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his largely philistine society - in which wealth and glory mean more than life itself, in which visual and visceral stimulation crowd out all other kinds - has somehow managed to produce and sustain an abiding interest in the supposedly moribund art form of radio drama. It is less surprising that despite overwhelming disincentives people still make audio plays than that people still listen to them. I, for one, began radio work in 1972, more than a decade after its official death. In the time between then and now, I have discovered that the career of the contemporary American audio dramatist offers the most stimulating and direct route an artist can take to penury and obscurity.
Why would a supposedly intelligent individual devote himself to such an un-remunerative, un-acclaimed vocation? What secret ingredient does audio theater possess that makes it so seductive to its rabid practitioners and devotees? The answer, I think, lies not in a special ingredient, but in the lack of one. Audio is blind.
Audio is the most intensely visual of media precisely because of its sightlessness. It doesn't lack visuals; the audience supplies them. The action takes place, not on some stage in front of the spectator, nor even in some space surrounding the spectator, but within the listeners' minds. The distinguishing task of the audio dramatist is to use sound, language, voice, and music to evoke and to suggest - to inspire the listener into becoming part of the theater troupe, into taking on the functions of scenic designer, lighting technician, costumer, make-up artist, and special effects technician. No two listeners see the same audio play. The more the audio play stimulates images in the mind's eye, the more intense and personal the listening experience.
Perhaps then I shouldn't speak of audio's special quality as "blindness," which suggests a limitation. It's the other dramatic media that are limited. Einsteinian physics proscribes them: mass, time, and space dictate the fictive realities one can effectively conjure up on the confines of a stage or within the borders of a screen. In contrast, audio, being incorporeal, has no boundaries of time or space, no limits. Anything or anybody can instantaneously move anywhere in or out of the universe. Two objects can occupy the same space. Objects can exist in several times and spaces at once, or in no time and space whatsoever, or in all times and spaces simultaneously. No wonder then that fantasy, comedy, exotica and introspection work so well in audio. It is the theater of the mind, the only theater of the mind, the quintessential theater of the mind.
That direct, intimate, interactive, intensely personal appeal to the imagination is why, since the first radio play was broadcast in the 1920s, someone has always produced, disseminated and listened to audio drama. And that is why — despite the tremendous commercial pressures of American broadcasting, despite TV's dominance of home entertainment, despite new technologies — someone always will.
Recently listening to a recording of ‘40s radio plays, I was struck by how captivating they still are despite half a century’s remove and the iffy sound quality of the transcriptions. I was driving late at night in a raging downpour, eager to escape the elements into my warm dry apartment. Yet, I couldn’t tear myself away from the CD. I just stayed strapped in the wind and rain buffeted vehicle until the announcer’s sign-off.
No wonder, I thought, that listeners, who would never sample the dramatic recordings being produced today, lap this old stuff up! There’s a lot in these vintage productions that current audio dramatists can learn from. For, though there’s more new drama in the audiobook market today than ever before, not much of it is any good. Much of it suffers from weak writing, amateurish acting, questionable taste and over-production.
On the other hand, OTR was produced with a powerful directness. Everything important was placed firmly in the foreground. Everything inessential was ignored. Actors were cast from the ranks of professional stage and film veterans and were picked for their distinctive, expressive and listener-friendly voices. While the plots and characters were no more or less sophisticated than those on modern television, the writing was often better, if only because dialogue had to convey the essential values. Until the advent of recording tape, radio plays were either broadcast live or transcribed in real time. While this engendered dangerous potential for bloopers, it forced a sense of immediacy that I, for one, find hard to resist.
Now, I’m not deaf to the flaws of these plays. The need to grind them out swiftly and inexpensively brought about a conventionalization of the grammar of production. For instance, few homes on radio were carpeted (you can’t hear anyone walking on a carpet). All women wore high heels (to distinguish female from male footfalls). Nobody’s clothes rustled. All enclosures were sound proof – once you shut the door, all outside noise evaporated. Most galloping horses had only three legs (too difficult to make the sound of four-legged horses with coconut shells). All cars needed new mufflers. Commercial American radio of the period could afford little time and money for innovation.
There were exceptions -- Campbell Playhouse, CBS Workshop, Gunsmoke and X Minus One come immediately to mind – but by and large old domestically-produced radio drama sounds cheap and as if constructed on an assembly-line.
Subsequent technology has given audio drama the potential for greater dynamism and range of expression. It is now possible to create atmosphere through "sound texturing," as Canadian producer Bill Howell calls it: One can layer in and manipulate ambient sounds to enhance the mood of a scene or a sense of place. Timing of elements can be adjusted by milliseconds until flawless. Once can re-record, re-edit or re-mix until everything is just so. One can even create noises that the human ear has never before heard.
