Interview with Playwright: Joshua Harmon

TED SOD: Will you give us some background information on yourself: Where are you from? Where were you educated? When did you decide to become a playwright and why?

Joshua Harmon: I was born in New York and raised in the suburbs. I went to Northwestern for college, Carnegie Mellon for grad school, and am just finishing up a third year in the Playwrights Program at Juilliard. I have been writing since I was very young, so becoming a playwright never felt like a decision. It was something I was always doing.

TS: What inspired you to write Significant Other? What do you feel the play is about? Significant Other seems like a very personal play. Did you have to do any research in order to write it?

JH: I started writing the play four years ago during a residency at the Atlantic Center for the Arts, in New Smyrna Beach, Florida. In July. It was very hot. I wore lots of bug spray. I went there to work with Annie Baker. She asked us to write nine short scenes which could be performed in any order. I wrote about a guy talking to his therapist about one of his co­workers, whom he had a huge crush on/was mildly obsessed with and who he was trying to ask out on a date to see a documentary about The Franco-Prussian War. Those scenes made me want to write a crazy, sweeping, epic play about unrequited love, which is a theme I come back to in my writing again and again. That's where it began.

In the year following that residency, I got a crazy job and then quit that job and then got a different temp job and then the Roundabout decided to produce Bad Jews, and even though I was mostly thrilled, I also freaked out. I worried that if the production went badly, I might become so traumatized that I'd never write again. So I told myself I had to write a new play before I went into rehearsals forBad Jews, so that no matter what, I would have something to keep working on. The first draft of the play was 176 pages long. That's long for most plays. About 1/3 of the play took place in therapy, there were readings of Emily Dickinson poems, and a live band... all of that is gone now. First drafts can be unwieldy. But over time, with more drafts and workshops and readings, the play found its way.

One of the things that excites me about the play is that it feels simultaneously epic and very intimate. 7 actors play more than 10 characters over an almost three year period in many different locations. And yet, at its core, the play is an intimate look at a group of friends whose lives change and priorities shift as they begin to couple up and settle down. They begin to face the real beginning of adulthood, and they all feel differently as they stand on the edge of that precipice.

The play also puts a character front and center who is ordinarily relegated to the sidelines. Much like Daphna in Bad Jews, Jordan Berman isn't a prototypical protagonist. I guess I'm interested in seeing what happens when someone we don't ordinarily look twice at is situated at the center of the story.

The play is also examining wedding culture, which is something I have a lot of questions about. In so many respects, I think people my age are more secular than ever before, and yet their weddings are so much more lavish; it's as if there's an inverse relationship between a collective moving away from religious ceremonies and a moving toward extensive and expensive bridal showers, bachelorette parties, rehearsal dinners, destination weddings, etc. My parents didn't go to any destination weddings. Their parents probably didn't even know what a destination wedding was. They certainly never had to go to destination bachelorette parties (I'm sorry, but when did that become socially acceptable? I can't.). But then, despite everything, at most weddings I almost always end up crying. So, I wanted a chance to examine how something could compel and repel in equal measure.

When Joni Mitchell made Blue, she said, "I felt like a cellophane wrapper on a pack of cigarettes." I don't think she meant the album was autobiography, but there was an emotional transparency in the work that cannot be denied, and I guess I'm striving for something like that in this play. Not autobiography - but a willingness to examine questions and concerns and fears which are my own, and if they are my own, then I must believe they are not unique only to me. Watching my friends date, seeing some of my friends get married while others remain single (both happily and begrudgingly), seeing how people's lives change once they get married, watching friendships change - all contributed to this play. But ultimately, whatever ideas I had before writing, the play made its own demands, so I had to be willing to bend toward the play and allow it to become what it wanted to become.

TS: The play is about many things, but a large part of it is about turning 30 and how friendships endure when one of the friends gets married. Do you think friendships can endure when one of the friends takes on a life partner?

