The Monthly Manifesto

It's never been about the money...

2010-01-09T18:36:00.000-08:00

Thank you to Adaptive Arts Theater (via their blog) for the link to this, the Bread & Puppet Theatre's Cheap Art Manifesto. If you haven't read it already, it is a friendly reminder of what the arts are really all about.

More on this later. My mouth is hurting my head to much to give this any more thought. So, back to healing my wisdom teeth with LOST.

The Side Walk Chalk Walk

2009-08-16T13:57:00.000-07:00

Hi Everyone!

During my final semester at Brooklyn College, my 20th Century Theatre professor, Steve, introduced me to works by Allen Kaprow and Tadeusz Kantor. Thank God. I would have been really embarrassed if I had a BFA in Theatre and didn't know who these people were. It's bad enough I still have no idea what every theatre theorist who has ever written anything, means when he or she uses the adjective "plastic."

Anyway, I was pretty enamored by the ideas of these two theorists. Steve agreed to let me stage my own Kaprow-Kantor inspired Happening as a final project. The vague plan was to advertise a meeting on Brooklyn College's quad, and trace each other with Sidewalk Chalk.

This is the mission statement.

Here are the photographs.

Holistic Theatre

2009-08-11T07:24:00.000-07:00

Holism – noun Philosophy – The theory that whole entities, as fundamental components of reality, have an existence other than as the mere sum of their parts. (Random House Dictionary, 2009)

The spirit of theatre, I believe, comes in the hope of uniting audience and production. A hope that spectators will be more than spectators, that actors will do more than entertain, that all in the room on a particular evening will connect through higher themes and emotions – that people will be, for lack of a better term, moved.

A few months ago I sat in on a Butoh workshop. Feeling rather unwell that day, I (sadly) opted only to watch rather than participate. Though downtrodden, being witness proved to bear its own gifts beyond the scholastic and analytic. For here I am, months past and still stirring with thoughts and feelings from the encounter. As a workshop, it was (smartly) not geared toward the idea of the “performative” – for an “audience” – but nor was it for personal, private, (selfish?), learning. Those participating were guided to express, for whoever was willing to holistically listen, the seemingly inexpressible essences of whom they uniquely are.

What a joy! Here was all the humanity of each individual participating in all its frighteningly unsanitary glory. No jars or tubes, no gloves or goggles, no disinfectants or antibacterial wipes. No fourth walls or contrivance of a character. Meat on my plate, straight from the hide. Raw, bleeding.

Take a breath, hold it, and dance your final dance of life until you can dance no more. Walk the timeline of your life, from birth to death, not failing to take time and cherish the moments in between. They all will come, but they all will pass. And death will come, and you will pass.

This was as great a theatre as any I could hope to see upon a stage. Perhaps as Romantic in theory as could exist, too. It was grotesque, but that it was made it beautiful. I saw the rich life of those I knew, and recognized the fruitfulness of those I didn’t. I thought of my life, my connections, what my dance of life would be. I was filled with love and hope, and wanted to do better in the world, make stronger, more loving connections while I was able. I was in awe of the spirit of (wo)man.

This is what theatre should be.

I have spent this summer working on Joan of Arc at Fort Tryon Park with Gorilla Rep, an environmental and ensemble based group that takes great pride in directly connecting with the audience to make them truly a part of the show.* During one performance, in the latter part of the play as it moved near the large archway at the base of the Pine Grove area, a dark, clearly solid object came plummeting out of the sky and nailed a teenage audience member square on the head. The show was stopped as the girl was tended to, our young war veteran director chased off the culprits, and cast joined audience beyond the (500 watt) lights. Suddenly, I was back in the classroom, experiencing Butoh. Breath held, our spirits danced in fear, hoping the girl to be uninjured. It was roughly ten minutes that cast and audience shared as family, strengthening our devotion to being better people over this unnecessarily violent act. Fortunately, we shortly discovered the object was only a half-filled beer can. Our combat medic cleared the beer-soaked teen of any severe injury (aside from the slight to her dignity) and when asked, she insisted on seeing the rest of the show (it was her second time). And almost all of the some-odd hundred audience members stayed as well. Not because the show was that fantastic (though we’d like to believe it was), but because of a deep emotional connection to community. We all stuck together. That’s what Joan of Arc is all about.

There was something very special about the end of that performance. The strange, artificial (and somehow inevitable) wall between performance and audience was permanently stripped from the evening. I felt an incredible, overwhelming need to tell the rest of this story to the absolute best of my ability (Joan of Arc is, after all, about love and greed, right and wrong, and the very gray line between them). Which was tough. I was playing a vindictive character attempting to rape Joan, ultimately gaining pleasure from her burning. It was, however, so important for this audience that I play my role truthfully that I – and the whole rest of the cast – prevailed with incredible fervor. That last thirty minutes were one of the greatest gifts as an actor I feel I’ve both ever given and received.

