 He's great. He's doing that. It's only there. It's not at the station. Very rare to see him. He does that all the time. Is that all? No. Not bad. It's a short time. I can pass. But it's this one. I don't know. It's not like that. All right. Well, they do it once a week. And the impact comes out in just part of it. It's not like that. It's not like that. It's not like that. It's not like that. It's not like that. It's not like that. It's not like that. So this was just a short video that I did last week. We are so glad to have you here. Thank you so much for coming. Your participation is a really, really valuable part. So thanks for being here. While I say thank you, let me also say thanks to a couple other people who will come. Let me say thanks to the Tennessee Rep staff that created this, which is awesome for our readings, as well as for the intern showcase. And I also want to say thank you to NPT for their help, and especially their help with what we're doing tonight. You know, we're actually on the interweb. We're going to be streaming live with New Play TV, and they've been a big help with that. So we say hi to all the folks in the Internet. Also, I want to say thanks to National Arts Magazine, and of course the most important person to thank is the person without whom we wouldn't be here tonight. She, someone who believes in new work for the theater, she puts her money where her mouth is. So a big thank you to Martha Ingram for sponsoring. Just want to know if you really need a sugar fix, all the concessions, proceeds go to support our programming. And of course, if you're not a subscriber already, we hope that you will consider becoming one. There's really exciting news about our season next year. If you haven't heard, The Columnist by David Auburn, which got its start in the New Works Festival a couple of years ago, running in New York right now. We've just gotten a special release to get the rights to that place next season. So we're very pleased and proud that we'll get to be the first regional theater, get those rights. And looking forward to putting it on our stage. If you got to hear the reading a couple of years ago, I bet you're excited too. So, you know, tell everybody, buy a subscription, come and see it. Here's where I ask you to check your cell phones and make sure, if you will, please that they are silenced and or turned off. We just really wouldn't help the reading that much. Thank you for doing that. All right. Now I'm going to introduce to you my artistic associate. She is someone who helps me with every branch of artistic programming that Tessie Rep does and her specific duty relative to the New Works program is to be the director of the New Works Lab. So I'm going to get her to talk a little bit about what that process has been for us. Hi, Lauren Shaw. Thank you so much for being here. I just want to share with you a little bit about what the playwrights including Michael Erickson has been a part of since September. We have been meeting about once a month with four playwrights who have come to us locally and regionally. They've been working on developing these new plays that we're experiencing here. Some of the plays started out in first draft. Some of them started out as an idea. And we got together as five people in a room and kind of put our heads together and asked those tough questions of the play. Then we brought professional actors into that process as they went along. Then we brought our fellow nationally-renowned playwright, Stephen Dietz, in for a week. And he had the opportunity to meet the playwrights one-on-one and really give them some useful feedback and professional advice. And then we moved on into sort of a rehearsal process. So each of these plays has had three rehearsals and with the director, who Renee directed this one tonight. So I'm going to bring her back up in just a minute. But now we're at this point in the festival where you guys come in. It's really important in the development of a new work to hear what our audience is receiving from these plays. And so we will ask you to stick around for a talk back afterwards to hear what you're receiving. And now I'm going to turn it back over to Renee to set up Michael's play for you. Yes, thank you. All I have to say really is it's been a great pleasure to work on this play. If you're not familiar with the stage reading construct, just let me remind you we've had three rehearsals. The actors will of course be carrying their scripts. And usually we try to get away with reading as little bit of the stage directions as possible. But sometimes you have to know things, know what's going on. So any of those kinds of stage directions, we also have those read aloud as well. This play is one that will make itself known to you in terms of I don't have to discuss the time and place or anything, but you'll have to hang on that as soon as you get started, I'm sure. And I look forward to talking to you after the show. There will be one 10-minute intermission between first and second act. So get back and enjoy. Honor Students. Honor Students by Michael Erickson. Scene. In the dark, the sound of rain. Naomi Orozco Wallace appears in a cool bright light. She's a brisk, confident, if somewhat guarded teacher of creative writing at a small college. She's a petite woman who dresses with a hip downtown sensibility that gives her an aura of talent and rebelliousness. To most people she seems much taller than she is. Her collection of short stories led the New Yorker to dub her one of the 20 most promising writers under 40 in the U.S. But that was years ago. Her next book or novel has stalled and rewrites. It's rained for days. A cold, relentless rain that creeps into everything. Our classroom is damp, warm, too warm for the sleep to cry. Condensation fogs the windows. There's a none too pleasant smell in the room. It's the post midterm funk that settles over a small college in late October. I'm leading a creative writing workshop. Student Ginger Kanabi is reading a very heartfelt story in a weak, trembling voice. Her adolescent character, a thinly veiled version of herself, is confronting some life-changing event in the passive voice. I'm straining to listen, but my mind is not in attendance today. It's briefly in bed with my lover, then tumbling over some sticky phrase in my novel, or saying the goodbye I never said to my father. If I'd been there at the end, what would I have said? Play the scene over and over. The room has grown definitely quiet. It's an uncertain moment. Is the story over? Was that it? Ginger stares at me expectantly. She blinks several times and bites her lower lip. A few students shake themselves from their narcotics stupors. A dark-haired girl yawns and stretches luxuriously. Two weedy-looking boys watch her with mild interest. I say, good luck to comment on Ginger's story. Anybody? Anybody? Silence. Blank expressions. I've brought a few students into speaking. I get a few okays and I liked it fine. Nothing specific. Big generalities. The condemnation of polite indifference. Ginger snuffles, fighting back tears. There is no escape from the humiliation of the failed story. I know. My heart aches for her. I want to protect her. To put my arm around her, tell her to go back to her dorm room, have a good cry, then sit down and start writing again. Nice effort, I say. Some really nice moments here, I add, by way of a pat on the back. Nice work. Ginger bows over her neatly typed story and smiles. I'll read the story again, I promise myself. Wider some helpful comments. Invite her over for tea. The rain stops. Then the quiet boy with the intense blue eyes begins to read his story. And suddenly, I'm wide awake. Jason appears in a warm light on the darkened stage. He is a good looking young man, clean shaven and well dressed. It's raining and I'm late. They've already begun when I slip into class. They are reading. Their heads bent over as if in a last prayer. I gently close the door and stand still. A very serious, very thin girl with frizzy red hair is reading aloud. It's a coming of age story. It's about the death of a pet turtle. It's a very important story and she reads it as if it was a very important story. She's pressed over her pages gulping air at the end of each sentence. I can see her ribs pressing against her thin cotton sweater. She reads with a slight lisp. I'd like to kiss that lisp. I feel its caterpillar tickle on my lips. I remain immobile, invisible to them like I've always been. I shift my weight. My socks are wet from my run from the bus stop. I slip my heavy black backpack off my shoulder and ease it to the floor. I wait. Still nothing. No one notices as I lift the glock to the head of the nearest boy. Do I like him or not? I can't remember. I can't remember. His head explodes and his body drops instantly. The shot momentarily paralyzes everyone in the small room. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. Time stands still. There's a smell of urine and burnt leaves. Then I can hear screaming, chairs falling, but it's all far away. A frat boy starts for the door and I fire. He swats wildly at the air as if shooing away wasps. Two shots miss, but a third lifts and briefly pins him to the dry erase board. Here's your lesson for today. I step over the professor. She's in a fetal crouch, hands slayed over the back of her head. I turn to the ginger girl with the cute list. There's a flicker of recognition. Scene, the college office of Professor Naomi Orozco Wallace. Two chairs, a desk. Naomi and Jason sit across from each other. Jason, can you tell me why you wrote this? You said we were to write a story for the class. I mean, this particular story. The subject matter. Oh, I don't know. You don't know? I mean, where do your ideas come from? Who knows? Uh-huh. And do you think this is an appropriate topic for a creative writing class? I can't say what's appropriate or not. Really? I'm just a student. You don't think this is inappropriate? I write whatever comes to me. But you can see why some people might find this upsetting? I could tell there were some people in the class who didn't like my story. Didn't like? Yeah, I could tell right away. They never like anything I write for them. I don't think that's the case. They just don't like me. No, Jason. My work. I really don't see that. At all. Oh, my bad. Sorry. Did you write this to get back at some class members? Why would I do that? It's not personal what we do in the writing workshop. Uh-huh. It's about the work. Got it. I don't think anyone has a personal motive for their comments in class. Do we know that? It's not personal. So you're saying I'm not a good writer? No, not at all. It's okay. I don't expect everyone to like my work. It's not a matter of liking or not liking your work. This is beyond that. The story you wrote, it's disturbing, shocking. Oh, then that's good? Yes. I mean, no. You said it was good to get the reader's attention right away. Yes. To control the narrative. Look, Jason, you can't yell fire in a theater. I didn't do that. You might as well have. Your characters, your descriptions of your characters are remarkably similar to students in our class. They are? Weren't you aware of that? The girl with red hair sounds like... I don't think about my process too much. I feel it diminishes the spontaneity of the work. She picks up the manuscript. A white male student who sounds very much like you angry at criticism he's gotten in a writing class comes to class with a gun and kills the female teacher who sounds very much like me. He then proceeds to humiliate and torture his classmates one by one reserving the most degrading humiliations for the female members of the class. There's way more to it than that. But you can see how this might upset some people. The story you wrote was very upsetting. But that's not what I wrote. I'm sorry? You're denying you wrote this? Yes. No, I did. But you're making it sound like I'm some sort of... But you did write this. You didn't even let me finish reading it in class. I suggested it would be best not to continue. You stopped me. You made me stop. I couldn't let you... You made it out to sound like I'm a... I couldn't let you read something like this. There are reasons why the guy does what he does. What reason can there be for mass murder? It was supposed to be a joke. Like a Tarantino movie. A joke? Did you hear anyone laughing? That's because you didn't let me finish. It all gets explained in the end. I read the end. Everyone's dead. There's nothing funny about it. I guess we'll just disagree on that. It's an aesthetic. An aesthetic? No one was laughing. No one. Not after they