Writing Samples
Greer DuBois, Freelance Writer & Proofreader
Academic Writing
Verbatim Theatre and the Contract to Journalistic Ethics
Introduction
“Raw information,” “real…words of real people,” “the bracing stimulus of fact.” These
are typical examples of epithets applied to verbatim theatre, here by the British Theatre critic
Michael Billington (Billington 1). Verbatim theatre is a form of documentary theatre
characterized by the word-for-word use of interviews, court records, and other forms of oral
testimony. Because of its name, “verbatim”, it conjures up an image of exactness and accuracy,
and verbatim theatre is often assumed to be the most journalistic of all forms of documentary
theatre. “At a time when there is enormous public skepticism not only about politics but about
the media, the theatre can offer a source of (relatively) uncontaminated truth,” Billington
writes. Billington, like many other critics and audience members, here assumes two crucial
things about the nature of verbatim theatre: first, that its goal is to inform audiences about facts
(like a news story) and that it will therefore adhere to standards of objectivity and accuracy
held by professional journalists; and second, that what makes verbatim theatre valuable is how
well it uncovers hidden facts and presents a balanced perspective on a problem, acting as a
source which the audience can turn to in forming its opinions (again, like journalism). These
two assumptions serve for Billington, and many others, as the contract between a verbatim play
and its audience: the piece will be accurate, and will seek to inform in an unbiased manner, and
the piece’s worth emerges from its accuracy and its ability to inform.
However, are Billington’s assumptions in line with what verbatim theatre really is?
Furthermore, are its practitioners aware that this is the assumed contract of verbatim theatre—and
are they holding themselves to the same standards of accuracy and the same focus on fact and
objectivity that their audiences and reviewers will? In fact, they are not. An analysis of verbatim
plays—in this paper, Robin Soan’s Talking to Terrorists and Anna Deavere Smith’s Fires in the
Mirror—and the process of their creation shows that verbatim practitioners actually hold a wide
variety of ideas about the place of factual accuracy in their work, and some even use practices in
collecting interviews that would be unethical for a journalist. But this does not make these plays
worthless. This is because, for the verbatim playwright, the purpose of the verbatim play is not to
inform, but to use a person’s real words to engage an audience, persuading them to appreciate the
individuality and beauty of those words. It is this deep engagement with language that is at the heart
of verbatim theatre, and not journalistic accuracy. Therefore, the current “contract” has it all wrong:
we must re-write it to reflect verbatim’s actual goals for poetic authenticity.
Journalism and Verbatim Theatre
Before one can begin to examine verbatim plays and playwrights and their conception
of their contract, one must get a grasp of what audiences and critics assume about the verbatim
genre. To understand the importance of this, one need only turn to Mike Daisey and the recent
uproar over his monologue, The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs. Daisey was plunged into
scandal after parts of his piece were found to be fictional by the fact-checking department of This
American Life (Karr 1). Although Daisey is not a verbatim playwright, and the placement of The
Agony in a journalistic venue like This American Life is what ultimately got him into trouble, the
moral of the episode easily applies to verbatim theatre. A verbatim theatre piece is assumed to
adhere to the standards of journalism; when it is found otherwise, the artistic and personal integrity
of the writer is called into question….
Journalism, long-form
“Wibbly-Wobbly, Timey-Wimey”: Re-enchantment, Cheating, and the Aesthetics of
Contemporary Science Fiction
A controversy erupts over my Facebook newsfeed this morning, November 22nd 2013.
Who’s the wrath directed at? At Steven Moffat, British TV writer, (in)famous in the sci-fi
and fantasy communities for his internationally popular series Sherlock, and current show
runner of the hallowed British series Doctor Who.
If you are uninitiated to the intense world of contemporary geek TV/film culture, simply
know that Moffat’s name is not exactly unsullied for Who fans already (google “steven
moffat sucks” if you feel up to it). But what’s causing this most recent geyser of vitriol is
Who’s 50th Anniversary Special, “The Day of the Doctor.” Granted, pulling together a
fifty-year-old series, with twelve major actors in the lead role, that has transformed from
isolated fandom in England to an international phenomenon with its center of gravity in
America is impossible.
But what about “The Day of the Doctor” has so roused the sleeping hornets of the
Internet? I’m going to assume if you’re reading this that you’ve either seen the special or
don’t mind me spoiling it for you (READ: SPOILERS). “Day” is the aesthetic
culmination of Moffat’s three years as show runner: it’s quippy, quick, and has a twisty
plot that breaks any rule of time travel anyone has ever come up with ever.
But what’s really pissing off some fans is the fact that Moffat uses his time-plot to undo
the end of the Time War, a universe-wrenching conflict between the Time Lords of
Gallifrey (the Doctor’s species) and their nemesis the Daleks. For the past eight years,
Who’s stories have all been based on the premise that the Doctor, backed into a corner at
the end of the War, was forced to kill everyone—all the Time Lords, all the Daleks—in
order to save the universe. Consequently, the Doctor has been a character limping along
with a suitcase full of centuries-old regrets, trying to find scraps of meaning in an unfair
world. This backstory has made his relationships with the series’ secondary characters
extremely poignant and well-drawn: the Doctor has basically relied on his companions as
his reason for existing, and you get the feeling that if he went alone for too long, he’d
probably off himself.