I – 1 – 1

STEPHEN SONDHEIM

A Monodrama by

THOMAS HARTWELL

ACT I

Scene 1

(The stage is dark. A screen hangs above the set, showing various

projections and recordings throughout the play. Lights up on STEPHEN

SONDHEIM, who stands next to a piano center stage. Around him are a

number of small black boxes. He addresses the audience)

SONDHEIM

There are only three principles necessary for a lyric writer, all of them familiar truisms. In no

particular order, and to be written in stone:

Content Dictates Form.

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Less Is More.

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God Is in the Details,

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all in the service of Clarity,

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without which nothing else matters.

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(The boxes placed to his satisfaction, he moves back to the piano.)

If a lyric writer observes this mantra rigorously, he can turn out a respectable lyric. If he also has

a feeling for music and rhythm, a sense of theater and something to say, he can turn out an

interesting one. If in addition he has qualities such as humour, style, and imagination, he might

even turn out a good one. And with an understanding composer and a stimulating book writer—

the sky’s the limit.

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I – 1 – 2

(Lights fade as the recording starts up.)

RECORDING

YESTERDAY IS DONE,

SEE THE PRETTY COUNTRYSIDE.

MERRILY WE ROLL ALONG, ROLL ALONG,

FOLLOWING DREAMS!

TRAVELING’S THE FUN,

FLASHING BY THE COUNTRYSIDE.

EVERYBODY MERRILY, MERRILY—

1975!

(lights up on SONDHEIM at the piano)

SONDHEIM

I’m working on a new show with Hal Prince and John Weidman—Pacific Overtures—about the

American invasion of Japan in, uh, 1853. And we hit this crucial moment of the negotiations

between Japan and America in a treaty house. And John informed us that nothing dramatic at all

happened in the treaty house. Which is problematic. So we talked, and out of our discussion

came the idea of somebody’s memory—we would flash forward in time, perhaps, and an old

man would come out, and he would remember what happened, and his younger self, a young

boy, would materialize, and we’d see the event through the eyes of both of them. And we would

have a warrior under the floorboards of the treaty house reporting what he hears. So we’ll have

an old man remembering what happened, his younger self reporting what he sees, and a warrior

reporting what he hears. And Hal liked it, so all that’s left is to write it. I think the main reason

the idea appealed to him is that there’s no other way of solving it, and generally when that

happens, Hal says “we’ll have Steve write a number”. And that’s the way he solves those things.

(beat, he picks up a packet of paper)

I had John write a script of the scene for me. Even if we know that a piece of material is gonna

be a number, I like to have the playwright write out what he thinks it would be. He doesn’t have

to polish it or anything, but just give it a tone. I wanted John to invent an old man and a young

boy and a samurai, because I didn’t know how they would talk in John’s style.

(beat; he starts to read from the packet)

“The lights come up on an old Japanese man wearing nondescript robes. And the old man says

“Pardon me, but I was there”. And the reciter says “you were where?” and the old man says “At

Kanagawa. In the treaty house. I was there and saw it all. I snuck up to the treaty house and hid

behind a tree, which grew just there”, and he gestures towards a barren spot. And he says “at

least I think that was the spot.” And a tree suddenly appears. “Just as I remembered.” He tries to

climb the tree and he can’t, and he says “Well, I was younger then”. The Reciter looks skeptical.

(beat)

The hardest part of writing is you’ve got to get something on paper, it’s the only rule—it’s the

only rule is that you must get something down on paper so that you can then look at it and start

to work on it. All that writer’s block consists of is that censoring that happens before the pencil

hits the paper. And that of course is death, and that’s the hardest thing to overcome.

(beat; he sighs)

I – 1 – 3

I’m a lazy writer. My idea of heaven is not writing. On the other hand, I’m obviously compulsive

about it. I end up working seventeen hours a day, because I’m a procrastinator. It’s my own

fault—I’m disciplined in the work but not disciplined in work habits.

(beat, he grabs some of his materials)

I use soft lead pencils, very soft. Supposedly that makes the writing easier on your wrist, but

what it really does is allow you to sharpen them every five minutes. I write on a yellow legal pad

with thirty-two lines, and use the Roget’s Thesaurus, and a rhyming dictionary, the Clement

Wood, which is the only one I would recommend because it’s the only one with lists of words

where the eye goes up and down the columns. When I’m not at the piano, I write lying down on

a couch, for the obvious reason that it allows me to fall asleep whenever I encounter difficulties,

which is often.

(he grabs a piece of paper)

Okay, so what is the old man really talking about, apart from not remembering and not being

able to climb a tree? What is he thinking…

(he pauses and thinks a moment, and starts writing down random thoughts

as they come to him.)

It’s the tales that count…Outsiders see details, insiders aren’t objective. I noticed…everything—

I see everything. It’s the details that matter. It’s the word, not the sentence, It’s the pebble not the

stream, it’s the stroke, not the painting. Fragment of the day. Everything affects everything. If I

hadn’t been there, it might have been different. Who’s to say? I was part of it.

(beat; sudden realization)

I was someone in a tree.