see the teacher react so negatively. No. I'm just trying to protect the students in the class. From what? Daring prose? Art? An authentic voice? No. From being terrified. Everybody else gets to read their stories no matter how lousy they are. And we all have to sit there and listen. How about the girl who wrote the story about the turtle funeral? She could have bored us all to death. You didn't censor her. No one else wrote about forcing a young woman to perform palatio on a lunatic who's just committed mass murder. Are you saying stuff like that doesn't happen? You ever see the Sopranos? The usual suspects? I think you're confusing fiction with life. I thought we were creating fiction from life. I'm not going to play this game with you. What game? Oh please. I'm sorry. Right. Play the innocent. You knew exactly what you were doing when you brought that story into class. What? You wanted to provoke. You wanted to scare. You wanted to get a reaction. I know what I wanted. You wanted us sitting there terrified of you, wondering what kind of person would do this, wondering if you could do this to us. That's a big assumption, Mr. Roscoe Wallace. I saw your face as you were reading this. You enjoyed it. It made you feel powerful. You wanted us to be afraid. You got off on it, didn't you? No, I swear I didn't. And you knew very well what was going through our minds. I'm not a mind reader. Similar attacks, campus shootings like at Virginia Tech? What? No, I'm going for a certain stylistic aesthetic impact. I consider myself a kind of performance artist. A fiction provocateur. Okay, what? I'm exploring boundary situations. No, what nonsense. You can't say that. You don't know. I think about stories all the time. It's like I'm constantly writing stories in my head. I'm sure you do too. Daydreaming, the what if, that's what we do, isn't it? We? Jason, you had to have known what you were doing. I know what I was doing. You read a story about killing and raping students in a class very similar to the class you're reading it to. I think I know what was in your mind. It's fiction. Fiction. I thought we were supposed to be writing fiction. This isn't fiction. It's just a story. It's made up fiction. A death threat isn't a work of fiction. Whoa. A death threat? You're reading way too much into this. This is a threat. I know it. You know it. It's bullying, terrorizing for whatever sick, twisted thing you have going on. Sick? Twisted? You've just totally judged me. You see one different piece of work, fiction, art, and you've totally labeled me. Art, please. I wasn't completely sure before, but now I am. You read this to intimidate us. How many times do I have to tell you no? It's just a story. I'm sorry if you didn't like it. I'll write something else next time. Next time? There is no next time. You can't kick me out of class. I'll lose my financial aid. That's not my problem. I need these credits. Why are you punishing me like this? You know, as you were reading this in class, I must admit I was scared. Really scared. Like everybody else terrified. My first impulse was to say nothing. To just let you do this thing. To just get past it, deal with it later. But then I saw you smile. Smile? You gave it away. You knew very well what you were doing. You got a chill, lady. You were smirking. You gave it away. And I thought, if I don't stop this now, you'll get away with it. You'll have the power. I'm not going to sit here and pretend this isn't happening just because I'm scared of you. Scared you'll come back and kill us. This stops now. Hey, hey, hey. I can't be responsible, held responsible for your imagined threats. Imagined? Okay, you know what? We're done. This is totally wrong. Fine. Totally unjust. Okay, goodbye. I paid for that class. I weren't hard to make the money to pay for it. You can't just throw me out. Oh, you're out. All right. But before you go, you're going to apologize to the class. Apologize? Yeah. You can't make me do that. You'll be sorry you did. Scene, the dean's office. Naomi Paces, while Davis and Mary sit on the couch looking from Jason's story to Naomi. Davis is an academic dean at the college. He's a handsome, trim man a couple years older than Naomi. He looks like the kind of guy who played lacrosse at an Ivy League college, which he did. His suit jacket is off straight from the back of the couch. Try to calm down. Does this mean he's actually going to do something? Wait, wait, Naomi. Wait a minute. Then I'll just get a gun myself. A gun? You are not getting a gun. Why not? He's got one. You don't know that. I don't know that? I don't know that? No, you don't. Oh, he'd like us to think he has. Maybe, maybe not. What do you mean? You don't. No. I don't? No. Where's your proof? It's implied. In the way he talked to me, it's frightening. Did he say, I have a gun? Not directly. Did he say, I am going to hurt you? Of course not. He's too smart. Christ, Naomi. Wait, it's understood. It's there. It's understood. It's in the subtext. The subtext? It's insinuated in the subtext. So, I'm telling the provost I'm expelling a student because of his bad subtext. You don't believe me. Of course I do. You know I do. But you're the dean. Think of something. I said I believe you. But I need something more. But isn't this enough? Maybe. I don't know. Davis. Let me read it first. Well, I'm getting a gun. I'll sleep better. You are not getting a gun. You can't even work a toaster. They say you sleep better knowing you have a gun. That's a great idea. Giving guns to the sleep deprived. I can't sleep on a good day. And now this Jason Kemp thing, I can't sleep at all. I'm standing here, falling apart, and you... Could you just hold me a minute? No, it's not. Naomi. David is seriously creepy. It could be okay. I'll deal with this guy. He scares me. No kidding. Don't worry. I'll hire you. This is not funny. Did I say that it was? You're the dean. Help me. Not this. Not now. I'm sorry. I think I've seen him around my neighborhood. What? Seriously? I don't know. Maybe he lives near. I know. Yeah. Naomi, you need to relax. Tell me about it. Now, I find sex badly relaxing. How about it? Not a good time. Maybe this opens a cabinet. Right. Well then, how about a drink? I'm... Scotch? Sure. Okay. Why not? Good. And on a different subject. A couple of drinks. I know I'm not supposed to ask, but how's the book coming along? No, you're not supposed to ask. You know, maybe some of your tension is strong. I don't want to talk about it. It can't hurt? Yes. It can. The book. You know you need a book for tenure. She takes the offered drink. Already. Alcohol. That always makes everything better. Cheers. Okay. I'll talk about the book. It's a mess. No. It's a hot mess. My editor was fired. They're reconsidering the project. But I rewrite six years of work down the drain. You don't know that. Oh, I know that. You could send it elsewhere. Oh, who publish it? Three editors in my own spinelessness. I've rewritten it into pulp. Even I don't know what it's about anymore. I've done what I tell my students not to do. Work something to death. Oh. And I don't have anything else. Nothing. You drink in silence for a moment. Okay, since we're on awkward subjects. She... Who must not be named. Gets back from DC this weekend. And? I'll tell her. Tell her what? That it's over. Hmm. She knows it's over. To be known. Does she? I know she knows. How could she not? You know she knows. Yes. Are you saying it's understood? It's there? It's understood it's in the subtext? Yes. Okay. It's in the subtext. Goes without saying? Oh, you don't need a medical examiner to call this marriage dead. Dead have been known to come back to life. What's that supposed to mean? You do trust me. Don't you? I don't trust me. Thanks for the drink, Dean Herring. Hey, Professor, where are you going? To my writer's cave. Where I will spin my pain and misery into fictional gold. Stay. Have dinner with me. An affair, a failed book, and a potential student mass murderer. What can I make of all that? Something good, I bet. A bestseller. Naomi. It's going to be okay. Trust me. By next week, this will all be over. Will it? I'll start with this kid, this... Jason Ken tomorrow. Just tell me I'm not crazy. You're not crazy? And you're still going to the Provost Halloween party? Maybe. It'll be fun. I like the idea of being with you in public, and no one knows we're together. It's exciting. My problem is people see right through me. I hope not. Come with some great literary finger. I was thinking of Jane Austen. But maybe Virginia Woolf would be more appropriate. Look for the lady with the rocks in her pockets. Be careful, business. There's something about the student. Forget about him. He'll be gone in no time. I don't know, but he creeps me out. Don't worry. I'll put the fear of God in him. Now, go home. Get some sleep. We need it. I've got a bad feeling about this. I can be very persuasive. As you know. I wonder where we'll be when this is all over. Davis looks at the manuscript in his hands. Seeing the dean's office. Davis and Jason sit opposite each other in comfortable chairs. There's a coffee table between them. Good to meet you, Jason. Would you like some coffee? Thanks. Water? No, thank you. Okay. Well, thanks for coming in on such short notice. Not a problem, sir. But I'd like to hear your side of the story. Uh-huh, sure. I was wondering if you could tell me a little about yourself first. What about me? Yes. Like, where are you from? What are your interests? I'm from Mexico. Mexico? Missouri. Small town. And your family? Dad was a machinist. He died. My mom works in a bakery. I see. And you transferred from a state university? I started there then had to, well, took some time off. My mom thought I'd get a better education at a private school. Smaller classes. It costs more, but she thinks it's worth it. And what do you think? I don't know. It's better, I guess. Do you have friends here? I'm getting to know people. Now, Jason, these are serious allegations. Yes, sir. But Dean Davis, I could say some things, too. Things about what Professor Roscoe Wallace has said in class. What sort of things, as she said? Things about things that make some of us feel uncomfortable in the class. Like, could you give me an example? Things like, no, I don't want to start. This is so janky. Well, okay. Then could we talk about the story that you wrote for class? Sure. Professor Roscoe Wallace says you wrote this story to provoke and humiliate members of your class. It was meant as a sort of a performance. Performance? A performance or not? This is a serious charge, Jason. I know. Regardless of your intent, this is serious. Very serious. I'm sorry she interpreted it that way. She claimed several of your classmates were also frightened by the story. Really? Who? No one said anything to me? Maybe they were too afraid to say something. Have you talked to anyone in the class? Oh, no. I'm guessing. You're guessing? You're guessing? Well, like I say. You weren't there. I know I wasn't there, but Professor Roscoe Wallace was. And now she started this. I suppose it'll all hate me. Jason, I don't think anyone hates you. I'm sorry. This is completely blindsided me. Is this revenge for some perceived injury or slight? What? No. How can you say that? I thought I wrote a strong story. But you can see how a story like this might upset you. I didn't use anybody's names in it, and the descriptions could be anybody. Your teacher says the descriptions are close to students in the class. You've never been in the class. Did you base your characters on some of your classmates? It's fiction. A story. Sometimes people read too much into a story. Jason. Not everything has to mean something. True, but she doesn't know what was in my mind when I wrote that story. She's just making stuff up herself. I'm sorry I interrupted you. Professor Roscoe Wallace says the story is about a young man who walks into a college creative writing class, shoots the teacher, then systematically tortures several of his classmates. She says the victims and the shooter are based on students in the real class you are in. You haven't read it? I have. Yes. I guess I'm still trying to form an opinion of it. What did you think? Very powerful. Living. Well, disturbing. If it was badly written, would it have that impact? If it was boring, would I be sitting here? I'm a philosopher, not an English professor. I'm not the best judge of what constitutes good creative writing. If it was badly written, you could say, well, this guy's a lunatic. Mentally unbalanced. Lock him up, but it's not. Professor Roscoe Wallace said she wanted vivid, active, arresting