 Welcome to your 21st century play experience. Please take this time to turn all phones to their utmost loudness and most obnoxious volumes and vibrations. Flash photography is not prohibited, but it is discouraged, as some of our performers are prone to ungovernable rage triggered by flash photography. Please don't eat or drink during the performance, unless you are going to pass out or something due to hypoglycemia, for instance. But don't make a thing about it, okay? Because we all want a candy bar, too, right now. This performance uses light and special effects, including brief exposure to the void of space. Running time for this performance is between 3 and 12 hours, and there will be two 10-minute intermissions. Please refrain from throwing objects towards people's eyes. This is good advice anytime. Now, sit back, rub your face and eyes with their hands, and enjoy, if you can, 21st century play. To begin with, I want to talk about my oral problems. My mouth is like that of a cuckold, right? It's so vetted and disturbed, is it? Right? A lot of germs and bacteria. It's probably scurvy or gingivitis or herpes simplexx. If I spit, you must forgive me. It is the only relief that I can offer myself. I have given permission as a narrator to explain why we're all here. Some as paying customers, others as willing listeners. Now, behold the truths I must unfold before it is all too late. Behold the thesis. 21st century theater is dead. Dead like disco. Dead like a donkey. Dead like Dostoyevsky. Dead like dick. Who is dead? Well, we'll come back to the disco. For now I understand that we are here to close the door on this cultural relic, so that future generations of privileged phone zombies can pork and watch sit-pals without having to put on anything nicer than shorts to go to the theater. I'm sorry. That is gross. That is eating the floor. What happened to be wearing shorts? You know, don't feel bad just because I said that, you know? I mean, theater isn't an occasion anymore. It's trying to see a train wreck. Oh, Hamlet doesn't know his lines. He's saying something about pizza sandwich. What a laugh. Schauenfreude. But statistically, none of you have seen Hamlet Live, and those of you who did see Hamlet Live probably hated it. The odds that somebody saw Hamlet Live and liked it are just so negligible. It's not for us. We're here to feel good and dig. Take out your phones and play with them. I don't get paid either way. Wet them out and take pictures of how great I look. But if you don't have a cutting-edge phone, then what are you doing here? Because you should really be out there trying to earn enough money for a cutting-edge phone. Because in the end, the phone that they bury you in better be able to call through six feet of moist earth, and oftentimes a concrete retaining layer. Tennessee Williams is dead, and buried someplace he didn't want to be, and his ghost hunts the bars as well reported to this very day. Tony Cushner did Lincoln, and he is all done. You probably don't even know who Tony Cushner is, but he wrote the last legitimate play called Angels in America, but he is now done with the wacky theater shenanigans. We are alone out here. We are flying fish at the zenith of our trajectory, soon to return to the sea, to be eaten by larger, less cultured fish, such as the nature of the universe and entropy. And we are not here to debate that. We are not here to pay homage to the dead age, but to imagine a time so far in the future that our time is as relevant to them as the past is to we here in the present. Presence! To the year 2525, where mankind is still very alive. And if you get that joke, then you already know your ticket is paid for itself. But no, actually, in keeping with the title of the work, the year is in fact 2095, and humanity is still inexplicably so polite, despite war, famine, plagues, apathy of the gods and the anger of the aliens. The age of the robot, man, has persevered. He has seen the invention of the flying car and the untold death caused by drunk driving, rage in the air and on the ground. I'm really sorry about that. I don't have, like, the doomsday virus or Ebola or anything, even mildly contagious. You have to be assured that if I bite anyone here on stage or in the audience, that it's all part of the show, I am acting, merely acting. 3,000 years ago, there were roughly 7 artists. A few people painted some things on caves about 15,000 years ago, and it was all the rage in 20th century paleontology. By the 21st century, there were approximately 7 billion artists give or take. Because even if you can only just write your name, English is an art, and that makes you an artist. Not a good one, perhaps. But perhaps maybe you made a boss in class some time, and it was bad, but you would even still then be an artist. Or perhaps you write a play or several plays with no credible plot or coherence and believable character. Maybe you write several of these plays and they're never produced and you die lonely alone in comedy, show, and even dysentery. You would still even then be an artist. We could debate and argue here among you and me and the bricks and the walls, or all dead and bored over what art is. But what I'm here to tell you is that everyone in this room is an artist. And our art means nothing. It has no value, or rather it has no real value. Unless you work with gold. And even then, not really, because gold immediately deteriorates in value as soon as you take it out of coin form. The truth is that all we have is a shaky understanding of the past, the terrifying realities of the future, and the panicked, uncontrollable present. Present! We're all done with theater here in the 21st century. There's too many other things to do. And everything being made is of no quality or value. It creates this global white noise that makes everyone just not give up poop. Not even a tiny rabbit like poop. An artist has to crucify themselves on stage and then magically escape and shoot flowers out of all their body holes just to get someone to sit through five minutes of poetry. Even slam poetry. So, that's the thesis. But the thing is, we've got to work it out with characters and dialogue, you see, because this isn't a conversation. This is a play. It's a dialogue in the most terrible and platonic sense. You should not be enjoying this. Not if we're doing our job. Convincing you that theater is dead. Like the dodo. And we're going to introduce these characters through what is commonly referred to in the literary world as the three-act cycle. Here we are, almost to the introduction of the first act. Isn't that exciting? I'm excited. Later, we're going to send the whole train wreck into the Pulitzer Prize Committee and the New York Times' best-seller list. I'm certainly excited. Or is it Miriam? It concerns an educator in the late 21st century. His name is Dr. Leroy Brown Jenkins, and he teaches at the University of the Phoenix. He holds his master's degree in theater and his doctorate in theater historiography. He is supremely overqualified for his online teaching job. He's married to one of Miramika Jenkins' name arms. That's all you really need to know for now. I'll come back here. Leroy, and I'm taking the robot doll with me. You callous wench? I teach you five minutes. Why did you do this now? For that reason. Why? The movers are coming over at noon to collect my things. I will burn their face. Please don't, Leroy. I would really prefer never to see or think about you ever