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(Lights fade as the recording takes over. SONDHEIM moves about the

space, rearranging and perfecting the position of the various black boxes.)

RECORDING

BIT BY BIT,

PUTTING IT TOGETHER.

PIECE BY PIECE—

ONLY WAY TO MAKE A WORK OF ART.

EVERY MOMENT MAKES A CONTRIBUTION,

EVERY LITTLE DETAIL PLAYS A PART.

HAVING JUST THE VISION’S NO SOLUTION,

EVERYTHING DEPENDS ON EXECUTION:

PUTTING IT TOGETHER,

THAT’S WHAT COUNTS.

OUNCE BY OUNCE,

PUTTING IT TOGETHER.

SMALL AMOUNTS

ADDING UP TO MAKE A WORK OF ART.

FIRST OF ALL YOU NEED A GOOD FOUNDATION,

OTHERWISE IT’S RISKY FROM THE START.

I – 1 – 4

TAKES A LITTLE COCKTAIL CONVERSATION,

BUT WITHOUT THE PROPER PREPERATION,

HAVING JUST THE VISION’S NO SOLUTION,

EVERYTHING DEPENDS ON EXECUTION.

THE ART OF MAKING ART

IS PUTTING IT TOGETHER

BIT BY BIT.

SONDHEIM

People often ask, you know, which comes first, music or the lyrics. Generally it’s both for me—

generally I like to get some kind of accompaniment figure—which, in this song was interesting,

one of the reasons I like this song so much, is that I decided one of the qualities of Japanese

music that wasn’t being taken advantage of enough in the score was its relentlessness, how it

goes on and on and on, and I thought I’d like to write a song, see how long I can sustain interest

by taking an accompaniment figure and just have it go on over and over again with the tiniest

changes in it. The figure that I made was this one:

(he demonstrates)

I thought I would use that beat—doh buh-buh buh-buh bum—throughout, but breaking it up

different ways, so as it develops it gets to—

(he plays another figure)

Which sounds different, but isn’t. And then I thought, supposing I kept that up with just little

variations, just dipping down every now and then to a note. And then I thought, as the old man

gets more and more desperate, it will grow a little bit, and get to be a crescendo, and gradually

build to the entrance of the boy. Because at the beginning, the old man repeats himself in

desperation because he runs out of excuses, because he knows that the reciter doesn’t believe that

he was there because he can’t climb the tree. So he keeps saying—I was younger then, I was

good at climbing trees, I was younger then. And the music just keeps doing the same thing that

he’s doing, only the music becomes more desperate as he’s becoming more desperate, so he’s

going—

(he starts to play and sing)

I WAS YOUNGER THEN,

He’s not worried yet. He tries again.

I WAS GOOD AT CLIMBING TREES.

Tries again.

I WAS YOUNGER THEN.

I SAW EV’RYTHING!

I WAS HIDDEN ALL THE TIME.

He tries again.

IT WAS EASIER TO CLIMB.

He’s getting desperate.

I WAS YOUNGER THEN.

I SAW EV’RYTHING!

WHERE THEY CAME AND WHERE THEY WENT.

I WAS PART OF THE EVENT.

I WAS SOMEONE IN A TREE!

I WAS YOUNGER THEN!

I – 1 – 5

And then the boy comes in, at the top of his desperation, climbs up the tree—

(hits the final chord)

And he says “Tell him what I see”. And then it starts, but it’s all about building to that moment

where—thank god he got up the tree.

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RECORDING

ART ISN’T EASY—

EVERY MINOR DETAIL

IS A MAJOR DECISION!

HAVE TO KEEP THINGS IN SCALE,

HAVE TO HOLD TO YOUR VISION!

SONDHEIM

It was fun to try to write something that, at the time that I started, seemed like an impossible

assignment—how do you write a trio about nothing? And then when you decide “I know, I’m

going to write about nothing”, it’s a very exciting moment. Because it’s a song literally about

nothingness, and about everythingness—every little detail and change in the music is important.

When I played it for John, I sat at the piano and started to cry, which rather intimidated him. And

he said “I think that’s the best song you’ve written”, which—it is my favorite song. I find that,

when I sing it, the intensity of feeling I feel singing it is a reflection of the intensity of feeling in

the song. And it never fails for me—the song always moves me, whether I’m singing it or not,

whether it’s on a piano or in the orchestra, and it’s just—it’s just a personal thing.

(he continues to play the song)

AND THEY SAT THROUGH THE NIGHT

AND THEY LIT YELLOW TAPERS.

I’M A FRAGMENT OF THE DAY.

IF I WEREN’T, WHO’S TO SAY

THINGS WOULD HAPPEN HERE THE WAY

THAT THEY’RE HAPPENING?

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IT’S THE FRAGMENT, NOT THE DAY,

IT’S THE PEBBLE, NOT THE STREAM,

IT’S THE RIPPLE, NOT THE SEA

THAT IS HAPPENING.

NOT THE BUILDING BUT THE BEAM,

NOT THE GARDEN BUT THE STONE,

ONLY CUPS OF TEA

AND HISTORY

AND SOMEONE IN A TREE!

End of Play