Talkback: Don't Let the Bastards' Ban Get You Down

Last year, I wrote a little play called The Brothers Grimm Spectaculathon. I work as a middle-school theatre teacher in Texas and I needed a flexible, funny show that could be changed at a moment's notice to accommodate last-second casting changes, limited stage space, and a nonexistent budget. So I borrowed the Reduced Shakespeare Company's form, mixed it with Brothers Grimm fairy tales, and married them into a wild, freeform romp.

My publisher loved it, and it's quickly become one of the most produced one-acts in the country, performed in more than 150 schools and community theatres, including productions in Rome, Budapest, and Dubai. I get a lot of fan mail about it, but this recent letter from a teacher in Arkansas stood out:

"I thought you would find it interesting to know that my administration canceled our production of The Brothers Grimm Spectaculathon—a very fine production, I might add," she wrote. "They canceled it due to 'foul language, homosexuality, drug use, sexual overtones, and gratuitous vulgarity.' They didn't mention cross-dressing or girls bleeding out of severed wrists. =)"
I understand this teacher's dilemma: Does she risk her job to make a point about freedom of speech? I wouldn't, especially in this economy. I have always believed that one of these days a play I direct will result in my termination, but this particular play isn't it. Still, it's irksome to think that your silly play is so threatening to a school system that it must be burned out like a cancerous tumor. I wrote this to the teacher and her students:
"I think it is punishment enough for people who are so challenged by humor and irreverence that they are condemned to live out their own joyless, cheerless lives…. Humor is dangerous, after all. If one is able to laugh, one is able to think and to question. Your school's administration no doubt believes—like the enchantress who stole Rapunzel—that locking a mind away in a tower is the best way to protect it. You can avoid making mistakes if you are given no opportunity to make any choices.
"To the actors who had their hearts set on performing in this show, the people who had spent countless hours in rehearsal, who gave up their afternoons and weekends and worked behind the scenes making sure everything was perfect: There's a saying that was the motto of my Latin club, Illigitimus non carborundum, which means 'Don't let the bastards get you down.'
"You're probably feeling pretty low and angry right now. But remember, these tiny-minded miniature gods of your school who hold the power to cancel your show are only temporary. Once you leave high school, their power vanishes like...well, like magic.
"How do you get back at the bastards? You win by not being miserable. Because, believe me, these are miserable people pulling the plug on your show.
"I am very sorry your play got canceled. I say 'your' play because after you put the work in, it becomes your play, not mine. And the next play I'm going to write is going to be a homosexual drug-addled fantasia with sexual overtones and vulgarity and a whole lot of bad language. Oh wait, that play's already been written. It's called Angels in America, and it won the Pulitzer."
A week after I wrote this letter, I received notice that the same play had won the Virginia state one-act play competition. So there, Arkansas.
-- Don Zolidis
Don Zolidis is an award-winning playwright, screenwriter, and teacher. He has published 24 plays for youth, which have received more than 600 productions in 49 states and 12 foreign countries. His newest play, A Tiny Miracle With a Fiberoptic Unicorn, won Stage West's 2nd annual Texas Playwriting Competition and is being considered for a regional premiere. For more information, visit www.donzolidis.com.