“Minimalism, that’s the key,” he said.
“Exactly!” she nodded. “Imagine a musical with no songs. It would be perfect.”
“Well you could go the other way,” he mused. “Throw everything at it. Amp up your theatre. Big actions, big emotions, hearts threatening to burst right up there on the stage.”
“Right,” she said, “Crank it up. Go all pataphysical.”
“Pataphysical? You know Alfred Jarry?”
“Well yeah”, she said, “but only because of the Beatles.”
“Wait,” he said, looking confused. “The Beatles?”
“Yes, of course, silly. ‘Joan was quizzical, studied pataphysical science in the home.’ John Lennon led me to Jarry, Ubu Roi, Baudrillard, all that stuff.”
“Oh, I see,” he said, “The Beatles. It’s always good to start with the classics. Good old Maxwell Edison and his silver hammer.”
“Yes,” she smiled brightly, “The boy certainly had his demons.”
He thought it would be easy to get lost in her smile. “I believe,” he said, “that was the other Maxwell. James Clerk.”
“Why couldn’t you combine them?” she asked. “Maxwell’s Demon and Maxwell’s Hammer — a tale of two British fictional creatures, both dedicated to breaking the laws.”
“We could call it ‘The Demon and the Hammer'”, he said, warming to the theme. “Perfect name for a musical.”
“A metaphysical musical!” she said.
“Yes, a Mephistophelean metaphysical McCartney-esque musical. Would it have a love story?”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “We’d have to think about that.”
“You,” he said, “are fun to talk with.”