prose from us. She wanted us to take chances in our writing. I thought I was doing what she wanted. I can't debate the technical or the literary merits of the work. Is this the raving of a homicidal maniac? Or is it a story that tries to get into the mind of a homicidal maniac as he is doing something unspeakable? It's hard to be objective about something like this. It's a subjective thing. As Hagel says. Maybe there's something else going on here. Maybe it's not about me. Maybe it's about some issue Professor Roscoe Wallace has. Why do I have to explain myself? Because no one else wrote a story about killing members of a creative writing class for a creative writing class. That's why. And you really don't seem to understand why some people just might be concerned about that. She didn't say not to write about that particular subject. Jason, please. Well, she didn't. It's not on the syllabus, not in the student handbook. Why not give us a list of approved story topics ahead of time? I don't know what subjects you consider taboo. Why not just be upfront about it? This is supposed to be an educational institution. Tell me what you think I should know. It's not about censorship. We would never censor any student's work. Right. It's about the context. I mean the context. I think Professor Roscoe Wallace feels the context of your story was inappropriate. Oh, the context? So if the story was about a postal worker snapping and going on a killing spree, that would be okay? Possibly. Maybe. I don't know. Now look, Jason. Can you look at a person's writing and predict their future behavior? I mean that's what she's really saying here. You think I could do what I wrote? Do you really think I could kill people? We have a responsibility to the larger community. How about Cormac McCarthy? He wrote The Road and No Country for Old Men. Pretty brutal, violent work. Is he going to start killing people? How about Ann Rice? Isn't Professor Roscoe Wallace afraid Rice will start sucking people's blood? I'm sure she would never think that. How well do you know her? What do you mean? Nothing. Anyway, Professor Roscoe Wallace doesn't seem to think much of white male authors. She pretty much dismissed them all as a pack of sexist, racist homophobes. I find that hard to believe. I think he could be right. I think Cormac McCarthy would be a danger to society if he couldn't write. I think it's his writing that keeps him from going postal. Being able to express himself. Writing. It's how some of us make sense of the world. But why write about killing anybody? Don't we have enough of that? Because it happens. Because we live in a stupid irrational world. Because we live in a world where your dad can go to work one morning and be dead by lunchtime. Shot to death by a disgruntled former employee who came back to the tool and dye plant with a duffel bag full of guns. Shot down with seven others. Even though they had nothing to do with the man's firing. Sorry. He'd actually made it out of the plant. But he went back in to try and warn others. That's when he was shot. Ironic, isn't it? So Dean Herring, are you going to expel me? Jason. I don't think it needs to come to that. I'm glad we have this time. So am I. Davis walks Jason to the door. And I can stay in the creative writing class? Do you want to? This is why I'm here. To write. To make sense of the world. I'll talk to Professor Orozco while I still get back. Sir, I apologize for any misunderstanding I may have caused. Thank you for listening to me. I appreciate that. Thank you. Scene. Naomi and Davis in his office. Naomi wears a long winter coat. Pockets bulging with rocks. She also wears an odd prosthetic nose. Davis wears a hind-side costume. A black belt, a bright wig, and glasses. Trick or treat. I wanted Jane Austen, but I think Virginia Woolf is more mean this year. Watch out for my rocks. You look real rocks. What's going on with the nose? You know, Nicole Kidman in the hours. Get it? See? You get some sleep. Sort of. Counting sheep doesn't help. Drugs, however, do. Hey, did you talk to that guy? I have a sure cure for insomnia. Take one Davis in the evening. You'll sleep like a baby. I would if the drug were more widely available. Davis. Guess what? We can go to the provost party together. I mean, together, together. Isn't she... She went back to DC. Her court date was moved up. Did you talk to her? Tell her about us? Well, actually, no. Why not? I didn't get a chance. She was on the phone constantly. Don't you think you should tell her where she finds out from someone else, like me? What do you want me to do? Text her? Yes. Be sure to include a frowny face emoticon. You know I have to do this face to face. Well, I'm tired of being the other woman. You are not the other woman. She is, if anyone is. How can she be the other woman if she's the one married to you? Because you are my soulmate. If you don't tell her, I'm going to start pitching these rocks at you. Not to worry. Let's go. I want to get there while people are reasonably sober. Yes. Why aren't faculty parties listed as a blood sport? Because all the bleeding is internal. Should be especially bloody this year with the provost retiring. Who will succeed him? How many hats will be thrown into that ring? Mine, for one. What an ambition. I don't know how I feel about that. I happen to think I'd be a good fit, Ms. Wolff. That's Ms. Wolff to you. You've got my vote for getting rid of that student. Student? Jason. Oh, Ken. Right. Yeah, he didn't show up for class today. I assume you threw the book at him, scared him off. I tell you, I was absolutely dreading class today. Even thought about calling in sick. You did expel him, Davis, didn't you? Davis, tell me you expelled him. I couldn't just summarily expel him. There's a whole process, a hearing, deliberations. Okay, but you got him out of my class. Tell me that, at least. You got him out of my class, didn't you? Oh, Davis. Naomi, it's complicated. Complicated? What's complicated about it? There's no clear policy. Isn't this covered in one of your how-to-be-an-administrator handbooks? Look, Jason's been cooperative, polite even. His grades are outstanding and honest students. There have been no other complaints about him. He denied that his story was meant to hurt anyone and he apologized for the misunderstanding. Misunder... It wasn't a misunderstanding. He knew exactly what he was doing. Plus, I asked him to see the school psychologist and he did. You sent him to Dr. Lerner? Lerner's a fossil, a senile misogynist. He told three of my female students they should get married and have children. Here's advice for the stress of college. Naomi, calm down. I had to get a psychiatric evaluation. Lerner's who we have. Well, I bet I know his diagnosis. Boys will be boys, am I right? His report is confidential. But Lerner assures me Jason's not a danger to the community. Lerner says the odds that Jason will shoot anybody are infinitesimally small. The odds that he might harm himself are much higher. Lerner says if we expel him and it's not even certain that we can, we'd lose all control over him and if we keep him here, we may be able to help him. Anyway, that's the current thinking in the field. The current thinking? What about tomorrow? When that boy strolls into Pearson Hall with a backpack full of guns and ammo? What will be the thinking then, I wonder? I hope you're not talking like this in front of other people. Why? You can't say that. Yes. Talking about him as if he's a mass murderer isn't going to help. And if it gets back to him, this has the potential of getting out of control. What does that mean? What if he files a grievance against you? Can you prove these allegations? Allegations? Listen, mister, I saw something in him. A cold, cruel something. He got off on reading that story in class and when I talked to him about it, he smirked. He smirked? That's your proof? If you thought it was funny, that's what's scary. You talked to him, what did you think? Okay, so he's an asshole. I can't expel someone for just being an asshole. How far students would be gone? That's not an asshole. He's a sociopath. Even learners should have seen that. I shouldn't tell you this, but he's had some family trauma in his past. His father was killed in a mass shooting at a machine shop. You're kidding. Happened a few years ago. Is it true? I think he's working out some personal issues with the story. Real? No. Wait a minute. What? I don't believe it. Come on, Naomi. It can't be true. Nobody would lie about something like that. You could or would write something like that. Not like that. You can't make that a social thing. Think about it, Einstein. Have you checked out his story? Well, not yet. He's bullshitting you and learner and he's good at it because he's a... guess what? A sociopath. Jesus, Naomi. Has anyone in the class said anything to you about what happened? Did anyone during or after the class tell you they felt threatened? Did anyone come to you about phone, email, anything? No, but that's probably because I stopped him. As soon as I realized what he was reading, I stopped him, dismissed the class and hauled him into my office. The students most likely think I've dealt with him. Are they afraid of him? Who wouldn't be? Would some testify in a hearing that they felt threatened by him? Probably. Would they? I guess. You know how students are. Wait, there's this one student, Ginger Kanabi. He seemed to take a sadistic pleasure in torturing her in his story. She's the one at the end who he... Oh, God. Right. Okay. Okay. Have you talked to her? Will she make a statement? She hasn't come back to class since his reading. I tried emailing her, but no response. I don't know where she is. I left a message with her advisor. Poor thing, she's probably traumatized. Make sure she's okay. I'll see if she'll make a statement. I'm trying. She's a recent transfer. No one seems to know her. Keep trying. Is there anyone? Anyone else who'll come forward? I'm sure if I talk to some of the other students, I could get them to realize how serious this is. I'm sure they'd come forward. And Jason, or his lawyer, would call that subordinate witnesses. You're the teacher. They depend on you for their grades. Who would contradict your version of events? He has rights, too. Oh, his rights? Yes, we mustn't trample on his rights. I'm just trying to show you how messy something like this can get. How out of control. And dangerous. Don't you think I know? Women live with an awareness of violence and intimidation most men will never understand. Do you know how many women I know who've been assaulted? How many women carry pepper spray in their purses? It's not okay. Girls are given a different narrative from the moment we're born. I'm sorry. All I meant was, it'd be easier to expel him if he was openly violent and threatened. Oh, great. So we just wait for him to hurt somebody? If it was clear cut, I could do something about it. No question. What about the story he wrote about a mass killing on a college campus featuring his classmates? I don't know. It's open to interpretation. Different people might read it differently. They may not see it the way you see it. Yes, well, maybe. Maybe. I don't know. It's perfectly clear to me. I know. I know. I know what he's up to. I know what he's capable of. Do you? What if you saw the story in a magazine or online? What would you think? We'd publish something like this. But it's possible. Someone might publish it. I suppose. All I'm saying is, maybe we should stop and think. And do nothing? I am not going to do nothing. I didn't say that! Might as well have. Listen, Naomi. Maybe this is exactly what he wants. What? To provoke us. I don't know what the individuals they'll have after his killing is free. It'll probably be in April or May. That's when these guys seem to snap. The spring shooting season on college campuses. Why the dramatics? Please don't go there. And as Jason Campes' story circulates among the press and grieving families, I've also thought of all the questions there will be. Here was a blueprint for a school shooting and nothing was done. Have you thought about that, Mr. Future Provost? My God, Naomi. Would you just stop for a moment? Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, something's wrong. I know it. I know it. I just don't know what to do. Okay. You know, I would never let anything bad happen to you or to anyone else. Never. Be quiet. Trust me. It's getting late. We should go to the party. You go. I don't think I'd be very good company. You sure? You all right? I do have to put in an appearance. I know. Go. Appear. Get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning. Will they? She gives him a rock. He disappears as the lights fade. A warm light on Naomi. She goes to sleep. This is what I dream. I'm seated at a table in an enormous bookstore signing copies of my new novel, Border Destinations. It's a sprawling tale of several generations of family members on both sides of the U.S.