Perhaps of more importance, we have absolute freedom of content. Radio has always been subject to censorship of one kind or another. As long as producers avoid the airwaves, or broadcast via Sirius or XM satellite, audio theater can take on any subject, in any style using any language the marketplace will tolerate. While this may engender a certain amount of tasteless trash, it also provides room for sophisticated writing appealing to intelligent adults. The absence of time restrictions is also liberating. No longer do we have to shoehorn or stretch productions into 28- and 58-minute formats with room for commercial interruptions. Now, at least potentially, a sonic play can be worthy of permanent collections, like a book you enjoy coming back to or a fine painting on your wall that you never tire of gazing at.
Unfortunately, while more audio drama is being produced now than since American radio's heyday, not much of it is worth listening to, much less keeping in a permanent collection. The majority of producers and directors in this country today are enthusiasts rather than trained, disciplined professionals. Many have little or no background in theater, haven’t a clue about directing actors, and lean toward the self-indulgent. What they do have is relatively inexpensive digital sound gear in their garages and spare bedrooms, plus the will and spare change to produce and publish audio plays.
They have nowhere to learn. What few books on the subject exist are either fifty or more years out of date, or written for foreign audio dramatists, whose listeners and traditions differ widely from the domestic variety. At this writing, the National Audio Theater Festivals (NATF) holds an annual workshop, but in the few days of its duration, little can be accomplished beyond stoking the enthusiasm of participants. Sporadic academic and other learning opportunities pop up from time to time, but they're few and far between. I hope to ameliorate this problem with this book, which, with NATF's and the National Endowment for the Arts' invaluable help, I am making available free on the world wide web. NATF will soon release a print version.
In this book, I’ve tried to touch all the bases in practical, useful terms. I admit that I’ve skimped on the technical side. Technology advances so swiftly that, were this tome to contain detail about specific types of gear, it would prove outdated before a human eye could see it. Besides, I’m not speaking to the engineer here — or, for that matter, to the writer and actor — but to the producer and director, who, in my opinion, require a grounding in all subjects covered within these pages.
My advice addresses U.S. audio drama only. Audiences, jargon, methods, and aesthetics vary from area to area. Although I have worked sporadically abroad, my experience in both theater and radio comes primarily from stateside activity, where conditions differ from just about everywhere else. As it happens, I prefer the American sound, at least as practiced prior to the 1960s. It is the most direct and dynamic of those I’ve heard. In my work, I’ve tried to combine the American sound with the more European emphasis on content, on plays and approaches suitable for reasonably intelligent, literate adult listeners. I wouldn’t begin to know how to produce for children, Afghans, or shock jock fans. For that matter, I've never acquired the knack of directing child actors. It takes a skill and temperament I don't possess. So, when it comes to kids, you're on your own.
As much as possible I've dwelled on the practical. I have included only as much theory as seemed to me absolutely necessary. Even so, this book only treats what I consider the basics. Thorough knowledge is best acquired on-the-job.
I noticed that, since the 1970s when waves of interest first arose in reviving audio drama, few would-be producers come from the theater. I think a firm foundation in the live theater is essential for the audio dramatist. It is simpler and faster to teach audio to theater people than to teach theater to audio people. In addition, I've found useful:
a thorough knowledge of dramatic literature, the humanities and the history of radio drama;
a smattering of music theory;
work experience in television and film;
broad immersion in the world at large, particularly of cultures and modes of living that differ from or are diametrically opposed to the familiar;
a thick skin (which, unfortunately, I don't have);
tenacity, and
a willingness to take risks (sometimes aptly called foolishness).
I can't stress enough the importance of preparation. Everyone who enters the studio — producer, director, actor, production assistant, engineer, foley walker — should walk in fully briefed and with ample homework done. Everyone should strive to eliminate as much post-production ("post" for short) as possible, for the more that gets accomplished before and during the voice sessions, the more unified the production elements, the cheaper the production costs and the best use of your crew's time and energy. You can't be organized without doing the prep, and you can't work at your best unless you're organized.
Please also note that I have never learned to spell and that I'm one of the world's worst proof-readers. I beg your forgiveness for the typos and ersatz orthography you'll find herein. I hope you will alert me by e-mail to anything you find in this volume that requires clarification or modification.
If, as you read, you come upon an unfamiliar term, you can find it explained in the lexicon, or glossary, included in the Appendices. The lexicon in the appendices below includes terms and concepts that may not be mention elsewhere in this book, but that are handy for you to know. In fact, if you read the lexicon from beginning to end, you can give yourself a fairly ample grounding in audio drama even if you skip the rest of this volume.
In his biography of Samuel Johnson, Boswell notes an incident that occurred after the publication of Johnson’s famous dictionary in 1755. "A lady once asked him how he came to define pastern as the knee of a horse: Instead of making an elaborate defense, as she expected, he at once answered, ‘Ignorance, Madam, pure ignorance.’" As regards mistakes, quirks and omissions in this treatise, I plead the same excuse.
Contents •
Intro •Gimme a break! •Overview •Management •The P.A. •The Text •MS Formats •Mike Acting •Casting •Stereo •Directing •Production •Foley •Appendices •Author's Bio • NATF home page