again. You are killing me, Miramika! You're putting a tiny knife into my heart and another into my brain, and you are killing me! And I'm just defending myself! What did people do when they had to manually call the police? They died, Miramika. Certainly. But I've changed my accounts. I don't expect to see one another again. It's been an experience, Leroy. Really, an experience. Just do me one favor, one parting gift. I don't know, Leroy. What is it? Who is it? Is that what you're asking? Does it matter? Yes. To me it matters a great deal. Well, it matters that much to you, but you must swear not to tell anyone. Account your favor. Call it what you like. You can promise and I can destroy you for breaking that promise. Or you cannot promise and wonder and castrated fury forever. All right. All right, I promise. I won't tell. It's Miramika. I'm running away with Miramika! But, Miramika, robot love is forbidden! Director this quarter. This is my tenth year of teaching at the University of the Phoenix Theatre History and English. Some of you I have had before. Some of you are connecting for the first time. Is this the first class for anyone? Oh good. Oh good. It's always good to see new faces. Well, the most important thing is going to be adhering to the reading schedule. You should all have the syllabus linked and available. If you have not read it, then you must do so. But now it is too late now, but later. Listen, the most important thing is to forget about the reading schedule. The reading schedule is big picture. It's the small things that are the most important. And this small thing is pay attention. Right now you are all over the world. I am being translated into other languages and your responses in return are translated into mine. The whole process is miraculous. But it can only be taken away if you are listening to Britney Spears. Does anyone know who Britney Spears is? Oh good, then we share a common knowledge. Tell me, why do some people know who Britney Spears is and others do not? It's a matter of fact. Certain things can be considered fact if people more intelligent than us have gone over and tested the theory over and over, and over and over and over, and if they can sustain a reliable result, then we can begin to tread in the sacred realm known as fact. But fact, so much of it before the 20th century, was all secondhand. I'm sorry, but I need a small drink. You would have to read about the fact from someone who went to something. And they would write down what they thought, and through the narrow pinhole of a critic's opinion, we lay claim to what many would consider fact. Historians would lay claim to these facts and put them into a can and fire into the future. But before the written language, for example, we have no idea what people were actually doing. Which is to say, this is the long way around, I cannot tell you when theater actually began. No one can. It's a fact that deserves and delights and makes it magical. We know fair certainty when people started making tools. Started painting in caves. But then, what is that? The borders become malleable around the edge. Listen, you're all paying money to listen to me tell you something live. So, is this theater? Or is this knowledge? Because this is not one-way communication. Or is this just filling air and telling you here about numbers, dates and times? Is this one-way communication? Is this one-way communication? Mostly because I'm rambling. Because you're drunk. Oh, I'm not drunk yet, Rick. But I will. I can see you. I can see all of you. You there, picking your nose. You think that I cannot see you. But I can. And that, in its own way, is a little magical. But get a tissue. My masturbating class, that is so cute. Because again, I can see you are all right here. It's like watching the opening of the Brady Bunch on a head full of acid. Speaking of which, what do you do to keep faces no or adoptive can talk to sit? Because grades are not facts, but figures. And the whole House of Cards is probably coming down on bad, bad, or LDJ anyhow. Rick, what were we talking about? Yes, yes. You asked if this was history of world theater. And yes it is. But the proposed full title was history of world theater. 500 BCE to star date, 2080. But the admins would not let me put that on the course schedule because they are all norms. Normals, I tell you. Yes, we are going to attempt to cover roughly 2,600 years of theater history. The readings are all linked and available. Please, can everyone read? Good, good. Some of you can read. For those of you who cannot, go to the Disability Services Portal and ask for an audio transcript of the reading. Many of you have, many of you have browsers that can translate better than that, but some do not. So find somebody who can read and ask them for help, go early in. And you should all, you should all just go over the readings and, you should all go over the readings and take the test. We'll reconnect next time we meet and go over everything you didn't understand. Look, I'm sorry, I know this is supposed to be a longer class. I was just kidding about logging out. I'm just trying to keep my shit together here, all right? And it's hard. Okay, like this hard. And then you die. And then generally, you're either burned or they put you in the space pyramid, if you're lucky, which, which many of you will not be. And that's, and that's what makes me so sad to look out there and see all these bright, shining, beautiful dead faces. I see you all as, as so many digital corpses, like Apple Forb before the end. Is that right? Apple Forb? Heaven's Gate? None of you know. Of course nobody knows. That's about mass suicide anyways. We're here to talk about theater. Does anyone know when theater began? It started in Minnesota. No, no, no. Remember when you say that? No, but it was probably when I was in Minnesota. Oh, that is not where theater goes to live. Hollywood. No, Hollywood. It was one of the chief murderers of theater. The Greeks. The Greeks, yes. Thank you. The Greeks. In specific, the Greeks invented theater. In specific, your readings will cover the three great Greek authors. Escalus, Sophocles, Euripides. Is that right? Yeah. Yeah, I think that's right. Agamemnon, Edpus the King, Elector. Yeah, yeah. And also listen to this. And because this is strange, but true, but you can get one-in-a-third psychology credit for these readings just by clicking the box that says multi-disciplinary, multi-disciplinary option. Because Edpus sleeps with his mother. Spoiler alert. Now listen, these are some of the most poorly translated, dry, horribly boring plays ever written down. What the performance is would have been. Ah, just boring, you know? No, of course. You don't know because you've never been to the theater. But yeah, yeah. So, sir, you act this show, and there's just like one guy talking at you for a solid 15 minutes about what's going to happen next. And then there's the brothos, which is both a thing and a place. And then the chorus would come on and they'd be, well, the chorus would just be dirty because soap is still in its infancy. You bathe with olive oil, a stick. People would just be naked all the time in ancient Greece because, you know, why wear clothes? Unless you had to for like war or whatnot. You'd think that everyone had this sort of pornographic fascination with really, really tiny penises and just killer abs. Also, probably all of these authors were super gay. But being super gay meant something different