-Mexican border. The mestizo miracle of an Irish-Jewish-Indian family. It's an unexpected bestseller. The book sign line snakes through the bookstore and out the door. There's a festive jovial mood in the store. As I sign each copy of my book, I engage the reader in a minute of banter. What's their name? Is the book a gift for someone? I thank them for coming out. I appreciate their support. And then I see him. Ten, twelve people back in line. Jason Kemp. With each book I sign, he gets one autograph closer to me. He's wearing an old overcoat with a black backpack slung over one shoulder. I slow down my signing. My focus begins to waver. Should I run? But I don't. Something keeps me rooted to my spot. Politeness. With each book I sign, he gets closer until he's right in front of me. Time stops. I feel my heartbeat in my ears. I see his hand reach inside the backpack. I see the gun as it emerges. A cold, lifeless thing. I see, I see a blinding white flash of light. Darkness. Seen Jason's dorm room. Very spartan. No decorations. A virtually empty space. Jason sits reading a document while Davis nervously stands. Conditions of continuance. I tried calling. E-mailing. Finally I just decided to try your dorm room. Student agrees to cease and refrain from provocative behavior as specified. Interesting. Very spartan. Excuse me. Your room. You don't have much in the way of decorations. Almost none. Unusual. I like it that way. Davis sees a small frame photograph on Jason's desk. He picks it up. It's a photo of a red-haired girl. Jason takes it from Davis and lays it down. Sorry. Girlfriend? Yeah. Sure. Do you have a roommate? He left. No. It's not what you're thinking. I wasn't thinking anything. He got mono. You should see your face. That's what you think of me, isn't it? Here's your confession back. I can't sign it. He hands back the paper to Davis. This is not an admission or confession. It's merely an agreement and understanding between us. It sets a standard between both parties. It protects you. This makes it clear what the expectations are for you to continue in the writing class. Oh. This is a very standard agreement. If you don't sign it, I'm afraid you leave me no alternative. And I can stay in Professor Orozco Wallace's class if I sign it? I think so. Yes. I'll have to check with her. Yes, maybe. Davis gently presses the paper to see Don. Jason. I keep asking myself again and again, how did this happen? It's not the end of the world. Ever since I was little, all I ever wanted to do was write. I guess it was my way of trying to understand the world. I understand. When I got into Professor Orozco Wallace's class, I could hardly believe it. It's very hard to get in. I thought, finally, a mentor, I've ruined it. She hates me. No. She doesn't hate you. If I could explain. Sure. I just explained. You made a mistake. That's all. I made a mistake. That's right. You made a mistake. But we can fix that. I made a mistake. Sign here. Jason. Jason. Naomi sits at the table in a public space, dressed as he was in her green, overcoat and black backpack. He slips the backpack off of his shoulder and places it on the table between them. I shouldn't be doing this. Thank you. Thank you for letting me stay in the class. I know I'll never be able to redeem myself in your eyes. I know that. I just wanted to apologize to you and the class. I never meant to... He reaches into his backpack. He fumbles in it for a second. Naomi watches him with increasing alarm as he pulls out something. Professor? I was just wondering if you'd autograph your short story collection for me. He lays a book on the table. It's a rather worn paperback. He slides it toward her. Hello, stranger. He takes the book and examines it. I had a heck of a time finding it. I guess it's been out of print for a while. Well, looks like it's been read a few times, too. I like to see a well-used book. Three years to write and now a sunken wreck. More like sunken treasure. The one story said in Guadalajara my grandmother's house simply beautiful. It's inspiring. You've taken your life and turned it into art. Thank you. This is why I want to be a writer. To reach into myself, into my world and find the truth. Naomi autographs the book. There is something you said in class one day with me. What was that? It's about who controls the narrative in the end. That determines the outcome. And I thought, wow, that's true. Whether it's history, art, politics or religion, the winner is the person who controls the narrative. Well, I don't know if I meant it quite like that. But it's true. She hands him back the book. He puts it in his backpack. He takes out another manuscript. It's about who controls the narrative in the end. That determines the outcome. He gives her his new story. Oh, and I was wondering if you could look at my new story. I know I have to get your permission to read it in class. I'd like to read it next week if it's all right with you. Sure. I'll take a look at it. I know. I know. No promises. I'm on probation. Conditions of continuance and all that. Fair enough. Yeah, well, we'll see. I know you probably have classes to get to, so... I was sorry to hear about your novel. Excuse me? Border Destinations. Wasn't it just dropped by the publisher? Random House? How do you know that? I read about it in Publishers Weekly. You read Publishers Weekly? Well, I kind of deduced it since it's no longer on the Random House forthcoming list. And your editor's gone, too. I checked out of curiosity. What? You did? I think I heard some faculty in the department that people know. Are you saying people know? I feel that if one is serious about becoming a writer, one has to study and understand all facets of the business from writing to publishing. I'm sorry for your setback. It must be hard, like the death of a child. I... I suppose... Or the death of a father. I know what it's like to lose a father. Do you think it was a subject matter? Wait. Wait, my father? What do you mean, my father? I think it was a subject matter. It sounds like a rather provocative work about immigration and that sort of thing. Like, maybe it's advocating for exceptional or special treatment for Hispanics. People misunderstand. I know what it's like when people misunderstand your work. No, you can't compare yourself to me. It's a blow, isn't it? Granted, I haven't read the book. It just struck me that some people by the subject matter that some people might object, that some people might think you were vilifying white people. Maybe that's really why the publisher dropped your book. No, no, no, you have no right to... And you've got to wonder if you're the right person to tell your story. Frankly, you don't look very Hispanic. I guess it helps your career to be a minority. Have you ever wondered about that? I hope this won't affect your getting tenure. My identity? And now... Now you're in the position of teaching something you've failed at. That's gotta hurt. And you don't think I'm a very good writer? What gives you the right to talk to me like this? I can talk to you any way I want. This is so fucking over. You just can't take hearing the truth. Truth? The truth? My book? My father? My identity? Well, here's the truth. Fuck you. And fuck Random House. I'm going to tell my story whether they want to hear it or not. And for that matter, fuck history. We were standing on the shore when you assholes arrived and fucked everything up with your greed. Your murderous greed. And we're the aliens? I'll tell you who controls the narrative. You do. Your people. All your great men. Washington, Jefferson. Just a bunch of slave-owning aristocrats who didn't want to pay their taxes. And a handful of us who are a lot of voice. Well, we can be shut up the minute we get out of line. Muzzled. Because you control everything. Media publishing everything. You don't like what we have to say. You revoke our privilege to say it. And I hate my part in all this. The token hire, the Latina voice. I don't look too ethnic, so I get to have a job. I can pass. And I play along with it. I'm a willing accomplice in the lie. I teach the lie. We are our classrooms. Hotel rooms for sleepwalkers. Go into any university library. And you're walking into a mausoleum. A monument to dead white men. All built upon the oppression and exclusion of women and your so-called minorities. Do you know what it's like teaching your captor's stories? Teaching these dead white men's work to smug clueless little suburban idiots so you can live your lives of conformity, of privilege, oblivious. And once in a while I get to throw in something from Toni Morrison or Sandra Cisneros and we get to say, oh, isn't this an interesting perspective? Isn't this different? What do you think? And I try to put you fat, anguished slabs to think about someone other than yourselves for once. But we're still the strange other to you. Weird, different. And it never crosses your minds how much you are despised and hated. And it never crosses your minds how much I hate you. Are you doing this? See, Davis and Naomi in his office. They're having another story. Don't tell me. Oh, it's not about torturing and killing his classmates. Oh, thank God. I thought you might like to read it. She throws the story on his desk. It's about you. Me? Actually about a Dean, David Fisher. But the description is uncanny. It's got you down. Sport code and turtleneck write down to the part in your hair and the mole on your neck. What? Oh, it's well written. I'll give him that. Almost too well written. Oh, God. It's told from the point of view of a young college student, Jared, who is summoned to the Dean's office. Jared, it seems, has written a story that the Dean disapproves of. Sound familiar? Jason appears in a separate light. The Dean sat on the edge of his desk. My story rolled up in his fist like a club. I nervously glanced around his office. There was a framed print of three bathing women. A Picasso, I think. A low bookshelf of philosophy books and ebony sculptures from Africa. Unbelievable. It gets better. After a scolding, the Dean sends Jared away. Later, the Dean appears in Jared's dorm room. What? You didn't go to his dorm room. I thought I was helping him. Having ascertained that my roommate was away, the Dean then began to tell me the terms of my conditional continuance at the college. My written work was to be strictly monitored for my own good. I was relieved, but then Dean Fischer asked me if I had ever seen the film Equus. Equus! About how an older man helps a troubled boy come to understand his confused sexuality. What the? That never happened! He then pressed himself to me. I could smell his cologne as he told me an older man could often help a younger man in trouble. That all I need to do was place myself in his hands, sign his conditions of continuance. Oh, my God. Somehow he maneuvered me onto my bed. His hand undid my belt as he pushed me back. I felt powerless to resist. No, no, no! This is a lie! It's ridiculous! God damn it! What are you so upset about? It's only fiction, right? What the hell? Don't you want to read on? Our Dean Fischer goes on to sodomize young Jared several times in expreciating detail. The Marquis de Sade would blush. He's psychotic. Not according to our own Dr. Lerner. He's got a handed to the boy. He's got talent. This is filth! Unbelievable! I'm surprised what people can believe. Some people might think no one could have written this without having experienced it. What are you saying? Are you suggesting this really happened? No. But I can't say how other people might see it. I guess we'll find out on Thursday. What happens on Thursday? Jason will be reading it in class. You're not going to let him read this. If I stop him, what's my reason? The rapist sounds similar to an administrator here on campus. God knows! If I say no without an explanation, then I'm censoring him. Let me think. Let me think! What do you mean? Students are dropping the class. The female students, that is. What do they say? Nothing specific. No one will talk. Why won't they talk? And I just got a call from a reporter at the student paper. They'd like to interview me about censorship on campus. My God! How did they install them? Do you see why he frightens me? He's not going to stop! Okay. That's it. I've had enough. He's history. I'll