RIDDLE'S IN THE DARK

Jefferson Davis Riddle wasn't always Jefferson Davis Riddle. Until he was about ten years old, he was a boy named Charka, which meant handsome youth in the language of his mother's people. He came from the Lost River. His mother was a Modoc, his father a white settler. He was born during the Civil War, and died as World War II was beginning. I don't know why, but the guy haunts me. So I wrote a play about him, and the events that twisted him into a riddle.

Well, that's not entirely true- but then again, what is?

I set out initially to write a play about the Modoc War of 1872-1873 that happened in Northern California and Oregon, which is mainly a story about Captain Jack, a Modoc chief whose story is Shakespearean in scope. His story is one of heroism and betrayal on a massive scale- and I do include that in my play.

But once I began writing, the play quickly became about Riddle himself, and what it means to be a mix of good and bad- to not really know what your roots are, where you come from, and where you're going. I think most of us here in America can relate to that. Seems like most of us have family trees that get lost in the mists of time. We all come from the displaced, the lost, the removed ones- and our family histories are mixed up collages of myth and mystery.



As I wrote the play, more and more characters who are lost, twisted, and/or crazy started showing up. First came Hel- Norse goddess of death who is half beautiful enchantress, half dead thing whose father is Loki- god of chaos, thieves, and madness and whose mother is an ice giantess named Angrboda. Clearly, she has some family issues of her own. (I also have a one act about her going speed-dating called Hela and Troy) Then along came Raven- trickster god of the Pacific Northwest who sometimes is his own grandpa- just like that stupid song. Raven was my own father's favorite mythological character- and as such, he carries a lot of weight.  Then there's Mimir, a chopped off head of a wise man that's still alive. In the play, I've made Mimir be a wise-woman whose sex has been misrepresented in the stories to both illustrate how stories change with time, and also to make the show have more female roles.  And then there's ghost of Pocahantas- after they changed her name to Lady Rolfe and shipped her off to England, where she died of a broken heart. She shows up in the third act, and I find her hysterical and really sad.

The play is just full of happy folk.

And it's got a lot of humor. Sounds weird, I know- but let's face it, we turn to humor most when things are going particularly bad- and it's been that way from Aristophanes to SNL. I think the reason the Irish and Russians have such dark senses of humor is because if they didn't, they'd go mad.

Anyhow, I'm telling you all this because this August 24, there's going to be a free staged reading of the play- which is called RIDDLE LOST, presented by 2X4 BASH at The Western Stage, directed by Skot Davis. That's in Salinas, CA. A beautiful place to spend a day in August.

I want you all to come see it. All of you. Now go.

WHY IS A RAVEN LIKE A WRITING DESK?

So my latest opus is going to have a staged reading this November as part of Boomerang Theatre Company's First Flight series, and I thought I'd tell you a little about it.  It's called Riddle Lost.  The reading is going to be directed by Philip Emeott- who originated the role of Earth in Burning the Old Man.

About ten years ago, I read the book Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown.  It's basically a history of what happened to all the native people here in North America after the Europeans arrived and said "Hey, this is our land, provided by God, and you all have to go away".  It's brilliant, depressing, and should be required reading for every citizen.  Let's face it, we stole this country from other people- and were pretty nasty about it.  I have always been fascinated, saddened and inspired by native American culture- not that I am by any stretch of the imagination a specialist on it.   I just think they were and are a group of people who got the short end of a very large, dangerous stick.  And that's putting it nicely.

Anyway, one of the chapters in Bury My Heart is about the Modoc War of 1872, which took place in Northern California.  The central figure in that war was a man called Captain Jack by the settlers, Kintpuash by his own people.  And the story is amazing- Shakespearean in scope, full of characters and situations that don't seem quite real but which, according to the history books, were.  Aside from being history, it's a story of one person sticking to what they believe to be right, when everyone around them, on all sides, do bad things.  Like really bad, killing babies, betraying your people, murder under a flag a truce bad.

I started researching online.  Found a book, The Indian History of the Modoc War, written by a guy who was half Modoc, half Honkey.  The author had lived through the war.  He was a Riddle, and not just in the figurative way.  I mean his name was Jefferson C. Davis Riddle, which seems perfect.   Actually, when he was a boy his name was Charka.  But his parents, a Modoc woman named Winema and a white settler named Frank Riddle,  changed it after the war.

I thought I'd write a sort of historical play, an American Henry V or something.  But that's not what came out.  Often, when I write, I set out to do one thing, and something entirely different comes out.  I've learned to just go with it, not try to force my original vision on what comes out when I'm at the keyboard.  I think my subconscious is a better writer.  Either that, or I'm hearing voices, spirit guides who tell me what to write and I don't really have a say in my work.  In any event, when I finally found that first scene which let me into the world of the play, it was nothing like the historical tale I originally envisioned.  No, it was a metaphysical hodge-podge set somewhere in Limbo, and populated with characters like the Hel, Norse Goddess of Death;  the trickster Raven; an animated cigar store Indian named Ziggy;  and the decapitated head of Mimir, another figure from Norse mythology.  Basically, the play is populated with historical and mythological figures from both Europe and North American, all hanging out in a side show tent run by Hel.  Into the tent walks Riddle, who has just died, and the story begins.  It's big and weird and totally different from anything I've done, and exactly like everything I've done.  I used the Goddess Hel once before- but that was when she went by the name Hela- in a one act called Hela and Troy, available from Playscripts, inc.  I liked her in that show, and I think she wanted to stick around for awhile.

If you are in the New York City area in November, I really hope you come to the reading- I promise it won't suck.   And not only will you hear a new play, you might just learn the answer to the age old riddle, why is a Raven like a writing desk.