done something productive, but the appeal of watching telly in the day without worrying about bills was too appealing to turn down.
Must’ve run through roughly three seasons in a week, and even paid(!) amazon(!!) to watch series four. The show had me hooked, but as I went on I noticed a rinse-repeat mechanic with the way it dealt with characters exiting the show: whenever someone would complete an arc that had taken a season or so to build, they’d pretty quickly get written off afterwards.
It was something that once noticed, couldn’t stop seeing, and it ruined the show for me. When a new character would come along and say something along the lines of “yeah, I’ve never been able to have a proper birthday party” I’d just know that in three episodes time they’d get a proper birthday, and then be bitten into by a zombobbybino right after blowing out the candles.
I realise this is a conundrum all long form storytellers have to confront. Keeping a character in the same state leads to dissatisfaction, and giving the character what they want will disrupt the balance of the show.
An example that comes to mind for the former is Dexter- no matter what would happen to him, Dexter would never change, making the stakes of the show feel lower every season. An example of the latter is in Frasier, where Niles, who had been besotted with Daphne for years on the show-as a throwaway joke- leaves his fiancé to be with her (Daphne). Instead of feeling like Niles and Daphne had grown as people, everything they did felt out of character. Replacing Niles’ infatuation as a comedic relief and turning into a heartwarming “I love you” moment upset every aspect of the show, even scenes they weren’t in, as the weight of each episode had to focus on the relationship, and not on the much more interesting relationship, Frasier and his dad (of course I’d think that, though).
So, that’s how arcs and pay offs can be fumbled in television, but I want to look at how writers can put themselves into a corner in other mediums, specifically when writing about their own lives.
I reviewed Big Krit’s project “Krit Wuz Here” a while ago, I talk about how after he started writing songs about his grandmothers passing, he found a voice through grief. Over the course of several albums he found his own narrative arc, not only revolving around grief, but also the realisation on how fast time moves; how to enjoy the time you have, while also working yourself out of a struggle. It’s expertly navigated through Return of 4Eva, and his subsequent project 4eva and a day- which explores his grandmother passing, but also are just moments of reflection on someone hitting their mid twenties.
It’s on his first retail album, Live From The Underground, Krit stretches himself thin, trying to introduce himself to as many new listeners as possible, while also wrapping up the last five years of his musical journey.
For all the faults LFTU has, and it has many, the tracks Praying Man and Live From the Underground Reprise show Krit exploring time, death, and love with an intelligence and ambition that doesn’t escape him. Praying Man looks at what it really means to be Live from the Underground, rapping from the perspective of murdered black men throughout history, not knowing they’ve died, talking to the grim reaper. With every last line Krit says the reaper “takes me away from my oppressor, forever”.
On the albums reprise, he doesn’t rap, but sing, and in something that brings a tear to my eye whenever I talk about, duets with a cassette tape recording of his grandmother. What’s more touching is that he sang the same words two albums earlier, alone. Combined with how he sees death in praying man, you get the idea that Krit has found beauty and peace in death, and instead of singing to his grandmother, he now sings with her.
Okay, so that’s amazing, cheers krit, but what happens next? After putting this part of his life to rest, subsequent albums started to feel aimless and bare. What were once bodies of work that looked at life, death, time and love within the framework of classic southern rap, ended up being, at best, pale imitations of the music that came before him. At worst, Krit turned a lot of his reflections inward and got wrapped up in his own mythology, with songs about how people within his industry down’t understand him. It didn’t feel like him, but I wonder if Krit even knew who he was at this point. Or what voice was his. He’d blown out the candles, and was now just hanging around. He didn’t know where to go with his character.
Which brings us to true stories. Our own personal narratives. Us. Me. One person shows bexbeh. Lets’ look at a staple dramaturgical question- what does your character want, and what’s preventing them from acquiring it?
This is a perfectly normal question, and needs to be answered, but what I’m worried about is seeing this as a problem in need of solving. The search for arcs in our own personal stories can be not only limiting our art form, ability to tell stories, and this might sound dramatic, but it can also damage the way we view our lives and feel about ourselves.
Nearly all one person shows I’ve seen- especially debuts- revolve around a formative moment early on in their lives. A coming of age story, basically. It was mine- through the lens of amateur boxing. So many writers who have started with this premise for their first show haven’t gone on to make a second due to feeling like they’ve said all they can say, and I can’t blame them. There’s no way we can make that kind of show twice. We’re reflecting on a time in our lives that we’re only just old enough to process, so the idea of having to write another hour long story gets tied in with having a decade of life experience to mine something we don’t have, even though these people are talented writers and amazing performers. Some of my best friends have put on shows that have had me in tears only to tell me that’s the only story they have in them. I felt the exact same way after my first show. What more can I say? Well, mate, you can say whatever you want if it’s good. It’s so hard to really believe that though.
Then there’s the impulse to put a bow on the end of our show, to solve whatever problem our character has at the end of our story.
In order to write my second show, I had to view it as something small. I wrote bothwab as a mixtape. Like, if UYHTB is the Carter, this is tha drought. That mindset allowed me to write something that I was genuinely proud of and excited about, it was only when it got picked up by the Battersea arts centre I started doubting the show. Thinking it was too small, when it was written to be small. I’ve never felt such a push and pull within myself regarding the direction of a show than I have with back of the head. In a lot of ways I still feel like I’m working on it, still proud of it, still dissatisfied.
Last year I made something called See You When I Get There. It’s not theatre, but an episodic audio show. This format allowed me to structure the emotional journey of the story differently; instead of it being linear, each episode focused on a different time in the main characters life between the age of fifteen to twenty five. It wasn’t so much a line, but a puzzle slowly making a picture as new pieces were added. I remember feeling like this was a negative for the show, that I made something that stopped the viewer from experience each moment chronologically, but over time I’ve started to think if anything, this way of telling a story is more accurate than anything else I’ve lined up. Stories split into different places over the course of an hour. Someone’s telling you about the plant they bought and it ends up leading to a story about their divorce last year, their kids now, and thats sick.
Structure is so important to a story, and it’s so often used to hinder the story itself. I don’t want us to feel like by the end of whatever real life story we want to tell, we have to put a bow on our problems if they’re still with us. Character arcs are as real as we want them to be. There’s a character arc in Tetris, and at the same time… there isn’t. We control the formula.
I remember feeling like life could’ve ended for me in the summer of 2016. Not that I wanted to die, but if I blinked, and saw the credits roll, I would’ve been satisfied. A couple of loose ends, but nothing major. Life goes on though. I don’t feel like that anymore. I think that’s good.
Big Krit did get good again, by the way.