ARDEN was, for me, a fascinating character to undertake. His current state was quite easy for me to grasp-- there were so many similarities.

First off, he's a remnant of The Group Theatre, a group of actors, directors, and a few producers, (mainly Cheryl Crawford), who, in the Thirties, had a definitive, life-altering affect on our Modern American Theatre. And coincidentally, or perhaps not so...hmmm... my ties as an actor, playwright, director, and teacher have a stem with roots that go directly back to that source. You might say to that fertilized, organic, that fabulous, chuck of earth that has nourished thousands. Unfortunately, Arden was either over- or under-nourished, and in the confusion of time moving on, as it is wont to do, he was left behind, his roots severed, his organic nourishment diminished considerably, and replaced by a type of less organic sustanance-- booze.

But back to my roots. I was trained by Sandy Meisner at The Neighborhood Playhouse, as an actor. Most thoroughly. That training spilled over into my other theatre endeavors, particularly playwriting, directing, and teaching.

Meisner, mentioned by our film writers in the script, was one of the original members of The Group, as was Phoebe Brand, who was responsible, later in my life, for my abilities, such as they may be, to act the works of Shakespeare. Brilliant, talented, lovely lady. But long before that, when young and curious, I wandered into Bobby Lewis' acting workshop and listened intently and learned nothing of any consequence. But did get to know him. Harold Clurman, one of the main forces in The Group fell into my creative life, when I was a member of the Actors Studio's playwriting unit, and suddenly Harold appeared one year, as Moderator, and began to critique our plays. He chose to take one of mine, and me, with him to his summer workshop, Boston U's program, in the Berkshires for a month or so, and I was able to develop vague close ties with Harold, who was a bit of a recluse unless engaged in directing, teaching, or gabbing about the love of his life--the only one--the Theatre.

Cheryl Crawford, one of the founders of The Group, and I became friends of sorts when she, an admirer of my then-wife, Barbara Baxley, showed interest in my plays, but was never moved to produce a single one. And then there was Lee, (Lee Strasberg), least of them all in my estimation, who headed the Studio and once told Barbara, an early member, that Sandy M had told him I was the most promising actor he'd ever taught.

So I had close ties to Arden, the one left behind. A natural close affinity to him and with his eccentricities, which, in occasional instances, mirror mine. Suffocated by the miniscule talents that have slowly taken possession of the local theatre he launched, he resorts to aggressive wit, put-down humor and snide, somewhat snarling, demeaning, cynical comments and observations to, and about, the usurpers of his wobbly dream. I understand his mode of survival which brought nourishment and momentary rejuvenation, sparks of life, to his vanquished soul.

His fall from grace, you might say, into the arms of Lucifer. Adored by all who have learned to turn his dark dim past into something of use to themselves, Arden staggers on. And I with him. Hiccup! Sorry. –Doug Taylor