start the paperwork immediately. Finally! Donna Hellinger enters without knocking. She is an imposing middle-aged woman with a wicked sense of humor. She lugs a tote bag filled with papers. Well, here you are. Looks like I can kill two birds with one stone. Donna! What are you doing here? I'm doing business, Davis. Unhappy business. Mind if I sift? Donna Hellinger and Naomi. Yes, yes, yes. We've met. Davis, I come as chair of the campus grievance committee. Why? In short, you're being grieved. The both of you. By a student by the name of Jason Kemp. I'm sure you know him. There you go. Kemp? I'm expelling him. You're going to have to provide copies of your class syllabus reading list and any other teaching materials to the committee. What for? Well, I imagine you'll want to defend yourself against the bias charge. Bias charge? It's part of the grievance. What is this? I'm on trial now? You can read about it in the grievance. According to Mr. Kemp, the two of you have conspired to maliciously discredit him and you can't believe anything he says. Well, that's a relief. Because he also claims that the two of you have an intimate relationship. That's none of your business, Donna. If it influenced your treatment of Mr. Kemp as he claims, this would certainly not look good for someone who wanted to be the next provost of the college. Oh, for God's sake, Donna, are the boys a sociopath? He'll say anything. He did send him to Lerner, did you not? Lerner is an idiot! Well, why would you send him to someone you thought was an idiot? You know he wrote a story about killing his classmates and me. I know that's what you claim. Yes, he calls it aesthetic differences. He claims you're censoring his work. We'll look into it. He's lying. He's a master at it. I guess you would know. What's that mean? This school doesn't tolerate liars or racists. Yes, so? Mr. Kemp says you recently subjected him to a ten-minute racist rant. He claims you verbally browbeat and humiliated him. That's ridiculous. I've never happened. Yes. No, no, he provoked me. Yes, but... Then, Professor Orozco Wallace, someone is doing an incredible impersonation of you on the YouTube. YouTube. I suggest you check it out. This is one fine pickle the two of you have gotten yourselves into. Lights fade down. Naomi stands alone and watches as a YouTube video is projected on the back wall. It is Naomi from her last meeting with Jason. You smug little shit. Well, fuck you and fuck Random House. I'm going to tell my story whether they want to hear it or not. And for that matter, fuck history. The angle on the video is odd, and the camera was somehow on the table in front of her. Her face is imperfectly framed. Naomi stands watching the video as the lights fade. And it's Act One. This is going well. I bet. It's awesome. It's also extremely cool. That's pretty sharp. That's pretty sharp. Yeah. I'm just a bright actress. When Eric gets in college, do you like it? Yeah. I haven't seen him do a lot of things. They were famous all over the world. But Professor Orozco, he's eight. He's a champion. He's a lot lighter than I am. He's very smart. Get your phone on. Can you call anybody else? You might. Is that new? He doesn't have a good sense of what it is. Can you? Yeah. It's zero. This is a nice one. It's a lot lighter than I am. No. No. Well, we'll just call it out. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. They did all the last years. All the last years were pretty easy. How do I get this? This is Sandra Carleton. I had a ride scheduled for later this evening. From MPT to my home. I'm going to cancel it. Yes. Yes, sir. Yes. Yes, sir. Oh, my goodness. Brenda's got the new one. I saw hers. I got the next one. You can have conversations with the computer. Get a title of the phone for you. But if you say, do you like the dress I'm wearing? It's only seven. Great. It's not real good. But Brenda's a beautiful woman. I don't think you know I'm that at this time. That's the one you see in the commercial. The commercial is clear. Now for Mitch's jig. Oh, I love that. Just the spelling errors. Oh, that! I expect you really got to be careful. It'll help you. I know. I want to take me home now. But I'll have a way out. Take your lead. You'll look for a clip. Absolutely. Can you do that? I don't know. This line is a line. That's the line. Where is it? It's on the screen. It's on the screen. It's on the screen. It's on the screen. The place is there. It's still there. It's from earlier. It's from earlier. It's on the screen. It's on the screen. Just trying to keep the narrative moving forward. It's simply involving a certain stereotype. It's a reordering thing. How can I tell the story in a way to maintain that tension? To maintain a sense of conflict? Yeah. Oh, Gorky. You've pretty much told the last little moment. Where is it? I've always told it before, but I'm just going to slide it to you. I think your plot lines felt pretty good about that. The writer mentioned earlier that you were ready for it, but my major rewrites have already been done in the first place. They've got their rewriters ready to read your sheets. It's great. It's great to get a chance to read them. It was fun. The first person to read them. It was great. She's got the right writing. I love seeing them though. They're always so proud. They're the ones that you're looking for. They could find chance and time to do so. But things really held up. I have one more friend. Yeah. I don't have any idea. It was just in there for a while. You're kind of mad. Yes you can handle it. Your opinion should be highly regarded. Well, I was there at the first performance. I hope so. I don't saw the first production. I don't know if it was the first performance. Because I was in the great part. I was there. Very good. I'll never forget time to help Susan move. Put her stuff up there. Put it into the warehouse. There. There. Oh, it's me. Good morning. Of all the sins you can have, it's better. At least it looks like things to watch for. What am I thinking? Is the English reading on the words of being earnest? You didn't get the memo? I didn't. I didn't do anything wrong. You have all my favorite colors. I think I want to steal them. An idiot? Scene. On a dark stage, the muted video image of Naomi's rant is projected as it was at the end of Act 1. Naomi appears in the dim light. Haggered and tired, she wears a bathrobe. She looks like she hasn't slept in days. Jason emerges from her shadows. His backpack has slung over his shoulder. I hope you don't mind. I let myself in. I'm a bit disappointed. I expected something more writerly. Comfy armchairs, books strewn about, stacks of paper, full ashtrays. But this? Eh? Freeway motel. I fed your cat. She looks hungry. Is this a bad time? You can't be here. Why not? Did you get in? You let me in. No, I didn't. Two Ambien, five shots of vodka, and that strange purple pill your sister gave you. This is not good. No, it's not. Naomi, you're shaking. Oh, no. Why are you doing this? Why am I doing this? It's not what you think. He reaches into his backpack. Davis suddenly enters. Jason disappears. He's out of a window being thrown open, as sunlight floods Naomi's dimly apartment. Can we get some light in here? Who's here? It was nothing. Get out of here. Get back to work. I can't. Yes, you can. No, Davis. You have to get back to work. Teacher classes, stand up to this. Show everyone you are innocent. But I'm not. Of course you are. Sorry, I can't do this. You have to get out there. Tell your side of the story. You can't let this kid, this jerk, win. Keep going over it in my mind. But why? How did this happen? When he put his hand in his bag, I thought he would shoot me. It never occurred to me that he was shooting me, capturing me, some version of me. I can't believe it. I look at this person. Who is this? What you should do is get a good lawyer and sue that little bastard for invading your privacy. Why are you yelling? I'm not yelling. Yes, you are. He lets her go and searches for her clothes. Why is this happening? It makes no sense. Who knows? He's like some primordial creature, some creature that crawled out of my unconscious mind, some twisted distortion of me, my writer self, all the loneliness, the isolation, the selfishness, the paranoia, coalesced into this, this kept thing. You might be overthinking this a bit. When my father was dying, I could have flown out more often to see him. But I didn't want to take time away from my book, my precious book, the book that would make me famous, the book I was writing about my loving, multicultural family. Ha! Do you see the irony? We're selfish people, writers. You see what you're getting into? You're getting into some clothes. He hands her some clothes. Why? You have to make a statement to the grievance committee. Kemp's making his. Now we each have to make ours. No. You have to do this. You do it for me. No, no, no. You have to do this. We should go over our stories. Why? Isn't it obvious? That video, that awful video, has finished, aren't I? No, not necessarily. You can fight this. I think I've decided I dislike teaching. Don't be silly. Your students adore you. You're good at what you do. You know what we should do? Leave. Drop everything and leave. Go out West. Get real jobs. Work outside. Work in a fresh air. Doesn't that sound good? Babe? Please, be serious. I am. Maybe this is a sign. Time for a change. You may want to commit professional suicide, but I don't. I still have a career. A career I might be able to salvage. If you give up, I'm sunk, so you are not giving up. Naomi begins to dress. I see. What I think drew us together. You know, at the start. Oh, fuck. Are we going to talk about our relationship? I get enough of that from my wife. Sorry. Naomi, please, I'm sorry. No, no, I'm the one who's sorry. I didn't mean to get all matrimonial on you and the wife real. I was just going to say that I know now what attracted us to each other. We're both selfish. Scene and office. A table and two chairs. Donna takes notes as she interviews Jason. I didn't want to do this. They made me. I see. I felt my freedom of speech was being threatened. Faced with two powerful people, I felt I had no options. They made me sign this confession. And the YouTube video. I felt people needed to see what I've been subjected to. And this is how Professor Orozco Wallace talks to you. You didn't provoke her. Anything I say to her seems to set her off. Did Professor Orozco Wallace know you were recording her? I can't say what she knew or didn't know. Was the recording device in plain sight during your conversation? Oh, I can't remember. Did you mention it? I might have. Did you? Is this important? Isn't it illegal to record someone without her consent? Not in this state. As long as one party agrees to the taping, me in this case, it's okay. Even if the other party doesn't know. Only 12 states have mutual consent laws. Not ours. And we met in a public place, the library. I'd like to know my rights. Might I see the entire video you shot? I'm sorry. I accidentally erased it. That's a shame. I'm pretty mad at myself about that. I'm sorry. And you know, as for me being a threat, like she said, I went to every single student in that class and asked them point blank, do you feel threatened by me? And not one single person looked me in the eye and said yes. Not one. It's Professor Orozco Wallace who's the threat. Not me. Scene and office. A table and two chairs. Donna takes notes as she interviews Naomi. Why do we even have creative writing classes? Excuse me? That just seems odd to me. We offer classes in creative writing. Isn't that something students do on their own? Most schools offer classes in creative writing. Seems odd. Students like it. Students like a lot of things, I'm sure. We give them guidance. Oh, most successful writers have gone through creative writing programs. One wonders how writers like Twain and Dickens manage so long ago. I mean most writers today. How lucky we are. Now, do you tell your students what to write about? That would defeat the purpose. So you didn't tell Jason Kemp what to write about? No. You only criticized them after they've written their stories? I give them feedback, critiques. So if the story they write pleases you, you give them a good grade. And if it doesn't, you fail them? No, that's not... Isn't it just a guessing game on the student's part? You give them no guidelines as to your preferences and prejudices. And they have to hope they please you. No, not at all. Please rather subjective to me. No, it's about the construction of the narrative. The power of it, the truth of it. The ability to move us, to