JH: I think they can endure, but they change, and for those who find change terrifying, that can be a real shock to the system. Two single friends facing the world together are going to have a very different relationship when one of those friends falls wildly, madly in love.

Today, people are getting married later and later. The average age for a first marriage for women is 27, for men, 29. In 1990, the average age for women was 23 and for men, 26. And in 1960, the average age for women was 20, and for men, 22. If a woman used to get married at 20, and now she waits until 27, what is she doing in those seven years to find intimacy and love and connection? Perhaps she has boyfriends, but I've observed that a lot of those non­romantic needs get fulfilled in friendships. So a person often enters a marriage with a group of friends who have served in so many ways as surrogate platonic lovers. Those friendships can be intense and powerful and deeply meaningful. A romantic connection outside the friendship necessarily ruptures that relationship. It's a tricky balancing act: how to be happy for a friend, even when you know, in some respects, you are losing them, and often when you need them most.

Friendship is the bridge between the families we are born into and the families we create when we find romantic partners of our own. When we're children, before we become romantic beings, we learn how to be friends. Friends are the first people we develop feelings of love for outside the boundaries of our families. I'm writing this as if I know anything about the psychology behind this stuff. I don't. But it does seem apparent that friendship comes before romance, and yet, when romance happens, it re­prioritizes a person's life. Ideally, one marries one's best friend. But wasn't there a best friend before the new best friend? What happens to him?

So yes. I think friendships can endure - I know they can - but there's also no question that they change. And with change, if something is gained, then something must necessarily be lost. This play stares down that feeling of loss. It sounds much more dire than it is. But I think people who were 20 in 1960 and got married had all the same needs for intimacy and connection that a single 20-­year-­old has today. And if that 20­year­old isn't getting married for another seven years, then chances are, they're finding that connection with a friend.

TS: There is an intergenerational relationship which the subscribers are sure to love between the character of Jordan and his grandmother - will you tell us about the genesis of that?

JH: The scenes between Jordan and Helene are the very heart of the play. Those are the moments when he's his most vulnerable and honest. Each time he visits his grandmother, she asks him the same question, "How's your social life?" and as his social life becomes lonelier and less fulfilling, he finds himself needing to answer the question more honestly, and that honesty gets increasingly painful.

They're both also grappling with their loneliness. He's lonely because he isn't sure he will ever find someone to share his life with, and she is lonely because she has to learn to live without the person with whom she shared her life for so long. They sit on opposite ends of it all, and yet, their day-­to-­day experiences are similar. They're both awake, late at night, watching TV alone. They're both standing up in the kitchen, eating meals alone. They're both spending a lot of time in their minds, remembering, imagining, daydreaming. So there's a great connection there, a deep sense of unspoken understanding.

I was also interested in looking at how Jordan comes to understand his place in his family. Helene likes to look at photographs of her parents, her husband, her grandparents, and to share these stories with Jordan. But the unspoken question he is asking in those moments is, what am I going to do with this information? Who am I going to pass this along to? Her place in the history of the family is secure, but his is not, and he's being entrusted to carry on stories and a legacy at the exact moment when he feels most vulnerable about what the future has in store for him.

TS: How did your collaboration with director Trip Cullman come about? Can you describe what you look for in a director? And what you both looked for in casting actors for this production?

JH: Trip is a director whom I've admired for many years. He read the play and seemed to immediately understand what it was about and what pitfalls would have to be avoided in a production of it. I think we were both excited to work with each other.

I want a director who on the one hand has a visceral, deep connection to what's on the page, but also who maybe sees the world a little differently than I do, someone whose approach to work and maybe even to life is a little different from my own. Those differences can rub up against each other in a way that can be very fruitful in a collaboration.