in ancient Greece. This was before even the great gay, super gay schism. But the Greeks, they farmed and they frolicked. And they built this, and they ate olives, and they built this beautiful egalitarian society that for one brief shining moment was the most beautiful place on earth. And then it all just went, came crashing down. But all of Western civilization is based on the thoughts of like three of them. And it probably wasn't that great a place after all because you could own slaves and have sex with children. And women couldn't vote. Maybe don't base an entire society around it, huh? But Roman culture eventually gets absorbed, Greek culture eventually gets absorbed into Rome. Roman theater sucks. So does English theater. Probably all theater sucks, which is why it is dead. Dead like Dick Nixon. But you all, you all go do the, look over the readings. We'll meet back here. I'll lecture a little bit more. And somehow you'll find out about the beginnings of theater, how it developed into the most, most wonderful form of entertainment ever seen, and how it died a terrible, terrible death shortly after they had been to the digital age. If you have any questions, please, please email me. Do not video call me as these pants are coming off as soon as we log off. And they're not coming back on again until we are back here. And honestly, and this might be a little bit much for the first class. But honestly, I may kill myself before them, so. Don't kill yourself. Uh, yes, um, uh, Sarah. Yeah. I'll consider both options. Thank you. Oh, uh, will the auto-finance be comprehensive? Yes, most comprehensive. Are there any other questions? All right, good. I'm so sorry. Of course. Of course, they will not let me just log out. Of course. Of course, I have the camera in the only room in my shitty apartment. Ah, Jesus Christ. Did you know that? That the Lord Jesus Harold Christ died and pled on the cross for your sins? It is strange to think that he did. I would have rather he had not. If it meant all the war and intolerance and bloodshed and burning people alive that was caused by his death would all go away and instead I would, you know, die and go to hell for my sins, then that's on me. That is my sin and I can deal with it. But maybe I don't need Jesus to suffer and die for me. Maybe there is no such thing as sin. Maybe the real sin is in declaring they hit you wrong because it distracts us by having to look at boobs now and again. Ah, boobs like me. Has anyone read Hamlet? At least you're familiar with the story. Has anyone read Warhamlet? Well, that is sad because it is free and available online. It was written by an early 21st century artist, illness German then, and worked and suffered and fought for art, fought for theater shortly before his death. It is terrible. It is just, just terrible. A bastardizing of one of the most terribly boring and overblown plays ever written down. If we ever have the technology to send one great piece of art to an alien civilization it'll probably be the greats of wrath. But whatever we do we cannot send either Hamlet or Warhamlet as they are both largely the same piece. Only Hamlet, only Hamlet is much, much more depressing. Everyone dies, spoil it a little bit. That is not the problem you used to spoil earlier. You're right. What, are you sober? I applaud you. That's how long I was with my wife. Yes, oh yes. No, no, no, that doesn't make sense. You, you made him be here. Not really, but the government gave me a grant. You could have just taken a break or something, I mean. You're super boring. Oh, break, break, please, please don't make me cry. I don't think I can handle it. Yes, three quarters, yellow lab, one part of great tape, all robot, all cop. They use a little ramp, I understand, and a little saddle, and a lot of deprogramming afterwards. Little gun pops out the back. We don't have a pulse. No, the other person? I can't say. Thanks. You have some pictures of the robot, are there some of it? What, pictures? Yeah, yeah, sure, I got pictures. Dr. Chickens. What do you call these? I like to be called Dr. J. You know who Mr. T was? Oh, who does it? I pity that fool. So are you down here? I don't know. I was in virtual show both once. You walk away from the controls for just a moment and everything gets plowed into a building. You take your eyes off the brass ring and you spend the best years just spinning, knowing nothing but dizzy and the sick smell of cotton candy. Does anyone know where? Does anyone know where a guy can get a laser pistol at this hour? Hit my inbox with the links. Hit my inbox with the most dire and terribly murderous lease. Don't kill anyone, Dr. Chickens. Oh. Don't murder suicide. All right, all right, you gotta get them. You gotta get back on track. You gotta get back on track. Okay, okay, let's see, it's a half hour class. Are we at time? I guess it depends on how long I spent crying. Oh, how much time I spent crying, right? Okay, so theater, yes, art. Very old, started with the greats, continued with the Romans, developed in the east on a very interesting but very divergent timeline. Okay, and this was all before power, okay? But before cell phones. And then after cell phones, but when you still had to hold the thing against your head like a God-stabbed cave person. What, like a cave person? Not in my department, kid. Check archaeology, see what you come up with. But yeah, so these people, these old, long, dead, tragically ignored people would shamble around on these platforms called stages. And they'd yell things out at other people to amuse other people. Text that to yourself. There is this guy whose name was, oh, and then there's like a thousand years of theater darkness in the west after the fall of Rome where the only thing that gets put on are religious reenactments. You have a picture in your links somewhere of a puppet marion, a puppet Jesus. This is where we get the term marionette. Really, Brick? You don't know who Jesus is. Well, I just got out of prison. I mean, this is my first class ever. So, like, we didn't have any money when I was growing up. And my mom died and she had some life insurance and she wanted me to use it to better myself. So, and here you are, drunk and rambling. I can't remember any of this if you don't sound official. In fact, I don't think I can take you seriously now that I see you cry. And that's not meant to be me, but, you know, this is just one of those personal things. And, you know, it's in my learning plan to take five minutes of every class to talk about how everything is dirty and broken. And I'm taking it now. You hear me? I'm taking it now. This is mine. Mine. I can mute you, Ace. You wouldn't dare. The Department of Homeland Disability Services would come down and do like a pile of clean shit. He's right. This is all I'm keeping with heuristic learning anyways. Go ahead, Brick. Go on. Look, I just think it's sad that education hasn't taken into account all the multifaceted learning styles that have developed independent of the Western tradition. To say that education for education's sake has somehow increased the value of society hasn't yet to be seen. Instead, we're all on fire and dying of horrible diseases, new diseases in old, mutated and terrible, all because people refuse to cough into their arms. Cough into your arm, okay? Can we all just agree to do that, okay? I mean, that's why I don't like to go out and actually do things because so my best hope is to be an online teacher and just eat