The Second Third Act
Playwright George Abbott described a play’s construction this way:
Act I: get your hero up a tree
Act II: throw rocks at her
Act III: get her down
If we apply a play’s construction to a life, then perhaps the curtain rises on Act I as we are 20-35 years old. We’re in the world – eager, inexperienced and likely to be chased up a tree by school, career, family and just being a life rookie. Everything’s a surprise and all our experiences are new.
Act II might be 36 to 55 years old. This is where all the rocks are. In Gustav Freytag’s Pyramid for literature building, it’s the Climax, the apex of the Pyramid. Act II is the turning point signalling what we will experience onward as falling action.
In the Hero’s Journey, Act II is where Tests, Enemies and Allies appear, where we reach the Innermost Cave after the Ordeal!, seize the Sword/Elixir and turn to the Road Home wearing the Hair Shirt, hoping to integrate Big Change.
If there is a problem with a play, then the problem is probably in Act II.
I’ve been in the falling action section, and frankly I’m delighted I’m out.
Act III – Lights Up! and Action and we are 56 years old and onward. Act III is where everything is resolved. Our Hero gets down from the tree, through her own efforts, after she realizes that circumstances, the people she loves (and who love her) and her personal coach have all been telling her to do just that for a long time. Get down from the darn tree.
We’re so…busy before we’re 40. All the white noise of opinion, self-doubt, growing pains, living in our own heads while working in the world. I have a black and white picture taken at a business lunch in 1979. I am laughing. I don’t remember at what. I do remember the exact shade and feel of the braided Italian leather shoes I have on, that the blouse I’m wearing was black and purple striped silk, the suit a Bagatelle wool gabardine in deep purple. My hair was Scandalous Sienna that year. My nails were lacquered with OPI. My clutch handbag matched the shoes precisely.
On that day I was the only woman in the room. It was an industrial marketers’ lunch and there were no other women in that realm. Just a couple of us in the world flailing our way against the current, in a wind storm, wearing Italian leather shoes.
In 1990, during Act II, waiting at a traffic light, going to be late for an appointment, stressed to the gray roots of my hair, vibrating with angst and the unfairness of a world with traffic lights in it, I looked up and noticed that the trees had leaves on them. I had missed yet another spring. It’s possible the curtain was closing on Act II.
In 2001, standing transfixed at Stonehenge, my cousin checked his watch. “We should hurry. I want to buy you a drink before the bars close.” I said, “Why?” He said, “Because you’re 50 today!” Maybe the curtain rose on Act III that day.
The Hero’s Journey ends in the third act with Redemption and the Mastery of the Problem using the Big Change.
In Act III, when I will be 60 years old, I have calmed down. That’s all there is to it. Maybe I have the Sword/Elixir, and maybe I don’t. Most likely, I forgot where I put it. The Hair Shirt has been donated to a younger generation, for everyday wear, or to be tossed with the rest of the crosses borne by their predecessors. They’ll have their own Act IIs to bring the curtain down upon.
This morning I laughed. I remember at what. And there were many women in the room, sharing the laughter. That is the essence and spirit of Act III.
There is no dragon to be slain, no world-altering event I can create or commandeer, or take credit for. My realm is tiny, the universe infinite: my time limited, the future without end. I’m okay with that. Broadway is probably out of my reach, and I won’t deliver that soliloquy to the gathered leaders of the world with a baby spotlight at the front of the stage; my words the teabag to be steeped in the waters of global peace. I do what I can and hope the audience will continue to do the same.
We adjust, wind down, find our car keys, put on our coats. We share what we’ve seen, retell a favorite scene, maybe whistle a memorable tune on the way out the door as the stage lights dim and the house lights come up.
As we exit the Theater of Life, we reflect quietly that the Elixir is life itself, and that Act III is where Redemption begins.
Linda Robinson is a writer/artist still growing up in beautiful Michigan. Her first novel Chantepleure is available at lulu.com and her art can be seen at Sweetgrass in Davisburg, MI and on her website at www.58moon.com