As for actors, they have to be great comedians but also able to tap into tremendous vulnerability. The play is (I hope!) funny, but it also traverses some rocky emotional terrain. Comedy can often be a defense mechanism, a shield to combat or protect people who feel vulnerable. We had to find actors who knew how to use the shield, but then knew how to put it down and drop all pretenses. I think we've found some remarkable actors for this production. I couldn't be more excited about this cast.

Barbara Barrie, Gideon Glick and Trip Cullman. Photo by Jenny Anderson." height="367" src="http://blog.roundabouttheatre.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/LR_DSC_5390.jpg" width="552" />

Barbara Barrie, Gideon Glick and Trip Cullman. Photo by Jenny Anderson.

TS: Do you anticipate the script changing during rehearsals? Is there something specific you look for during rehearsals when deciding on rewrites? Do you try to tailor the script to the strengths of the actors who are cast?

JH: I do anticipate the script changing. A good actor will teach you so much about what works and what doesn't- and we have seven great actors. So I plan to stay open and learn from them. At the same time, I'm going into this rehearsal knowing that there are certain foundational elements or moments without which, this play would not be this play. So you leave those things alone. Those are the tent poles.

TS: When I last interviewed you for Upstage, you said your favorite playwright was Wendy Wasserstein - will you be seeing the Broadway revival of her play The Heidi Chronicles? How does seeing the work of someone you admire affect your work?

JH: I have seen the revival, which features the remarkable Tracee Chimo. It was a powerful experience. Wasserstein was a very brave writer- unafraid to examine herself. She was asking questions a lot of us ask ourselves, alone, or quietly among friends. The difference is she had the courage to ask them out loud in front of everyone and found new, fresh ways of articulating those questions. For me, she is the master of the holy trinity of playwriting-personal, funny, and emotional. You can't really ask for more than that.

Seeing the work of someone you admire-seeing good work in general-reminds you of why you wanted to do this to begin with. A great play makes you feel something deeply, and so you're reminded that that's even possible in the theatre, and to keep striving to give that experience to someone else.

TS: You quote a line of Janie Blumberg's about "having it all" from Wendy's play Isn't It Romantic as the introduction to your play: "When I'm twenty­eight, I'm going to get married and be very much in love with someone who is poor and fascinating until he's thirty and then fabulously wealthy and very secure after that. And we're going to have children who wear overalls and flannel shirts and are kind and independent, with curly blond hair. And we'll have great sex and still hold hands when we travel to China when we're sixty."
Why do you think so many New Yorkers try to have it all - is it even possible?

JH: Sadly, no. No one can have it all. Time is finite. Energy is finite. And so we all have to make choices about how we spend our time. There's just no way you can be terrific at your job, be a perfect partner to your spouse, a perfect child to your parents, a wonderful friend, work out regularly, keep up with the news, go to see all the plays and movies and concerts and exhibits and lectures you should, read a good book, keep up with TV shows, prepare a home­cooked meal, keep your house clean, vote, volunteer, recycle, travel the world, and on and on and on...

So you have to make choices. I think part of why the idea of "having it all" is so appealing is because it means you didn't have to make any choices. Nothing was sacrificed. But what strikes me so much about this quote is the dream we have about our romantic lives when we're young. Janie Blumberg is someone who has a very clear sense of what she wants from love. I think Jordan Berman shares that trait with her.

And so then the question becomes, how do you walk around knowing what you want and not being able to get it? Jordan wants to be in love. But wanting cannot make it so. And so he's not standing on very solid ground, because he has to come to peace with his current life even though it's not the life he wants to be living.

TS: What are you working on now besides this production of Significant Other?

JH: I am working on two more plays, one of which is a commission for the Roundabout. I just finished working on the New York Spring Spectacular, at Radio City. But right now, I'm just focused on this play. A new play is an inherently risky undertaking, so I feel very grateful to have this opportunity to see it produced, and I just plan to work as hard as I can to be worthy of that risk.

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Significant Other begins previews May 21 at the Laura Pels Theatre. For more information and tickets, please visit our website.