My Life In Four Cameras

“You’ve got yourself a real nice place here.”
“Glad you like it. You know, we couldn’t decide whether to buy a house or a condom.”
“…”
-Hi Honey, I’m Home! pilot episode

The last bit of advice that Justen gave us before we headed out from our last rehearsal before the Nextfest read was “Think sitcom-y. Think those rhythms and timing, and play with that.” Now, at the time, I was slightly offended, because I was all up in my Comedy Is Serious zone, with a side of I Am Doing Important Acting Work, So I Better Do It Properly. The more I think about it, though, the more right his suggestion was, on a lot of levels.

Hi, I’m David Johnston. I’m playing Logan in this production of Addition, and as I told Justen early on, I’m a writer/blogger myself, so I jumped at the chance when he opened the blog up to the rest of us lowly flesh puppets. I wanted to talk about something that’s been growing on me more, and more as I work on the project: viewing Addition as a sitcom.

Not just, of course. I’d rate the play 80% comedy, 20% drama with unusually raised stakes in the tense moments, but in all fairness, that’s the approximate ratio of most of your standard Friends or That 70s Show memorable episodes. From the second it opens, with a darling little I Love Lucy-esque moment that the characters correctly identify, diagnose and mock as being hopelessly kitsch. Except they’re both guys, so instead of your Ricky Ricardo character coming in and smooching your Mary Tyler Moore, character, he’s going after the Fred Mertz, or the Dick Van Dyke. (Claim your punchline… now.)

Continuing on, there are more broad set-em-up-knock-em-down jokes than I can count, at least three instances of someone barging into a room without knocking with hi-larious consequences, bad puns and extended metaphors out the wazoo and one clever moment involving a surprise costume change that only works if I am a complete dunderhead and cannot see what’s happening two feet behind me. There are moments of joke, pause and beat that you can just hear a cheesy canned laugh track going insane at. (Though live audiences will also respond, I’m guessing.) Most of the action is centralized in one location (Ben and Logan’s living room) with only a handful of scenes showing the outside world, and the time-frame is alternately simplistic or spelled out clearly for the audience to see. There are sitcom-y touches sprinkled throughout the play, subtly inviting the audience to a simpler, broader time.

And what I like about the script is that, yes, it’s that, it’s not just that; it doesn’t rely only on any of the obvious stereotypes for the humour, and it doesn’t take itself so seriously that we can’t laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Ben and Logan and Daren demand to be taken as real people coping with a realistic situation, no matter how witty and acerbic the dialogue gets, no matter how mildly contrived the resolutions are, no matter the plot twist that get thrown their way.

There isn’t anything wrong with that; one thing I’m amused at in rehearsals is how well the broad sitcom timing works with both comedic and dramatic moments. You can be serious and thoughtful while playing to four cameras; you can make the cheap jokes and the clever jokes all at once, and no one will think any less of it. The play continually straddles that line, and I love it for it.

So in conclusion, Addition is your big ol’ wacky gay sitcom, and I think it’s important to view it occasionally in those terms. Specifically, it has become my ongoing quest to convince Justen that there’s no way the play can move forward if we don’t have 1) a door (for slamming and entrances and huffy exits) and 2) a couch (for lounging and leaping and sitting and living on.) Come on! What kind of sitcom doesn’t have at least one couch somewhere? They’re great! Right? Guys? Anyone?

Hmph. I’ll be in my condom.

David Johnston
Actor (Logan)