Connor: In the simplest sense, it’s about a friendship that’s put to the test.

Interviewer: I mean who are the characters?

Connor: Oh, I see. You wanna know what happens? There’s a difference.

Interviewer: Okay, so what happens?

Connor: A transgender woman loses her job in the South because of who she is and her boyfriend, this Cherokee guy, gets blackballed from the same institution. They work at welding school. Anyway, they decide to leave the South. They’re ready for new horizons and all. They go up to Appalachia where her boyfriend has the deed to his parents’ cabin. Of course, her boyfriend hasn’t told her everything about who he is and what’s hibernating in the forest.

Interviewer: What’s up there in the forest?

Connor: Evil. Just pure evil.

Interviewer: Was it a difficult story to write?

Connor: No, miraculously this book just kind of fell out of my ass in like four months.

Interviewer: Who are your influences?

Connor: Hmmm. I have to say a lot of Southern writers. I’m a big fan of Joe Lansdale, Larry Brown, Harry Crews…    I also think the late John O’Brien is the bomb.

Interviewer: Flannery O’Connor?

Connor: Nope.

Interviewer: Really?

Connor: I liked the movie version of Wise Blood, but I can’t stand O’Connor’s prose. I don’t know why.

Interviewer: Will you write a sequel?

Connor: Oh, fuck no.

Interviewer: You had that response on the tip of your tongue.

Connor: I don’t feel like there’s any room for a sequel. I’m eager to write something else.

Interviewer: What advice would you give to other writers?

Connor: The best advice I ever heard came from a Youtube video I saw about Stephen King. He said read. You’ve got to read. You’ve got to formulate a style through seeing how others do it. You’ve got to decide which books you like to read, how you want to read them. What do you want your words to do? Writing is a skill you put time into and figure out how to tell the story you want to tell. You know, it’s not something you can do on the weekends and expect to get good at it. I am extremely, emotionally invested in my writing. It’s who I am. It’s my identity. It has to be the most important part of your life if you want to do it professionally. And don’t most of what you hear. People have started writing very late in life and very able to become notable writers: Larry Brown, Bill Buroughs etc. You gotta read and you gotta sit down at the keyboard and just fucking do it.

Interviewer: Thanks for chatting.

Connor: My pleasure.

Full disclosure: my brother was the reason I came to Santa Cruz to see this play. He was the Media Designer for The Thinning Veil, and hearing about all of the ridiculous things he was having to do to get the technology up and running piqued my curiosity. When he told me the premise, I admit that I was skeptical. I thought that the idea of having two separate stages connected by a live feed sounded like a pretentious gimmick, a curiosity at best. But to my surprise and delight, the technological/transmedia component of the play was completely in harmony with the story, and was integral to Brandt’s version of the tale. I walked away with a few small complaints — Iphegeneia’s speech about how she wants a job and “higher education” rang modern/feminist in a corny way, there were one or two odd casting choices, I had a few questions about the nature of the camera-bearing “veils” — but none of these had much to do with the problem of telling one story with two stages and six cameras.

I expected that if I found the play interesting, I’d feel the need to see it a second time at the other stage to get the full effect. But to my surprise, I didn’t get that impression. I found myself riveted by the performances of Kathryn Wahlberg as Cassandra and Patty Gallagher as Clytemnestra — Wahlberg was doing her thing fifteen feet in front of me, and Gallagher was several hundred yards away, but both of them were captivating whenever they spoke. And while I’m tossing out praise, I should mention that the veils were delightfully creepy and impressively dedicated, remaining in character as they operated their handheld cameras skillfully. They set the mood and kept the tension high while not detracting from the drama unfolding around them, and that seemed like it took some doing.

As I left the “Dark Lab” at the Digital Arts Research Center that evening, I found myself inspired, imagining all the storytelling possibilities that this production had opened up. It was fascinating, and beautifully done, and I deeply respect everyone who worked so hard to pull off such a ambitious play. If the crew hadn’t been careful, if the cast hadn’t been dedicated, The Thinning Veil might not have been able to convince me that we’re ready to explore storytelling in this way. But we are. I’m so excited to have seen The Thinning Veil, and I’m eager to see what’s next.

- Janet T.

It only takes 20 minutes – go have a look!

In case you don’t have 20 minutes to spare at the moment, here’s the trailer:

Immediately after my 20-minute experience with Bear 71, I found myself wanting to know more about the project, so I consulted Google. One of the first links I followed led to this review by The Huffington Post. I was surprised to discover that this reviewer doesn’t think the interactive aspect of the documentary is successful – the review argues that “the introduction of choice can dilute the impact of the main storyline” and that the “adventure-game aspect of the project doesn’t necessarily enhance the viewer’s sympathy with the animals.” The review concludes, “We’d love to see a version of the short that is made up entirely of curated surveillance footage with consistent narration, but the version currently presented is definitely worth a look.”

It’s a strange suggestion, especially because the interactivity of Bear 71 is not a small part of an otherwise linear project. It isn’t an afterthought that was tacked on to a traditional documentary about a bear. The interactivity of Bear 71 is central – it is the defining characteristic. The trailer specifically states that Bear 71 is about the “intersection between animals, humans, and technology,” and it is fitting that participants get to make choices and become a conscious part of that intersection.

The full 20-minute experience poses many provocative questions – whether there is such a thing as “the wild” any more, whether there is any way for humanity to interact with animals without fundamentally changing them, how technology is changing us, too – but in my experience with Bear 71, I only took these questions personally because moving through this digital map of the park and making my own small choices made me feel involved. I should feel involved, I should be aware of these issues all of the time, but it is all too easy for me to sit back and think of environmental problems as sad but inevitable things that have nothing to do with me. Giving me agency forces me to feel the responsibility. It forces me to remember that I am culpable.

It’s true that I missed some of the narration the first time through because the sheer amount of information in the digital park distracted me. And I wish I felt compelled to stay in that world after the narration ends, exploring the park, but I do not. I’m not saying Bear 71 is perfect – but it is clever, effective, interesting – and above all these things, a step in the right direction. It’s good stuff.

– Janet T.