A Think Piece on the Pornography Industry

“The way I write is not realistic, not docudrama,” said playwright Marlane Meyer. “It’s extended realism, it’s more poetic. A theater stage is a surreal dimension; it’s not naturalistic. If it’s naturalistic, it’s not fun. It’s not intriguing. There’s no mystery. If you want to surrender to factualness, you can rent the movie ‘Hardcore’ or read the books of Linda Lovelace. Those will provide you with enough information if you really want to know about pornography.”

Meyer’s treatment of the subject comes in “Etta Jenks” (opening tonight at the Los Angeles Theatre Center), the story of “an everywoman, an everyperson who comes out from the Midwest to be a star and ends up in the porno business.” She sighed. “It’s about the exploitation of women, so we’ve been trying not to have exploitation of women in the play. But it is a piece that involves pornography--at least as a background--although it’s really more of a think piece.”

Meyer, 36, didn’t do research for the script. She didn’t have to. “I read about (the late porn star) Shauna Grant and thought, ‘What a sad story.’ But it’s also a normal story. I’ve known six or seven people who came here to be in movies and ended up in porno. These were normal women, bright women, who didn’t want to work for $350 a week--which is what people make in the real world. In porno, you can make $1,000 a day. I mean, come on. This is a capitalist society. Money is the real freedom here.”

Meyer, though hardly opposed to the concept of remuneration (just ask her about that $7,500 Kesselring Award for “Etta”), believes that work is its own best reward.

“I like my writing,” she said firmly. “I really do. It’s fun for me to do it. No, not fun. Fun is a stupid word. But there’s nothing like writing plays, no other experience in my life. It’s the combination of language and ideas and feelings and really being present in the world. When I was 24, I wrote my first play; actually, it sort of wrote itself. I remember the feeling. It was magnificent.

“I want to be a great writer,” she said. “It’s better to fail at being great than being mediocre.” There are other risks: “Sometimes you don’t get produced. Or people don’t believe in your work. You can usually get readings in this town; my stuff’s been done in a garage, a bookstore. But the whole idea is to be somewhat successful at it. And that could be depressing, because you don’t want to sell out--and you also don’t want to go insane. So, yes, it matters to be heard. When you’re writing for theater, the (essential) component is the audience. It’s meant to be heard.”

If there’s a theme in her work, she says, it’s alienation. “I’m a contemporary writer, so I write about that. I think there’s a loneliness in our society, a lack of intimacy. People are unable to speak to each other, address the important issues of their lives. They look at movies to have an experience of real life. So William Hurt (in the film “Broadcast News”) is doing their thinking for them, Holly Hunter is doing their thinking for them. And people fall in, surrender their emotional lives to movies; it’s like, ‘Take me.’ The point is you should hold onto your existence, keep your own counsel.

“I preach constantly,” she noted. “That’s why I teach the Young Playwright’s Lab (at LATC). And I’m very opinionated. When I graduated from high school, I got a job reading palms at a restaurant in Hollywood. I’m an old soul from living in this world. I want to know things. I’m interested. I talk to people standing in line at the supermarket, on a plane, in a waiting room, in an elevator: ‘How long have you been (operating) the elevator here at the Empire State Building?’ I think you become a curious person before you become a playwright. At least, I am.”

Curious, and sensitive--especially about having missed out on a pedigreed drama education.

“I still worry about it,” she nodded. “I wake up in the middle of the night and think about getting into Yale Drama School, sending off for the brochures. My agent says, ‘Why? You’re already a playwright?’ I know it’s silly, but that feeling . . . “ Her voice darkens. “Do you know what it’s like to grow up in San Pedro? It’s a stupid town. It makes you feel nervous--like ‘What am I gonna do? Get married?’ I left home when I was 17 (having graduated with a “D-minus average” at 16). I looked like I was 10; I was just this birdy thing.”

Still tiny in stature, Meyer (who’s currently working on an LATC-commissioned anti-pollution project with local dramatist Reza Abdoh) tries to keep her ego strong: “My confidence depends on how it’s going with whatever I’m writing. If it’s really rich and facile, it doesn’t matter what happens: the world could blow up, the marriage could go down the toilet. But if you haven’t been doing your work, if you’ve been lazy or not honest, that’s when you really get stressed out. You think, ‘Who am I? Where am I going? What am I doing?’ ” She smiled at her words. “People should never be afraid. Life is long. There are lots of points to recoup.”