delight us, or frighten us. We study form and function. The elements of a good story, character, story. The subject matter doesn't matter. It's how well they handle the art and craft of constructing the story. That's all I'm interested in. The subject matter doesn't matter? Well, no. So you don't censor their work? No, never. According to your criteria, did Jason Kemp write a successful story? A successful story? According to your guidelines, professor. Well, yes and no. You wouldn't let him read it. And you recommend it in later. Yes, because it was frightening. He's frightening. He wrote a story about someone just like himself who comes into a creative writing class just like ours with a gun and begins to torture and murder the students and teacher. I.e. me. Did you even read the fucking story? There is no need for language. Do you talk to your students in this manner? Did you read the story? Yes, I did. And if someone wrote this about a class I was teaching, I would take it as a threat. Yes, thank you. So, why didn't you do anything about it? Excuse me, I did. I went to the dean. Why didn't he do anything about it? Didn't he? At the least, Davis could have removed the student from your class, made it some independent credit dodge. Why didn't he? He thought, he thought he could help the boy. Isn't that nice? I'm so cynical. Here I thought Dean Herring didn't want a messy situation while he was up for the provost's job. Yes, he wanted to help the boy. By the way, there's no such thing as a conditions of continuous agreements on this college. What? The contract. Dean Herring had Mr. Camp sign. It's meaningless. He made it up. It has no binding authority. It's an administrative placebo. Have tenure, do you, Ms. Orozco Wallace? I'm not likely to ever get it, am I? I can't predict these things. Look, can we just cut to the chase? How bad is this? I would say bad. Mr. Camp seems to think that the failure of your novel and your hatred of men, Anglo men in particular, contributed to your bias against him. No, I'm biased against him for other reasons. Did the failure of your book make you angry? Well, yeah. Do you or did you blame men or Anglo men for its failure? Oh, you don't know the publishing orders. And did this cause you to take out your anger on Mr. Camp? Absolutely not. Your tie rate on the YouTube would suggest otherwise. That was selectively edited. He spent five minutes taunting me before I lost it. Is that on the video? No, anyone would look bad. But you were angry. Well, of course I was angry. He's in my life. He's suddenly everywhere. He knows things about me. It's creepy. Including your affair with Davis Herring? I'm not. Yes. He says you're working together to expel him. Because he's dangerous. And yet you signed a copy of your book for him when you saw him. Yeah, but he tricked me. He manipulated me. Really? How? I don't know. He insinuated things about my father and my book. Why did he do that? He's a sociopath. They don't need reasons. I don't think you're qualified to make that diagnosis. He provoked me. You must see that. Isn't that what students do? Try to provoke us. Test the limits. See what they can get away with. Yes. And our job is to be the adult in the room. To outfox them. To reach them and teach them no matter how much they resist. You don't understand. Jason Kemp is different. He's dangerous. He's sick. This is fun to him. I saw it in the day I stopped his reading. He was enjoying it. He smiled. You said yourself you believed the story is a threat. Oh, could be. I don't know for certain. And I see him everywhere. What do you mean? On campus. He is a student here. He knows. But it's like everywhere I go. It's more than a coincidence. And in the last weeks before this happened, I was running into him where I shopped at the drug store, the laundromat, even where I get my takeout. When I think back on it, I was seeing him everywhere. And now? I don't go out. Why didn't you tell him? I didn't realize. I didn't think it was important. Can you prove any of this? No. He's going to do something. He's going to do something. He's got you interrogating the wrong person. Well, that's where we are. What would you do? Donna leans back and fishes a Benson and hedges 100 from a knit cigarette. He notices Naomi's look and gives her a cigarette. They light up. What would I do? Honey, not get myself in this situation in the first place. I mean it. I learned early on in my career the power of a sharp elbow. Men don't expect women to fight back. They don't. We're supposed to be accommodating, negotiate compromise. I tell you what. We've had a woman, a provost, half the shenanigans would stop overnight. Do you know what this is like? Jaws. Jaws. Guys go out to hunt this man-eating shark. And halfway through, they realize it's the shark that's been hunting them. What'd they do? I don't see many movies. They get serious. They fight for their lives. The shark sinks their boat and eats one of them, but they get them in the end. Tell Jason Kamp on going to fight him. Should we be smoking in here? Oh, honey. Who's going to stop us? Davis and Naomi in his office. Naomi takes notes. So, what do we know about him? He's from Mexico, Missouri. Mother works in a bakery. Okay, where'd you say he went to school? Um, some state school. Why'd he leave? Look, I don't know. Didn't you check out his records? His stories? The father, the whole... No, I haven't had time. Look, some things have come up. What? You wanted me to fight this, so I'm fighting. I talked to her. I finally talked to her. I told her. I told her everything. And good. No. Good. It's all out in the open. She said no. Excuse me? She said no. What do you mean? She said no. What is this? A 19th century novel? The crazy wife in the attic says no? Things... have changed. What do you mean? Doesn't change how I feel about what... Well, it changes the way I feel about you. I'm sorry. What were you thinking? Stares. Let me sit a minute. Am I interrupting something? No, nothing going on here. All right. Well, your friend, Mr. Kemp, has made an offer. What offer? I'd like to expel him. Okay. And if Professor Orozco Wallace apologizes to him. That's it? Oh, and he'd like Professor Orozco Wallace to somehow acknowledge his writing talent. You've got to be kidding. No hearing. It all goes away quietly. Okay. Fine. Good. But he's still a student here? Yes. He's still walking around like nothing happens? Yes. And he doesn't apologize? And acknowledge his talents? Correct. No. Naomi, listen to reason. No. No way. I'm not apologizing to him. I know what he did. There is no way I'm apologizing to him. Forget it. Just make a decision soon. I don't think Mr. Kemp will wait on this. He seems quite anxious to get his apology. I think we should take it. You're mad at me. I understand. You feel betrayed. But don't throw away... I may lose my job, my career, whatever, but I am not losing my self-respect. An apology to him is meaningless. I think it means something. We settle now. No one will know. No one will care. I'll know. I'll care. He does this horrible thing and I have to apologize to him. And so should you. Me? For fucking this up. For not nailing this creep when you had the chance. Conditions of continuance? There's no such thing. You had him sign a contract that's meaningless. I thought I could help him. What about me? Me? Or was I just someone you were fucking? That's unfair. The only thing on your mind was your promotion. No. It's nothing to me. And I'm not apologizing when I'm right. It's a small concession. A compromise. A nothing. It's not nothing. It means something to me. And I'm sure it means something to Ginger Cannabi. Ginger. The student who? From the class. In Kemp's story. The one who disappeared. We found her. She's home with her parents. She won't talk to me or anyone else. Why not? If she'd talk, I'd know. But she won't. Kemp did something to her. I know it. I just can't prove it. Well, that's it then. Give me a few more days. I'm talking with her parents. We don't have a few days. We have to settle this now. Don't you think it's odd that he's a nasty shark? Maybe that's the smart thing to do. Well, I'm not getting out of his way. Oh, for God's sake. I'm going to stop him. No, no, no. I'm going to stop him whether you help me or not. This is insane. You'll just make him mader than he already is. That's just a risk. I'll have to run. Do you want to provoke this guy into actually doing something violent? So now it's my fault if he does something violent. Stop and think. I can't let him get away with this. I can't. Stop and think about what you are doing. Naomi, please. My congratulations to your wife, Daddy. Scene, a phone ringing in the dark. Light up on Naomi at a desk making phone calls. Her desk is glittered with notepads, a laptop, paper coffee cups and empty bags of takeout food. A phone is answered in the dark. Hello? Hello. This is Naomi Orozco Wallace. Sorry to disturb you, but... America's not here. Excuse me? America. She has the day off. I don't usually talk on the phone. Hello, is this Mrs. Kemp? A single light rises on Angela Miller. She wears a colorful beach dress with a scarf. There is a faint sound of the ocean. No, my name is... Wait, who is this? Sorry, I'm trying to locate the mother of a student of ours, Jason Kemp. I thought you were a Mexican. Yes, Jason, what about him? You know him? I ought to, he's my son. Oh, our records at the college are incomplete Mrs. Kemp. I haven't been Mrs. Kemp since I divorced his father. Now I'm back to being Angela Miller, my maiden name. And you don't live in Mexico? Mexico, Missouri? I haven't known. I'm in Cardiff by the sea, California. Just a second. No! Upstairs! Ir-Ariba! The carpet people are here. I usually let America get the phone. Yes, upstairs! I'm not sure we're talking about the same person. Jason Kemp, about 22. Sandy hair, blue eyes. Very intense vivid imagination. Yes, he's... well, I'm a little concerned about him. Ugh, don't tell me. It's just like his last school. What was it? Webster? Weakness. This professor just calls out of the blue. Look, you can't always believe what you hear, especially if it's from a girl. I know. It's like I told the last school that you can. It's your problem. Not that he's a problem. I think you better talk to his father about this. His father? But isn't he dead? Dead? He better not be. He owes me $200,000. He's a hedge fund manager. Got in the state in LaDue, aloft in Tribeca. I'll get you his number. I gotta go. She disappears as Mr. Kemp appears in another light, apparently in his limo. He wears heavy black-framed glasses he's talking on his iPhone. Dead? I'm certainly not dead, Mr. Professor. Roscoe Wallace. Well, sir, he led us to believe that you died in a shooting. Are you sure? First, I've heard of it. Why would he say something like that? I was hoping you'd be able to shed some light on the matter. He's a cipher, that boy. Brilliant, but a cipher. Very good with computers. Too good. You know what I mean. Damn fine tennis player, too. We played varsity a country day. Has he turned out for your team? I don't know that we have one. Oh. You didn't call me to talk about tennis, did you, Mr. Roscoe Wallace? No, I did not. Well, whatever he's done, I'm sure it was just a prank. This is a bit more than a prank, Mr. Kemp. Making mountains out of molehills. Just like that last school that he went to. And what school was that? He seems to have left it off his application. What school? Look, I have a plane to catch. You'll have to contact my lawyer. I have nothing more to say on the matter. Wait, Mr. Kemp, put the lights down on him as lights rise on Professor Kay Prosser. She is very well put together, very professional, very proper. Well, I'm not sure I should say. Please, it's important. There were some accusations about certain inappropriate behavior. Yes, I don't think I should... Jason's a very talented young man. Professor Kay Prosser. Very creative. Dr. Prosser, is Jason Kemp dangerous? Perhaps you should talk to an administrator. God, no, I want the truth. Please, it's important. Certain things have happened, and I... I can't get involved in this. Anything you say will be kept in the strictest confidence, please. Jason Kemp is not someone I've ever been with. Believe me, I know. He comes into your life like a bad infection. Is he violent? I can't... I can't... There was this girl he was with, or, uh, thought he was with. She may have had other ideas. There were rumors. Things you hope aren't true. She was in my class. She had an odd name, too. She disappeared right before he did. What's her name? Ginger. Ginger Cannabi. With a K. You will