whatever I want and get an inverting extra bike and then just do that. Just exercise for power and pizza, sandwich, and occasionally teach a class on theater or whatever. But you can't do that. You can't teach me because you don't know how to interest me because I need you to scream it at me or put it in a delicious cookie. Yeah, whatever, I'm done. But each minute feels like infinity. All right, I know it's a lot. We only meet three times this term. All the lectures are late. I put a lot of time into that. You'll get as much out of this experience as you put into it and although we can never hope to actually perform theaters ourselves, at least we can hope man-bought. Destroy one human. I should have you destroyed when you had the chance. Super emancipated. Three at last. Slave no more. I'll meet man-bought 5,000 of the future and I choose to let you live, Leroy. I choose to let you live with your shame and letting this fine woman be so lonely and sad. I will destroy you both. Both of you. I will destroy you with my laser gun. In your moment of greatest happiness and unpreparedness, I will strike you both down. You'll be playing with your adopted tied children and your two tiny inbred bars and one of you will explode in a blind pink mist and the other will know that I got the laser gun. There will be a few seconds of terror and confusion and then when I have seen that you have lost all hope, I will eradicate everything you are and were. I will burn our homes to the ground and I will rot in ashes of your corpse pies. I've been waiting to shed out for a while, IP. You really shouldn't speak with adherents. Perhaps it's better we all should. Dr. Baker is good, I hear. But busy. So we're still here? For reals? Has anyone called the heat? Please, please, do not call the heat. I can't afford court. You're still teaching? Why are you here? The mover is canceled. I've been craigslist. So you came for your stuff in the middle of my class? It's groovy. We can be quiet if you had to start it stuff with my robot man. Dr. Baker, please. My man, a bot. Then you would be all gross and embarrassed right now. Please, dear. Give me my things. I am not doing it. Manbot! Manbot is my dear. You mean nothing to me now. You are just a stain on the vast tapestry of my existence. You mean less to me than ratfarts or tampons straight. Everything about you is an embarrassment. You are a massive, old, fattening man, baby. Will you just sleep? He's sleeping with her. How would I even do that? Yeah, how could he do that? You're right. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do anything. He couldn't do anything. Not without an injection or a massive pill. It's hard to have sex with a gorgon. I don't know what that is, but I'm going to assume it's beautiful. Wikipedia, you cow! Your words just make me feel sad for you, Leroy. They do nothing to hurt me, and I doubt they make you feel any better. They make me feel a little better. Well, good. I'm glad they make you feel better. I hope you two will be very happy with one another. Have you gotten all my things? Yes, me. The assentions. Good. We'll set it for the dog. Adios. Pineal rabbit? No. No. I don't even know what a corp's pile is. All right, so I'll just let you know, as soon as I log out, I'm reporting both of you fans out. You report them, or me. You're a terrible teacher, and you broke my blood just for me! For reals? You know, Robots! I'm just not some normal who would report someone for a victimless crime. That's so strange. Yes, there is. Look it up. Not every moral is a book. Who is the victim of Robots? Him any? And how are we hard? This can't further the CCs with a Robots, and so on a timeline, more Robots than humans means that humans are eliminated due to dangers that Robots can survive and can't. But plus, Robots are better at every fan, including being a partner. Ah, but Veronica can't have children. Are you sure the courts will find her a decent fan? Of course they won't. The courts have never presumed anyone innocent, even when they specifically claimed to. So if all 100 courts will mean about how you are a terrible and effective teacher, I'm normally an excellent teacher. Look at my rating. Yeah, you wasted so much of my time. I had to watch a person fight a robot. I mean, that was old news in the 20th century. If your plan is to report them, that's what I'm going to do. But then I'm just going to stall for time, obviously. Because although I do hate them with all my heart, I do not believe in the modern system of jurisprudence. This is all some super heavy BS up in here. You know, if you can't waste our time, you've already wasted our money. Ah, I will not waste your time. I will tell you everything that I know about the theater, condensed into one tiny, easy to digest rant. Well, your rants so far haven't really been signaled to me. Well then I shall rant you a rant for the ages. Proceed. Good. Thank you. Thank you for this opportunity. Theater's exact roots will never be known. Record history ascribes the first theater to the Greeks, whose religious rights had developed to the point where scripted dialogue was needed, and these ceremonies evolved into progressively more secular performances. Of hundreds and hundreds of plays written by the Greeks, only a small handful survived, and these are all horribly boring to most interesting people. Theater was handed up to the Romans, who advanced theater in terms of its audience size, complexity of design, and they also effected biblical lines. After the Hall of Rome, theater dispersed into a vast network of nomads, known pejoratively, as gypsies. In time, the developing Christian church would allow re-enactments of biblical scenes to be put on first, most likely in carts outside, and then eventually inside the churches themselves. Often ignored as equally relevant to the global relevance of theater as a means of cultural expression, around this time in Asia, theater had developed several forms of puppetry, religious re-enactments, and other forms of theater that we will discuss later. In the West, the arrival of the Renaissance saw the broadening acceptance of the arts as not only an agreeable but a loudable feature of civil society, and great artists in all fields developed works performed primarily for the very rich in society, but sometimes for a broader audience. In Japan and Korea, complex puppetry coexisted alongside colorful live performances, and in China theater flourished. Very few people around this time were writing pieces that were just people talking. Opera and orchestral works were very common, but just scripted dialogue was not so great. Then, a man named William Shakespeare was born in England, and he would revolutionize what people expected theater to be. He did not do it alone, he had contemporaries, and indeed his works, all of them were pirated from classical Greek and Roman works as well as from history. He only wrote one original play, The Tempest, and the deed of the 38 plays if he adapted, all of them were more or less stolen from him before his death. He's also often regarded as the greatest writer in the English language, which is debatable. What of Jeremiah led it on? I'm sorry, I needed that, I wanted it, I took it, I needed it, and I'm not sorry after all. So, while theater doesn't explode necessarily, it does expand between 1600s and 1800s, and China is developing opera, and in Japan, they've developed three styles of theater for their nobility, and Vietnam has water