Lately I've been having a lot of discussions about Tom Stoppard. From now on, I'm just going to say this:
I love Tom Stoppard because he doesn't apologize for being brilliant.
I love him because he's the antithesis of talking down to an audience. When there are people in this world who are willing to give hours of their life to VH1 in order to watch bad reality shows, there's no excuse for someone not wanting to sit in a room and have someone smarter than them challenge them and make them think. I think we are in dire straits when we criticize a playwright for being "too smart." Maybe we shouldn't be asking ourselves why he doesn't make us understand. Maybe that's not his job.
I love him because he's more concerned about the play than the audience.
I love him because he makes people argue, question, and evaluate.
I love him because you have no choice but to concentrate on what he's saying. I love that he expects that of the audience. I love that he never lets them off the hook.
I love him because being as difficult as he is, he still managed to win Tonys and sell out Lincoln Center for eleven-hour marathons about Russian philosophers.
I love him for this: “No, no, not at all! His life was what it was. Because children grow up, we think a child’s purpose is to grow up. But a child’s purpose is to be a child. Nature doesn’t disdain what lives only for a day. It pours the whole of itself into the each moment. We don’t value the lily less for not being made of flint and built to last. Life’s bounty is in its flow, later is too late. Where is the song when it’s been sung? The dance when it’s been danced? It’s only we humans who want to own the future, too. We persuade ourselves that the universe is modestly employed in unfolding our destination. We note the haphazard chaos of history by the day, by the hour, but there is something wrong with this picture. Where is the unity, the meaning, of nature’s highest creation? Surely those millions of little streams of accident and willfulness have their correction in the vast underground river which, without a doubt, is carrying us to the place where we’re expected! But there is no such place, that’s why it’s called utopia. The death of a child has no more meaning than the death of armies, of nations. Was the child happy while he lived? That is a proper question, the only question. If we can’t arrange our own happiness, it’s a conceit beyond vulgarity to arrange the happiness of those who come after us.” -Herzen from "The Coast of Utopia: Part Two--Shipwreck.
I love him because he's a damn good writer. Is there any other reason to love a playwright?
I love Tom Stoppard because he doesn't apologize for being brilliant.
I love him because he's the antithesis of talking down to an audience. When there are people in this world who are willing to give hours of their life to VH1 in order to watch bad reality shows, there's no excuse for someone not wanting to sit in a room and have someone smarter than them challenge them and make them think. I think we are in dire straits when we criticize a playwright for being "too smart." Maybe we shouldn't be asking ourselves why he doesn't make us understand. Maybe that's not his job.
I love him because he's more concerned about the play than the audience.
I love him because he makes people argue, question, and evaluate.
I love him because you have no choice but to concentrate on what he's saying. I love that he expects that of the audience. I love that he never lets them off the hook.
I love him because being as difficult as he is, he still managed to win Tonys and sell out Lincoln Center for eleven-hour marathons about Russian philosophers.
I love him for this: “No, no, not at all! His life was what it was. Because children grow up, we think a child’s purpose is to grow up. But a child’s purpose is to be a child. Nature doesn’t disdain what lives only for a day. It pours the whole of itself into the each moment. We don’t value the lily less for not being made of flint and built to last. Life’s bounty is in its flow, later is too late. Where is the song when it’s been sung? The dance when it’s been danced? It’s only we humans who want to own the future, too. We persuade ourselves that the universe is modestly employed in unfolding our destination. We note the haphazard chaos of history by the day, by the hour, but there is something wrong with this picture. Where is the unity, the meaning, of nature’s highest creation? Surely those millions of little streams of accident and willfulness have their correction in the vast underground river which, without a doubt, is carrying us to the place where we’re expected! But there is no such place, that’s why it’s called utopia. The death of a child has no more meaning than the death of armies, of nations. Was the child happy while he lived? That is a proper question, the only question. If we can’t arrange our own happiness, it’s a conceit beyond vulgarity to arrange the happiness of those who come after us.” -Herzen from "The Coast of Utopia: Part Two--Shipwreck.
I love him because he's a damn good writer. Is there any other reason to love a playwright?
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