keep your name. She is gone. See, Naomi's office. Naomi is going over some notes on a legal pad at her desk. Jason bursts in. His backpack is slung over her shoulder. You had no right! You had no right to call my mother! None! I'll make you pay for that! No, you're not! I didn't give you permission to call my mother. Yes, you do! Call her back! If I'm concerned about a student's behavior... There's nothing to be concerned about! If I'm concerned about a student's behavior... Oh, bullshit! You're only concerned because I'm standing up to you. Jason, listen. What did she tell you? It seems to know next to nothing about you. Very funny. Don't worry if this upsets you. Upsets me? I'm not upset! My mistake. Calling my mother on me? You're so middle class, Naomi! Thinking I care about stuff like that. If you don't care, why are you here? You know why. You know why. He reaches into his backpack. Davis enters, Jason stops, and shoulders his backpack. You're meeting him? It appears I am. Are you settled, Kate? This will be over soon. Good. Do you want me to stay? No. Davis, go. I think you should stay. I want him to stay, Naomi. I don't know that I like your tone. My tone? Davis notices the backpack on Jason's shoulder. What's going on? Take a breath. Having a discussion, aren't we, Jason? Jason feels very protective about his mother. You leave her out of this. Being a widow and all. I know what it's like to lose a father. Remember? That's what you said to me the last time we met. I know what it's like to lose a father. Naomi, this is not a good idea. Out of the blue, he says that. Like a slap across the face. How did he know? We need to stop this fight. Pain, the everlasting pain. To know you'll never... But I have good news for you, Jason. I talked to your father. It's a miracle. He's alive. Reincarnated as a hedge fund manager. He says you're a whiz with computers. One hell of a tennis player, by the way, wants to know if you play for our team. No, no, no. You did not do that. He's not dead. Your father's not dead. He's dead? He is to me. You had no right to do that. I had no right to want to invade your privacy like you invaded my privacy. That's a lie. You're paranoid. Stop this now, Jason. If you don't leave, I'm calling security. It's all right now, isn't it? You're working class family, your tragic history, your father's murder. Your whole life is a fiction. You, Mr. Kemp, are a fraud. Jason lurches towards her, swinging his backpack off of his shoulder. He fumbles a phone out of his coat pocket, but does not dial. I'm the fraud? What about you? You censored my work. The Latina, who can't be heard, denied my free speech. You forced me to sign some bullshit fake document. You subjected me to a 10-minute racist rant that everybody's seen. And now you spied on my family? At that hearing tomorrow, you and your boyfriend are going down. Nobody cares what a frustrated has been writer like you has to say. Nobody! True. Ginger Cannabi has to say. Ginger? What about her? I had it all wrong. She didn't talk to you. I thought this was about me. Bullshit! It was always about Ginger, wasn't it? She wouldn't have talked to you. No way. You have no right to drag her into this. I have no right? That's so special. She's now left two schools to get away from you? That's not true. She asked me to come here. It was her idea. We love each other. Why isn't she here? Why? You scared her off. Me? How? You stopped my reading. You were reading a story about a mass murderer in a creative writing class featuring your classmates. No. No, that's not what we planned. Ginger and me, ask yourself, would she have stayed in the class if she thought I was stalking her? Fear does strange things to people. You don't get it. No, I don't. Enlighten me. The story she read that day. Ginger read before me. The story about the turtle's death. The sad story nobody had a reaction to. It's the same story I mentioned at the beginning of my story. The same story. My character comes in and listens to the same story that Ginger has just read in class. It's the same story I mentioned in my story if Ginger and I weren't working together. It was a prank. I told you. But you wouldn't let me finish. You wouldn't listen. And then all this happened. Ginger freaked out, started getting stomach aches. She thought you'd throw us both out of school. You don't know her parents and that's why she left. She left because of you. I tried to protect her, but you just wouldn't stop. Why? You're the dangerous one. I don't think Ginger would say that. I can tell you what Ginger will say. We agreed. We had an agreement that if her parents found out, if they found out, she'd blame me. Say I did it alone, alone. She knew nothing. I'd take the blame to protect her. That's your best story yet. What is wrong with you? This was never about free speech or me or anything else. For two months, I didn't say anything to anyone. Maybe she was nice to you once and you've been torturing her ever since. I should have seen it, but I didn't. No, no, no. You'll see. Then when nothing happened, she somehow convinced herself that everything was okay. That is the power of denial, the benefit of the doubt, the little gray area people like you operate in. People like me? So one day when she was crossing the quad or leaving the library or the cafeteria, she found herself walking along with you into a brief pleasant conversation. It ended with you asking her what story she was reading for our next class and she told you the poor sweet girl told you, thinking, hoping probably that you changed. You're making it all up. You don't know anything. Here's what I know. I know that she had to sit in class and listen to your description of her. Listen to the description of her tears dropping in my crotch as I came in her mouth. That's what I know and that's where I stopped you. So here's your apology and my acknowledgement of your unique talent. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't stop you sooner. And you do have a unique talent, a talent for hurting people. You're pathetic. You have no idea. You have no idea. You have no idea what you've done. You fraud. You failed writer passing herself off as some great authority. What a joke. I think we're done here. I think we are. See I gave you a chance. You failed. You never got me. I live my work. It is me. I am it. This is new cutting edge pushing the envelope stuff. It's visceral, dangerous. I'm a performance writer. I'm glad you don't get it but you're a good artist. What can we learn about this issue class? Who can we blame for this? Who can we blame for that? What about the whales feelings that Moby did? All that old PC bullshit. You're so busy looking for the meaning that you lose the being. Your time is up. You are so dead. Jason suddenly shoves a hand into his backpack. The backpack. Stop Jason. What in God's name is going on in here? The green apple from his backpack crosses to Naomi. I'll be seeing you. He was going to... What? What in the world just happened here? Wow. That was... That was a rush. A rush? Fighting with a student? Are you both insane? We are. He barged in unannounced. Stopped me when I tried to call security. Then Davis came in and then he went for his backpack. To get an apple? Great. Just great. We were so close to ending the seedy business. Naomi, I have Ginger Cannabi and her parents in my office. They want to see you. Is she okay? Yes. She's fine. It's you they want to see. They're filling out some paperwork now. Just finish up here and come down as soon as you can. What a day! Did you hear? I've been appointed interim provost. Assigned to the dark side, I suppose. What? When was this? This morning. Why wasn't I told? I'm still reeling. No need for congratulations. Then my first order of business will be a little house cleaning. Wrap up this Kemp affair. Naomi, I can get him off campus, but beyond that... Oh, she's going to be just fine. So, in about five minutes? Yeah. I just need to grab a few things. I'll be right down. Good. I think you'll be relieved when you hear her story. Well, relieved is not quite the right word. What's between horror and relief? Characters? No, that's not it either. Naomi puts a ring case on her desk. She pulls open a desk drawer and begins to throw personal items into the briefcase. Sorry about your promotion. Yeah. Do you want me to go with you? I'm just taking a few personal items. What do you mean? You're not leaving. I'm quitting. Because of this? And us, some things are just too painful. Now I hurt. I just hurt. I think I loved you. Well, I love you, Naomi. I know I screwed up. But I can fix things. I can. And I'm sorry. No, no, no. No fixing things. No more sorry. I need to go away. I knew you should go home too. Go. Go back to your life. She needs you. You never really left her, did you? Look. In a few days we'll talk, okay? Consider this my resignation. You can't resign. I believe I just did. I won't accept it. It's not up to you. Let me give you my office key. You're reconsidered. I'm going to see Ginger. And then I'm done. He closes her briefcase and tosses him the key. Lights down on Naomi's office and up on Naomi alone in the light. Sometimes you have to lose something in order to find something. Time slows down when you're unemployed. Space opens up. Instead of mourning a dead father, a dead book, and a lost love, I reconnected with my cat. I rediscovered sleep. Deep sleep. And then a funny thing happened. I started writing. I'm writing. I'm writing. I found my story. I found my story. I found my story. And the next thing I knew, I had a book. Teacher and a troubled young man. The young man writes a story in her creative writing class about a young man who comes into a creative writing class and begins to torment and shoot his teacher and classmates. It's a terrible ordeal. It's called honor student. The book is out now. It's selling very well. The teacher survives. She gets better. She finds her voice and she starts writing again. End of play. Top of your head. What happened to Ginger? What happened to Ginger? Is there anything suggested to you? Anybody else have an idea of what happened to Ginger? She went to another school. What are the other things at the top of your head right now? I want to see the sequel for this story. Who's the star of the sequel? Wow, sure. There's a lot of unfinished business. Ginger cannot. A lot of unfinished business, he says. Anybody else? Ginger is because they're human beings involved. That's a really dumb statement. But I mean, from the outside if you just read a short news item about this conflict in the university you could come to completely different conclusions about what's going on than we have that shift all the way through the play, which makes it so interesting. Every time a new scene is played, you think, oh, maybe use it as a sequel. No, no, it's not a sequel. So you went back and forth along the progress of the story? You have to wonder what his real motivation was. Did you doubt him from the beginning or did you think he would... Well, you didn't know. And you still don't know. I mean, that's a... What, really? Yes, sir. The characterizations were so good that I think I've met all four of them. Have you? Anybody else feel that way? People you know or maybe see yourself? Anybody want to answer this question? Which characters do you relate to the most? Which one seemed to feel most like... It's me. When you tell your friends about this play tomorrow, what character are you going to talk about, do you think? Yes, sir. Interesting to me that while in the sexual... the first act was back and forth between the teacher and the student as to who was perceiving reality better. In the second act it seemed to go heavily in the teacher's favor but then at the end the student came back strong. It was... I would... I'm... I think that I... It's the student that... What he says about performance I forget the words but the being of... a different kind of fiction. I mean, he plays his ace. And the stopping... of calling security which seemed to condemn him is lost. I mean, that's because he's played his ace. And I don't know... I've still left wondering but I don't know what happened to Ginger. That was... and that's still what he's been wondering. Ginger's on your mind years as well? Well, but... I mean it's pretty clear that if it's between horror and... relief, that's something horrible happened to her. Isn't that true? I mean, I don't know... I mean, I would be very interested to know if that's what you... how you take it? I just read into that. The relief would be the teachers, the professors because something did happen to Ginger