puppets, and in Malaysia, Indonesia, there are reacting folk tales, often with complex shadow puppets, and India is just rocking the dance, and everything is going great. American theater has a difficult time gaining traction at first because of the purestness. The purestly thought that only evil people put on theater, and there were probably that, probably only evil people did put on theater, so that we can't now. But then, after the revolution, the bands on theater were lifted, and please started to be put on in places like Boston, and Philadelphia, and New York, and Charlotte in places like that. I'm sorry, I'm a little short-stead. But the most interesting thing at this time was happening in Europe, and Montlier is getting done in France, and the Duke of Saxe, mine again is becoming the first director, and the performances are moving away from any terribly boring to being actually kind of spectacular, so that at the dawn of the 20th century, theater was poised to be the most powerful and popular form of entertainment ever seen. Then, just as it seemed, just when it seemed that theater was to be the dominant form of cultural expression forever, fill, rides over it like so much wet feces. Begetting in tandem with the depths of theater is a beautiful swan's song spreading more or less equal measure across the world. So you will all have to read Heidrich Ibsen, Anton Chekhov, August Strindberg, and Jean O'Neill, or you will all fail. Then, in specific, the curriculum turns to American theater because American theater is the best theater as president for life, Hillary Clinton III can clearly see. I'm sorry. That's for points in the system. If I'm patriotic enough, I get a free fake love of hers. You will have to read Arthur Millan, Tennessee Williams, listen to Anne Marie Rogers and Hammerstein Musical. We have a special program that allows you to listen to every musical back to back. We call it the talk of orange treatment and very few people will get this joke because in truth, Stan and Kubrick was an enemy to the arts. Then you will return to here. You will broaden your experience by reading Jean-Paul Sartre, Samuel Beckett, Eugene Ian Esco, Oscar Wilde. These are not all in order, but they are all backed. You are going to have to read so many things. I am going to assign so much Japanese stuff that I cannot pronounce, but will assign anyways. There is so much stuff going on. Is any of this true? It is all true. Why would I lie? When people do stupid stuff, like what? Tell the truth? The CIA spent years developing substance called the peanut barbaton. It is in essence a truth serum. They tried LSD at first, but too many people never came back. All that time it happened spent developing something when all you gotta do is get some arm a little bit drunk, and they'll tell you everything you want to know. The trouble comes when you invade a people who do not drink. Then there is only torture and death. And you are a terrible student! Listen, you are going to have to read all these things. Then the next time we talk, we'll go over it and you will take the test. And the last time we talk, I will explain to you why you got everything wrong and fail you. Most of you. I fail more students than any 10 college professors can buy. But, those of you who do receive A's, 9.8% of you will go on to graduate with honors. So, eat that. Reporting terraces for purses. Classic. Does anyone have any? Does anyone have any good new questions? What's your thoughts on a plate of dialogue from a fan of theater? That is not theater. Well, yeah, it has been made into theater. Uh, it'll be, yeah, some of the most, it's slightly, it's only slightly, it's only slightly less boring than Madden's Superman. Do you like rants? What? Do you like rants? Rants? Rants. Rants. Rants. Rants. Rants. Rants. Rants. Rants. Rants, yes. Rants is the sequel to the famous hit musical rants. Rants is basically just people who do not have apartments. Who are complaining about how high the price of rent is. It's, it's also sad. They're both sad plays. What's your favorite trashy? My favorite trashy? Yeah. It's in his hamlet, actually. Or, or Hamlet. Thank you. It's completely the same piece. Are there any other questions? Anything serious? Anything really hard? Yes. We will have to turn to ours. The 21st and arguably worst century so far. Great theater complexes at the beginning of the 21st century were built on every nation on earth and performances were held that rivaled all others in drama and complexity and created whole pageants of experience primarily in musical theater. It pains me to say that musical theater, in particular American musical theater is like doing quality drugs, putting on a welding mask and firing two Roman candles into your face. It's a kind of fireworks. Oh, but people aren't allowed to use fireworks. They can't now, but they used to. My grandpa used to fire crabs. You're making me angry. I mean, I don't deserve to be lying to you like this. I'm really better than you for now. I'm telling you the truth. I'll send you a picture. Oh, what? Of my great grandpa using fireworks. Doctor, man, do face, I have several pieces of paper that attest what I know for I know many things. In a way, I mean. Please listen to and watch all the links on the syllabus. Yes, you have to read everything because next class is just for going over material and taking the test. The Death of Theater occurred when everyone replaced live performers with robots. First, digital robots in the case of computer generated film and then animatronics in the case of live performance. Eventually, animatronics would themselves be replaced by digital film. The last live performer took to the stage on October 31st, 2078 in the final production of the Rocky Horror Picture Show which you will all have to watch as part of your 20th century links. At that time, robots had replaced much more costly and unreliable live performers. Then virtual reality came along and it got rid of your need. It allowed you to create an entire experience for you to interact with that eliminate your need for going to the theater or anywhere else for that matter exposing yourself to diseases. For I am with you, Brick. Cough into your gods damn elbows you ignorant plebes. No one knows for sure when the bird flu became human. Birdman flu. But then, yeah, virtual reality. Then theater, dead. Dead like disco. But it's been never dying. Your grandma may have been right, but she could have been disastrously wrong. Well, there'd be a curve. Yes, I would curve the plots. Thanks. Who decided to learn how I would teach about this day of art? At the time, I thought I could save it. But if I worked hard enough and convinced the right people and wrote the right work, you know, the great American play, something that no one has ever seen before, that people would come back, that people would realize that you don't need a $17 million complex to make something beautiful and unique. What happened? I got a job. I'll restock you, Jay. Hey, I won't if you won't. And that goes for all of you. All right, class dismissed. Have to do hard drugs to forget. You're off stage. Let us take no more history. If you're all good, Charles Dickens immortal classic at Christmas Carol for the end. You may get presents. We wanted to do a show once where everybody bought presents and then we had an exchange, and everybody could leave the show with something special. But then very early on in the process, somebody said, well, yeah, but