Since I’m a student of history and, mirroring our education system, causes me a great deal of frustration and debt, I have taken to examining art. Arthur Miller wrote this play called The Crucible. Heard of it? I hadn’t. And I think I know why. Too vague. Too weird. Too complicated.
If I were to give some advice to Artie, it would be this. Write what you mean. Don’t obscure the point. You want to write about witches? Write about witches. You want to write about commies? Write about commies. Attempting to do both or, God forbid, drawing oblique parallels between both situations, is a recipe for failure.
Since Artie isn’t around anymore, I’m working on a modern update of The Crucible, more succinctly entitled, Senator Joe McCarthy and the Bad Things He Did. There’s no John Proctor, no Salem accents, no use of words like “thy” or “thine.” It’s Paul Giamatti in a tour-de-force performance as Tail gunner Joe, Roy Cohn, Ike, Bobby Kennedy, Alger Hiss, and Whittaker Chambers. George Clooney could even play himself if that’s what the studio heads demand. Everything is filmed in grainy black and white, copied shot-for-shot from the televised hearings. Consider this: the script is already written. There’s no subtlety, no nuance, just a big trailer for Mr. Giamatti’s massive wardrobe.
With this film, the audience will immediately understand what I’m after. That’s preferable to wondering what a “privy” is and why in a play about witches there’s no mention of broomsticks. When someone goes to a movie, they don't want to work hard. They want to fall asleep. Why else would theaters ply them with food, drink, and reclining seats?
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