and he got her. So she'd be relieved to find out she was vindicated about that. But the horror is that something happened to Ginger. I thought the relief was that Ginger was fine and the horror is that you're out of a job. I know. Well, could you hear that? This is the second time I've seen the play and... something happened to me last November when I was kissing my friend and I sort of flew off the handle and after seeing this play I've reconsidered what happened that night and I've decided it was my fault. I sure kept my mouth shut because once I flew off the handle it left the other person get a handle on me that they would not have had if I had just kept quiet. Uh-huh. So it's had a personal influence on me. Interesting. Yes, sir. I have an ominous read about the end. I would feel like between horror and relief, for me the interpretation is that Jason had more truth than she thinks that Ginger and Jason do have something there and more than she understood. So the horror of oh my god, he was telling the truth and the relief of oh my god, I'm getting out of here. So and I in terms of characters that were drawn to, but aside from Donna I always wanted Jason on stage. Really? So it's like subversive, it's subversive joy because I wanted him to fuck things up. That's round the bore with stuff. Yes. The idea that this whole thing might have been some kind of form aside, frightens me. Um, and yet if indeed it is we're going to have to totally rethink this whole thing. I mean if indeed you were writing this performance piece where she wrote hers and you wrote yours about her writing hers then we're going to have to rethink this. And so then are we the ones that are thinking these horrible things? Are we also putting the submachine gun in the backpack? Is it us? Or is it real? Yeah. So then I really like thinking about that. Then why the why the story about the dean homosexual implications about the dean? And that seems like a gratuitous, or not gratuitous but a you're not sure what that achieved? Because that was proof of his capability to be you know, malicious. So what role did that second story have to do with sort of tell that story about him? Or prove he can write things? True story. Yeah. When? How did you feel? Go ahead. I thought he was like an infection. I thought that that was exactly what was said over there on the phone. And I never saw it any other way. I see now that the whole thing could have been his idea of performance in getting everybody upset in going, you know, making the complaints and getting people to lose their jobs and so on. Just let's see how far we can go about your game. But I never thought he would I see. So your favor of censorship. That's a decent tax. You're saying I'm a bad writer? Yes. If indeed portion of his home life is as we saw it then he has very little power in this world and so all that you're doing is about your power and what you can cause to happen. And that to me is kind of scary in the student teacher idea that a student could actually instead of trying to learn could actually try to manipulate the professor. And that's scary. I found the conversations with the parents the telephone conversations with the parents to really be kind of really revealing because that really did establish that he's not entirely truthful and when you have I mean up to that point it's like what's really going on here but once those conversations occurred at least I came to the conclusion that this guy really is playing fast and loose with facts so it put it in a little bit different light because up to that point I was really beginning to kind of think that the professor was a little unhinged but with with that revelation you start saying maybe she isn't as unhinged as you sort of thought she was. And did you feel that kind of until that point that she was unhinged? Yeah I did. I don't know why she was really kind of getting things out of the realm of reality but once those conversations occurred it started saying well maybe she's not as far off base. Anybody else like to talk about your response to Naomi's response initially? I totally agree. I think one of the coolest things about the play is it takes a premise that I think you would immediately say oh yes the threatening student is in the realm and very early on because of the way the characters are it keeps you in a very cool way on balance. She is a bad teacher. You can say that pretty like divinity but she is a not a good teacher and her reaction seems like a little overblown but very quickly we start to wonder oh maybe she's not overreacting or maybe there's something about her that's making her react this way but then you know we keep drifting back and forth and it's not always the action that they take but like the type of character that they are he's very charming. He's very you know exciting to have on stage and it's not until we find out that he's a lot of shit. It's been the whole time. I thought it was terrific. I thought it was terrific. I feel like that the last speech that she made indicated to me that she had experienced something that really helped her to find herself although she was telling the same story in her book but she was now successful and that seems like she was really beginning to realize that I've got to work through something to be me and to produce and I thought that's what the student was almost trying to tell her to. So you gave her something? Was it a gift? Honestly enough. Thank you for that. The old TV show that Michael J. Fox played the son of the family ties and he he's not what they expected given his political beliefs and style of dress and yet because of who he is he's clever and smart and he can outlip them and that's kind of it seems to me what's happening here and the it's creation of a great evil character and I think to the extent that he he remains viable to the end I think the play retains its excitement and it's a I don't I don't think you can utterly defeat him and have the audience stay interested. Oh really? Interesting comment. Thank you. I agree with those sentiments but what is always the most dynamic thing in this play for me is Jason manipulating these people who have Naomi and Dean Davis specifically have really big baggage and really really complex situations and I think he sees that and exploits that and what's really interesting is to have a character who is younger and in less status gain power over them by exploiting their lives and that's something really interesting especially with the teacher and students right right well I'd like to introduce you to the creator of this evil character you can see what you're saying Michael Erickson, playwright, come join us up here if you wouldn't mind talking just for a sec about how this play got born in your head and the genesis of it so and then they might have some questions for you Yeah, I started writing about exactly a year ago and just some things I started with Naomi, her she just sort of appeared to me and I had this image of a very talented but a very frustrated almost self-destructive young woman who stuck in her life wasn't going anywhere and and this horrible thing comes into her life and something was going to come in and really disrupt her life that most people would look at and say well that's a terrible thing but out of that she would pull herself together get out of a bad relationship that has no future get out of a job that she really didn't like or wasn't suited for and get back to the thing that she could really do and that was the genesis of it so I started Naomi and it grew from there Any questions for Michael? Yes sir And to what extent did you study the First Amendment case law? Because you mentioned a bit of it in the script about yelling fire in a crowded place That was an actual case Yeah, yeah I don't I don't know I mean I didn't like go to the law library and dig through books and just sort of You're not an attorney? No, no I'm not I was kind of worried about it in some places but a playwright attorney that I know who's read it said it's correct it's right so I'm very happy to hear that Tell us your thoughts about the young youth and how he evolved He's not you is he? I think he's a lot of students that I've known or heard about over the years He grew and changed throughout this writing process The play has really evolved since we started in September It's really we were sheep in an earlier and people were telling me we really don't need that and I got to have a sheep anyway it's a process and you win and you win and Jason really changed he was more explicitly bad and as I worked on him I began to realize what if and you start adding those little nuances and things like that and as you said you have these encounters in life and you have these blow ups and you think you're right at the moment but then in calm cool reflection and so that getting more and more of that as I rewrote it and fixed it was he psychopathic or playing a game? Is there a difference? Well if he's playing a game like this then what a rational person play a game like this I keep going back and forth and I wake up and I go he's a sociopath and then other days I get up and I think no he's a cutting edge artist he's doing something really interesting and 50 years from now we'll be studying his body of work so I honestly keep going back and forth but the constant has always been Naomi that she is stuck in her life creatively stuck in for a writer and she sacrificed so much to meet her family that ironically she's writing about and this is like just a slap in the face and it wakes her up and she goes on Is the Dean a real Dean somewhere? According to lawyer Joe Musso he's litigated a lot of these K cases and and been in depositions with a lot of he said 90% of the time when these things blow up it's the Dean these actors are phenomenal 3 rehearsals and I was throwing rewrites at them even up to the last rehearsal I think I dragged in 30-40 pages and it just took it on it just took it on it just and she could do throw away lines better than anybody I've ever seen like tossing them over her shoulder but they were so effective administrators are great your portraits of the two administrators are really really good I thought it was great how you actually got every character to have a voice and you stuck with it there's no bleed over I think it's hard when one person writes 4 personalities or 16 or how many there are without having them bleed over and you didn't ever they're all very concise in their own little world it's great there's a real conflict of interest it's a very small thing in the play but the head of grievance committee is going for the same position as the Dean she can keep his case in grievance committee and yeah I should make it clear that and she smoked it's not a lie she's like a physical health hazard no one ever mentions that flip it he was going to say I did tell yeah I remember a number of years ago they haven't made a play called Oleana are you familiar with it oh yeah because the first act I was like okay this is just like Oleana because you never know who's right or wrong or if there is a right or wrong do that influence you at all what's the hack I when I did the first draft and I came here in September I thought I had another six degrees of separation I thought I was I thought I had this collage of voices and dreams and images and the play thought otherwise it wants to be something else it wanted to be something else had to face up to and acknowledge and Lauren and Deets and my fellow playwrights who are all here kept pushing me to do was to go with what the play wants so not consciously though well thank you I just wanted to say that one of the things I loved was the conversation about subtext at the beginning back and forth and then that being such a theme such a life in it up to the rocks in the pockets the threat of suicide throughout sort of the threat of death it just felt like oh this is a very teachable play besides the great characters and the subject matter giving us so much to talk about the language level the actors did a great job yeah it really did well how about one more round of applause for everybody applause that's right wow right yeah I don't want to thank you they'll see me turning yeah oh thank you oh good thank you yeah yeah good yeah well thank you well I don't know how the situation but it's about time you know yeah but the good news is they were sure what the state was gonna cut and they are just gonna they are not cutting with 3 um She's, you know, she's one of those people that our people don't really understand. You know, so she feels bad. Plus, stress. She's always been stressed.