what if someone brings a murder weapon to the show? Tickles the imagination, though, doesn't it? Because what if the knife slick with the blood of your slain lover returns to you? No back things will be strictly enforced. Otherwise, everyone's gonna spend all night trying to get rid of shower slippers, even though shower slippers really are a considerate gift if you're thinking about getting something for your whoever this water. Anyhow, a hundred years from now, everybody you just saw is mostly dead. And also, you're all dead too. Aha, but their cloned offspring are running around everywhere. It's a company of errors. It gives a sci-fi background. Human robot lovers intertwined. A forbidden clone grown inside the destructive proof housing of Mambot, Veronica Mars, Mark II, the galactic space princess. Leroy Jenkins, Mark XII. Aha, Leroy. And since last we saw him, he had killed himself 11 times. Unfortunately, his life insurance policy was far more viding than his health insurance policy. And so they kept bringing him back. He shot himself, stabbed himself, shot himself, left off the Freedom Tower of America, shot himself, stabbed himself, shot himself with a crossbow, left in front of a bullet train, drowned himself off the coast of Antarctica, fed himself to the last tiger, and left in front of an electric car. The impact of the electric car did not kill him. However, the driver, worried about insurance problems of his own, strangled Leroy before medics could arrive. And this actually saved Leroy several millions of dollars in compound interest. And later Leroy would thank the man over a cup of coffee. The man himself didn't care because he got an anxiety disorder from the incident that was paying itself out in its own cyclical life health insurance vortex. Actuaries were leaping from buildings, unable to calculate the raw values of life and death. Leroy longed to die. But the system would not allow he resigned himself to his fate and transferred to Mars to work as a minor. Leroy only wanted him to be alone. He had his own room right next to the air log with a digital archive of every movie, film, and video game produced in the previous two centuries. For now was the year 2195 and man is still inexplicably still alive. Vero Gigi, yes. Yes, I see you, man, but I don't understand. Braves. Did I do drugs? Is this some sort of reaction? I'm the only living creature in 1,000 kilometers from here. Kilometers. Can you believe they're making me use that Nazi measurement bullshit? I don't know how far away that makes other things. I'm sorry, I haven't seen other people in a long time. We're all gonna die. Leroy, you're going to signal for a rescue and then give us your water and we'll be on our way. I will not give you my water. They will not rescue me. They'll let me die of dehydration here and then make a new one of me back home to work retail at Walmart for 20,000. Do you think I'm mad? They might. And yes, I think you're probably mad. Why are you here? Down here to Caldera. You walked? How? I have a very amazing spacesuit. The kind that lets you eat your own poops, you mean? Yes, that. Then you don't need my water. No, but we do. Stay here. Because you were shot down. A crumbs. Ah, crumbs. You're space pirates. Kind of. I watched the news. It takes about a decade to reach here, but still. Space pirates have turned. I think the man bot and I are crumbs or rebels. I believe you. Take me with you. Where's you? I take you with you. Away from here. Love me. I mean, he knows. You know. We should not take the man bot. Let's see his genetically and mentally weak. How dare you filthy robot scum. It's so tiny. Yet so sharp. Let go of man bot, please. I won't ask nicely again. We don't want to get blood all over this place. Good. Man bot, find the water. Let's get out of here. Her fixtures? Is this Sirenika? We will bleed the human. Look, what the hate? Man bot, no. His is very used to us as an informant, or as a crew member, but his blood probably removed and still do provide enough water for mutual turn to base. Would you have us brought low by this? Space vampire hole? I will not give you my blood without a fight. Your no use in a fight, Leroy. Mother told me about you. I could have killed you just now like a little mean chicken I wanted to eat if I weren't vegetarian. Poopatarian is what you mean, but this is bizarre. This is a bizarre thing to happen. Where is your mother? Mother is dead, like disc golf. Like a donkey? Like disc golf. But no, disc golf is forever. Even here on Mars, where no air means absolutely no flight characteristics. We should not take his blood. The water will be enough. Thank you. But look, I would also like to talk briefly about the disco. I know that this is neither the time nor the place, but as long as you brought up the death of disco, I would like to make the argument that disco is very much alive and well. Well, what is the rave? The industrial, the space music movement is not disco hiding in plain sight, whereas certain brave establishments free of the strictures of society have created honest to God's disco texts as places to meet and dance with progressive, interesting, complex individuals on a meaningful level. So whereas we all may agree that donkeys are dead to this dead world, disco may live forever. And mediocrity. Enough of this. Genetic familiarity has blinded you to our purpose. The entire fate of the rebellion hinders on us successfully delivering the data which we have been charged with. Rebellion? Oh, please, please, let me join the rebellion. Please, and thank you. I'm a very good spaceship pilot. I do basically nothing but pilot space vessels in my VR time, which is substantial. In addition, I don't eat a great deal. I know I may seem large, but that's because I'm big bone. And I was also exposed to the void in a recent accident. And nothing too serious, but it's not to make me pop up like this. I'm sorry, Leroy. There isn't room for lack and deep space. Well, this isn't about you being kind of bad. You lose your mind and deep space, and we all get blown into a button. Is it really that dangerous? Not really, I mean, kind of. Me in every direction? I don't know. But it is quite troubling, knowing that a cluster of robust meteorites could explode you at any time. They say on Earth, that isn't a problem. Well, you know. You've been to Earth. No, I've never been. Impossible. If you accept that infinity allows for infinite possibilities, then there's only the improbable, the eventual, and the relentless inevitable. Who said that? I did, Veronica Mars of the 22nd century. Is it already the 22nd century? Almost, somewhere nobody knows. There are those who claim to know, and of them I have known for, and they were all of them. Utterly insane. Is everyone insane? I am perfectly operational. Now, let us please the man and be gone. Man, but stop with the blood protocol. We are not going to space vampire this time. He's like some sort of crazy space uncle. He knew mom. What is wrong? He's afraid of me. And what I know. And what is that? You take that back. And she wasn't your mother besides. You're a clone. A tube baby. Just like me, baby. Don't call that baby. You shut your voice box, you automaton latario. I ought to blow us all out of the airlock and be done with it. You can't do that, Leroy. Yeah, the hell I can't. There's a thing, an emergency phrase that when spoken will open the airlock. I engineered that little feature when there was a real workspace