Portland Magazine
An interview with playwright Conor Eifler ’11
By Haviland Stewart ’22
Conor Eifler ’11 first stepped onto the stage at University of Portland when he was only eight years old. That’s all it took for him to get hooked on live theater and what he calls the “magic of the space.” He continued to feed his passion for the stage, through youth theater and eventually as a theater major at University of Portland. Now an experienced writer, performer, and playwright, Eifler recently received the Angus Bowmer Award for Drama from the 2021 Oregon Book Awards for his play You Cannot Undo This Action, which will receive a fully produced reading on the Mago Hunt Theater stage from September 22 to 26.
Exploring social media and the impact it has on the lives of a group of teens, You Cannot Undo This Action delves into their (sometimes hilarious) communication and miscommunication via texts and social media, the choices of individuals to have an online presence or not, the questions raised by online trackability, and the potentially violent consequences of the dark web. You Cannot Undo This Action doesn’t offer cheap advice. Eifler isn’t admonishing teens to stay away from social media; he’s telling a story with nuanced characters, and, in doing so, he gets the audience to ask the big questions about what this social media experiment really means to us all and what may be at stake.
We sat down with Eifler to ask him a few questions about his career and his experience writing this play, which was commissioned by Playwrights West. What follows is a lightly edited version of our conversation.
For tickets to University of Portland’s upcoming reading of You Cannot Undo This Action, go here.
What sparked your interest in theater?
I just love the magic of the space. I know that sounds kind of silly or pretentious, but the stillness and magic and energy of a theater space is very exciting to me. The way that worlds are created and then washed away—and characters too. I know that, especially doing shows at UP when I was a kid, the college students just seemed like the coolest people in the universe to me. Especially as an only child. Some of them wound up kind of taking on older sibling roles for me, so it’s always given me a world of people to look up to.
How has writing for the stage impacted both your personal life and professional career?
Just a couple days ago, I talked with a writer acquaintance about the mindfulness that comes with writing. Sometimes the things that might annoy you or irk you wind up becoming potential material. It has just personally made things a lot richer for me. I think in a time when nuance and empathy don’t seem particularly valued, writing has been a way for me to dig into those values, deeper and deeper all the time. So that’s the short personal answer. And professionally, oh my gosh, I don’t know. I have been paid to write a couple plays, but I still make all my money at my day job at a little indie bookstore. Working there has opened up new kinds of writing—so it’s not just playwriting anymore for me—and it has been such a great resource to read all sorts of different kinds of writers. Good writing or great writing comes in all different shapes and sizes. My love of language has really expanded, and the kinds of things I like to do have also really expanded.
What gave you the idea to write You Cannot Undo This Action?
I was commissioned to write this play for what’s now Ida B. Wells High School. It was to be about social media and technology, and I got to have a great listening session with the students at the high school before I started writing the play, to hear about the role of social media in their lives, to get their perspective on things. This showed me how much the world has changed. When I was in high school, Facebook became a thing, and before that it was MySpace and LiveJournal and you kept your name hidden at all times. . . I was also kind of sadly inspired by the back-to-back shootings in El Paso and Dayton and to learn about [the role of] internet forums in perpetuating that kind of violence. Then I also watched that documentary, I Love You, Now Die, about the teenage couple in Massachusetts, where the guy commits suicide and his girlfriend had egged him on via text to do it. The documentary, and all the news at the time was about how she’s culpable, but how legally responsible is she for this? And what kind of precedent does that set for us as a society? So those are two things that kind of spurred me on to explore what the play is about.
The script has some laugh-out-loud moments. Why was humor important in this story? Particularly given that it can get pretty dark?
My impulse is always to write humor and to write humorously, so part of it’s just that I can’t write otherwise. But also, when things are dark and sinister, the light gives the dark definition. Something doesn’t get to be as dark if you don’t start somewhere light. And so that was certainly part of it, to try to bring out the darkness even more. It was my goal starting out to meet the students where they are and to meet the audience where they are. The world doesn’t need another condescending play about social media and how it’s screwing us all up. So part of the humor too is celebrating what’s fun about this. So it’s not just like, “social media is bad, don’t do it.” These kids get to express themselves and connect in ways that I do want to celebrate too.
All characters but one are always on social media. Robin says, “There’s this part of me deep down in my bones that feels like I would exist less if I didn’t exist online. It’s stupid, but I can’t shake it.” Do you think that this is a common feeling in society?
I think it’s a common feeling. Not everyone puts words to it, but I think a lot of folks feel it. And that particular line was based on comments from that listening session with high schoolers. This kind of fear of existing less if they didn’t exist online. And I think when I did initially shy away from social media and from posting, I did kind of feel like I existed…less.
Where did you get the idea to write this play in a way that mixed texting and in-person interactions?
I had been in a couple plays and watched a couple plays that had different forms of texting on stage, and I didn’t like how they were done. When you’re pantomiming a phone in your hand, and you’re looking down, the audience gets nothing. It’s just so visually boring. I was interested in trying to explore how we interact differently, face-to-face, versus when we can’t see somebody—for better and for worse. In some ways you can feel freer to be yourself when you are hidden. So, it came from wanting to explore the masks that we wear face-to-face versus in social media settings.
Why do you think a piece like this is timely and important to present to society right now?
I mean it’s about realizing our vulnerability. Day by day we’re realizing how vulnerable the various kinds of social media have made us: vulnerable to crimes, to hate crimes, to physical violence, but also in some way vulnerable to our own fears. How does being hyper-connected cause us to self-destruct? As much as we’re afraid of outside violence—what kind of violence do we do to ourselves when we remain so keyed in?
There’s so much in the play about being “trackable” online. Can you dissect that theme a little bit?
Honestly, writing the play helped me relax about that sort of thing, but being raised in a time on the internet when we kept our names hidden behind usernames and now having shifted to Facebook and all the other platforms in which you are clearly you, that played a role in it. I just have this paranoia sometimes about being tracked that’s always present in my mind, but also just the way that information is harvested makes me deeply uncomfortable . . . and as the play gets at, it can also be potentially very, very dangerous.
What was the message that you were trying to get across through your writing?
I try not to think of messages when writing plays, but I try to keep it open to questions and trying to spark conversations. The questions that I wanted the audience to think about are: what are the vulnerabilities that I have that are exploited by social media? How does social media and my realization of those vulnerabilities—how does that fear—potentially transform me?
Where do you fall on the social media spectrum? Are you everywhere, nowhere, or somewhere in the middle?
I would say some. In my early twenties I was all about trying to craft the funny witticisms that would get a lot of likes or comments on Facebook, and then I got shy, and I just stopped entirely. Within the last couple of years I’ve found a way to be engaged somewhat. I use Instagram and Facebook to take pictures of lawn flamingos that I find around Portland and also to post little artwork things that I make. I love seeing what my friends create, and I also just like advertising my plays.
What was it like writing for a teenage audience? When you write to a young audience, do you have to be careful you aren’t offering any lectures about social media? How do you make sure you’re respecting your audience?
It was new to me, but I would do it again. It was difficult, partially because all of my references are out of date. I didn’t get their references, and I had to learn a lot of slang, like, “tea.” Part of the listening sessions and then the workshop process was to get the vernacular right and authentic. I try to approach all writing as an act of service and as a gift. I want to serve the actors and give them really interesting material and serve the audience, to give them something interesting and fun.
Can you tell me what it was like the first time you saw your work being performed?
Gosh, just thrilling. It’s amazing to hear the reaction in the room, especially if it’s comedic and especially if it’s working.
What was the experience like discovering that you had received the Angus Bowmer Award for Drama?
Also thrilling, vindicating, gratifying. And it felt like a real corner turned both personally and professionally. It emboldened me and inspired me to get back to writing plays.
Who are some professional role models that inspire you?
My favorite living playwright right now is Will Eno. I just love everything he writes. And there’s a play that I tried to emulate several years ago in New York at Playwrights Horizons called Your Mother’s Copy of the Kama Sutra, by Kirk Lynn. . . I am weirdly inspired by David Byrne right now. I just love his way and I love how he experiments with everything with a really light and open spirit. So David Byrne, The Beatles, and I love Madeline Miller who wrote The Song of Achilles. She’s writing what she loves, and it’s almost the world’s best fanfiction.
What is a piece of advice that you would share with other young adults hoping to pursue a similar path?
Have fun and read a lot. Focus more on the craft than self-promotion.
Where do you hope to go from here?
Just get more plays produced. It feels really good, so I would love to try to keep writing boldly and keep sharing.
HAVILAND STEWART is Portland magazine’s summer student intern. During the school year she is the Living Section Editor for The Beacon, University of Portland’s award-winning student newspaper.
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