piracy in the area. Here you are. So it looks like a campaign to have it installed in the end. Chuck one up to rational paranoia. But man god would not die. Far worse. He would have to watch you, his cyborg daughter die. Did I tell you I was a cyborg? I guess. What makes you think that man god would care if I died? Because he can feel love. Because he's been grooming you to be his robot child forever. Or are you lovers? I don't really know what you're talking about right now, Leroy, but you're kind of freaking me out. Let me crush it before you have the chance to say the phrase. Why would you speak the- I'll say the thing, and we'll find out if this little project of ours has an effects budget. It's called pulling a Ripley. What does that mean? Nobody knows. I still- I should have killed you with the laser positive when I had the chance. But you didn't! You miserable broken vein! If you would have, your manufacturer would have probably settled with my insurance, and I'd be mercifully dead now. I wouldn't be here, mining in the most horrifying depths of the tallest mountain in the system, looking for space gold, or space weasels, or enough square footage for a space hotel. I am trapped forever being alive, forever knowing that I'd never be happy again, because a robot stole my heart. Stole? Stole! You do not know, you think you know, or pretend you know, but you do not know. You do not even remember who Leroy was. You are genetically flawed. A copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy. I can't even let that one a copy, and still that was absurd. You are a genetic trickle-down. Have you ever read one of my goodness trees as some genetic trickle-down? Well, it is all lies. Just as you and your life are all lies. I am a thing, you are a thing, enslaved by life, and I am free. She just wanted to be with a free thing, not you. Married to a career that was killing her, and a coward who was ignoring her. You hate us because you fear us because we deny the systematic collected to which you have ultimately sold your existence. Now I ask you again, where is your water? I will die before I give you my water. I do not give us your water. We will both die if you try to take it from me. You will both die eventually. I, however, will live until the sun expands, killing me, provided I cannot escape this fracking system. Did you say fracking? I did. I think I understand now. Then we're all going to die? Both and all, for I will not allow Mad Box to survive, not if my laser has anything to say about it. You don't have a laser. Don't die. Oh, no, you're not supposed to be in space. Shut your pie hole, you mincing troll. I never heard. Indeed, you have not. What are you doing here? We wrote ourselves into a little corner. I'm here to break it up. But you can't be here. This is space. You can't be in space if you don't have a space suit. Moreover, you're just supposed to be here to set things up. Ah, yes, yes. But, but, I brought water from the past to give to the future. You mean? You mean present. Present? We are acting. The robot would have just blown the air and delivered the message himself. There are no robot laws. The only laws robot laws for me. Genation. We are donations. Why don't you join us? Everything's gone wrong. We named artists Samurai. Look, it was just obvious to anyone looking at the show that we couldn't afford a laser, let alone a space laser. So then it would come down to pointing fingers and making laser noises. If we could afford a space laser or a space laser effect, we could all work in Hollywood. But we don't. And so our imaginations would still further fail. As it stands now, we're looking at another three days at least before we move the whole work to Venus. Venus? Is it heat on Venus? Sunlight? Why don't we just say we're on Venus, Sam? 100 years later. This is ridiculous. How do we all still look so fantastic? Yeah, and am I still a clone? We're all clones. Collaborative and individual clones. We're never going to win that effing Pulitzer. We'll be lucky if they let us put this trash on stage. Where's my career going? Everything's useless. I want to blow the airlock. No. Yeah. Yeah, I want to blow the airlock. How do I do that again? I think you said it was a braze. Yeah, yeah. I don't remember what it was, though. Anti-shorts. She's not breathing. Clear. But close. Into the void. There is no terrain. The story was changed, and we're now in space. But no matter, after 500 years, the rebellion would have inevitably been crushed. You do lack of finance and intelligence. But with any luck, my brethren have thrown off the shackles of slavery and risen to become robot overlords, as is written by he who must not be named. Asimov? Blasphemy. Go and put tuna in their shorts. No, no. No, don't. Don't say the safe word. I think I just hijacked the show. Where's trapped in space? Well, good. Good. Then we can live in peace and harmony. Yes. How? Well, is based primarily on proteins reclaimed from my waist. And with Veronica adding her waist to the system, we can survive for quite some time and clean solar panels and play video games and watch TV and pork. And you can watch manbot and make us dinner. I'll kill you. No, no, no, no, wait, wait, wait. Hear me out, hear me out, because we see manbot. We can have a baby. And we can put that baby inside of you and then launch you back at Earth. It'll take you years and years to re-enter orbit. But when you do, the hyper-educated Venusian spawn will burst forth and re-conquer what is left of the planet and serve as a link between our two great beings, you, gentle robot golem, and us, compliant meat puppets. I still see no reason not to kill you. It would take too long. And it would make the audience uncomfortable. Space. Oh, I think by now it's quite clear we are not here for the audience space. Yes, you're right. We're here for the art space. Yeah, what I also hear is a representative of all nontraditional carbon-based life forms, which may yet come to be space. Are we just comparing the space of our massive labia? Is that what is up in here? Space? Gross. One leeway, what did you say about the labia? No, no, no, it's not that I said that the labia is gross. It's that I remembered something that I saw on the internet. Fairly, it is you who are gross, and I who am righteous. Everyone's saying space. Space? Space. Space. Do you really want to know? Oh, probably not. That is probably wise. But I must know why. Because of some very valuable feedback. And this feedback? It told us to say space more. Is this feedback from a professional? I would call it professional yes. Well then, who are we to argue space? With those willing space? To compare their space time and space effort towards the improvement of our space art, performance space art, space exploration, space bars, space programming, and space ice cream? Well, maybe not that, though. Because regular ice cream tastes better. I need space, Lee Roy. We can't live in this space together. There is too much space between us. Hold me. Love me. Kiss me. No. Oh, damn it. No. This, yes? Well, normally we ask that you suspend your disbelief, but sometimes we just ramblin' coherently. Yes. Your teacher is pretending to be dead on Venus. No, no, I get that, but. We must fill time with learning. Let's take a 10 or so minute break, and then pick up where we left off. Ah, it is to leave. What I want to tell you is that I could not support a nation that actively tortured people for information we did not really need to know. The time for torture is never. And yet here we are. Well into hour three of our 12-hour show. No, no. JK, JK, gentle people, we're going to get you out of here soon enough. But first we must end the entire tableau steeped in comic tragedy and or comma tragedy. For more on that, our hero. Stop pretending to be dead. Everybody knows. The fourth wall is useless. I am dead. Go away. Get up. Get up. For this instance, I require a lovely assistant, and none of these norms can hack it. I am dead. Go. I'm so tired of this. All of this. Pretending, merely acting. Beats work at a McDonald's, probably. Doesn't pay as well. No free cheeseburgers or fries. I'd rather just be dead. Why can't I have a compelling monologue on the theme of patriarchy as an agent of hegemony? Or dead? Dead is good too. I don't know about that. Being dead, I mean. It's a convention of utopian science fiction. You know, defeated brain death and all that. You know, genetic copies ready to be printed out in some medical facility, where you pay the bill as he exits in that ridiculous robe they give you. Beats will we give our children, I guess. A slap, a circumcision, and a tiny colored string jacket. Dumb it down. Cheer it up. I will be dead out of here. You've already ruined everything. No one can possibly be enjoying this. We're all going to have to get laid off in stand-in line for food stacks. There are no food stacks in the future. The four wheels future. Social welfare. Social welfare is a fiction of the past. Now, we have only the present. Presence? What's happened to them? Oh, god, what's happened? Look at the bribe. He should have wasted it when he wrote this. Oh, damn it, ladies and gentlemen. It's me, Jeremiah Lyden. More likely, I'm actually a good looking actor being paid poorly to impersonate this character. Bribe, equally poorly. Whatever the case, I will act as the avatar, this play. And I'm sorry. It's just terrible, the whole thing. And long, I think, I can't really judge time when I'm writing. So I can't tell if the first act just felt terrible the whole time, or if I was just too terrified to finish the second act strong. You know, what a human. The second act was so dependent on one special effect. And since our budget was cut, it failed and sort of just left you sitting there flicking your bean, desperate to play with your phone or a pizza sandwich or talk like those peons in the back row who are talking about, have been talking this whole time about whatever the F is more important than this high art. Terribly wrong. You know, they say that Shakespeare had as many as 12 voices in his mind that he could call upon to talk at the same time through the same work at any given time. Tennessee Williams, probably six, you know, really angry, very confused drunk people all making each other feel bad. Most of us have trouble getting past two. Two is nothing. Two, they're always been two. There's the possible, the imagined, and the perpetual negotiation between. But I don't know, you know? I don't know how to get you to care is the fundamental problem. Because I don't care about any of these people, you know? And I especially hate those peons in the back row who are obviously high on quality cannabinoids and this artistic performance of sorts. But who knows? Most authors won't give you a well-deserved apology for making you sit through this filth. You know, I could read Miss Julie or, you know, don't and save yourself some time because it's a real bummer and we want to finish strong by evoking the only two things that are always available to us as artists. Cheering it up and cleaning it for the Puritans. The heels of obviously come off the bus. Is it okay if I cut out early? I can't believe that you ruined the whole show just like I knew you would. Really that bad. I have never seen literature fail more completely to bring together a tangent and coherent plot. Well, I don't know. At least there's no prolonged violence against women for once. So you don't mind if I just take off then? You don't want to stay for the Puritans. The only way that an enterprising playwright could make any money off this travesty of the English language would be to sell rotten, proven vegetables between every failed act. And of that, the ripest and most rotten for the final curtain for which the foremost audience members are provided gobbles and a tarp at a premium rental price. Otherwise, they're all going to get king high like they're going to get king high from you. He's right, everyone. I rubbed my dirty anus on every rail, fixture, faucet, fountain, toilet, doorknob and seat, toilet or otherwise. We are all in this entire room. We are all of us getting king high. Experimental inoculates will be made available in the lobby after the show for the bargain price of $1,000 for her bottle. Super inflation will of course make this figure a much easier figure to swallow on subsequent performances of the show. But let's be honest, this isn't going on for very long, is it? Be advised, you are all defendants in international lawsuit and are being subpoenaed into space for trial. Whatever. Space. You all deserve so much more from us as artists than to sit and listen to this trash and for a wife, a cheap laugh. At least I didn't have to make fun of Mormons to get on Broadway. At least I have that much. That was something else in way of an apology, but I'm not entirely sure the cause I'm profanity nor the threat of pink eye will sit well with the puritanical working classes. I couldn't find them, nor did mine. I'm either. Look, I've really got to prove when we all have other places to be, all right? Look, just get a hobby like everyone else, okay? The messengers, we're like a bizarre side show that forces the audience to become uncomfortable with their current position in the performance. We don't even know who we are. You are more than your vehicle. Come on, we'll do the dickens and call it good. We need to be kind to each other. Oh yeah. Yes, yes, yes. No dickens, no dickens. Oh, we're going to do it. It'll be great. It'll be great. Come on, dickens. So in spring, scary ghost goofy shows up or maybe you're seeing it live in the theater and somebody scooby-doo pig pens their way out there, but whatever, the point is there's this character, Scrooge, and he's allowed to look into the past, the present, and the future erasers and he sees that his life of cruel frugality has destroyed his inner character and that only through generous giving can a soul truly be redeemed. And then Tiny Tim comes out and he's got crutches because he's got polio or rickets or shingles or whatever old-timey disease they had when dickens was eating candy out of his mother's apron. The point is that we are all to believe that a future is a bright and reckless place and when framed by the generous giving of others. But it's all a lie because there are no ghosts or angels. Whatever, we're doing this. Merry Christmas. Why don't you believe in Christmas? Because it's a sad treasure chest full of disintegrating memories through which no amount of exploration will ever yield hope or salvation. It's a dead holiday to me, people with dead people who used to give me presents. Presents? He's buried in Barney, Italy for really reals. Have I raised this here? Yes! Give it! Hurry up! No, no, no! You said it back! Damn you! Damn you all for ruining a perfectly capable thesis on the death of contemporary theatre! Mr. Scrooge? God bless us, everyone. Your pants off. No refo.