Yes, a select few were very angry the show was not stopped and the cops were not called. Yes, some participants did not give over to the experience in the Butoh workshop. But they are important, too. They are humanity that must be recognized, and the earth shared with them as well. Theatre should remind us of our community we must love while we share our brief moments on earth. And great theatre will not just “show” us, but truly share with us the same thick air in a small room gathered under the stars willing to look merely to one another.

* - I do not mean, though I admit it certainly sounds like it, to say that Gorilla Rep is what theatre should be.

The Times they are a-changin'

2009-08-10T08:24:00.000-07:00

I live quite happily without a television, having very little time for passive entertainment and keeping up with current events through online periodicals. The news has always been difficult for me due to my feint-of-heart sensitivity to violent images and my talent for crying over just about everything (international tragedies and Pixar films alike). I'm very thankful for the easily accessible, alternate source of news that enables me to choose which articles I read instead of tolerating unannounced gruesome images and the repetitive nature most news channels thrive on.

I like the New York Times. I find the articles informative and compact and the website is easy to navigate. I start with the "front page" and move on to national headlines, then to the international section. I peruse the science and health articles, and if I have time, I read an opinion or two. I end with the arts section, working my way down the artistic alphabet (skipping over "Television") until I arrive at the theatre page. This should be my favorite section, but it's not. I usually take in the reviews with an open mind, and find the informative articles educational and enjoyable. I love the audio slideshows. However, there are two particular articles I've read lately that have left me a little embarassed for The Times:

A recent review of Gorilla Rep's "Joan of Arc" addresses some legitimate critiques of the production from a company that is famous for outdoor, wordsy theatre...except that a large part of the article was criticising it for being...outdoors and wordsy. I am not suggesting that mud and mosquitos should be an understood and accepted aspect of outdoor theatre, and therefore should be left out of a review completely. Folks who have never seen a Gorilla Rep production should be advised to bring bug spray and sneakers. The company is considerate enough to add a disclaimer about the nature of their performances on their website. I would have appreciated critisism that did not dwell on the advertised, if not renown style of their environmentally staged performances.

Secondly, there was a great informative article on the process the playwright underwent in the development of Primary Stage's "A Lifetime Burning." The article focused on the playwright's obsession for modern design and how it was translated into the play and the set design. Though there is a photograph of the set and it is mentioned several times, none of the designers are credited except for the company which provided some of the furniture. I don't expect the production team to be recognized often, but since this piece is so particular about the aesthetic inspiration of the show and the set design, I would have expected the designer to be credited. Please note that this article appears in the Theatre section of the New York Times website, but originally appeared in the Home and Garden section of the Style Page in the published periodical.

As always...what do you guys think?

An Important Workshop Announcement

2009-04-22T07:35:00.000-07:00

Lecoqworkshop NYC
Presents

LECOQ TECHNIQUE
SUMMER INTENSIVE 2009
THE ART OF MOVEMENT AT THE SERVICE OF THE ACTOR

WITH MASTER TEACHER: NORMAN TAYLOR

June 22nd - 26th

After two highly successful visits in ’06 and ’08, Norman Taylor, who taught alongside Jacques Lecoq for 20 years, is returning to New York for a five-day summer workshop.

Beginning with the premise that everything moves, this workshop is an exploration into the inherently physical nature of theater. It will explore three fundamentals of Jacques Lecoq's approach to artistic training: the analysis of movement, physical storytelling, and the actor as creator. By drawing upon the inspiration of music, painting and poetry, the actor will explore styles of storytelling that include spoken word, pantomime blanche, the language of gesture and sound. Working from short stories by Chekhov and Poe, the workshop will culminate in the collective creation of original physical theater pieces.

This workshop offers the actor a unique opportunity to develop a heightened sense of their body in performance with one of the world’s greatest teachers.

SPACE IS LIMITED

Norman Taylor taught at the Ecole Internationale de Théâtre in Paris for 20 years. Prior to this, he was a student of Lecoq's himself, first as an actor and then as a student of his pedagogy. From 1998 - 1999, Norman was the Pedagogical Coordinator at the school. He now teaches Lecoq's techniques throughout Europe and Latin America and is on faculty at the renowned Lassaad International School of Theatre in Belgium. This is Norman’s third visit to North America.

_______________________________

Participants do not need to have studied Lecoq technique but do need to have a working familiarity with one or more theatrical movement techniques.

For more information please contact:
Adrienne Kapstein at lecoqworkshop@gmail.com

by phone at: (347) 645 4985

or go to: http://web.mac.com/adriennekapstein

Hours: Monday, June 22nd through Friday, June 26th 10am - 3pm

Location:
Brooklyn College:
New Theatre Workshop, Whitman Hall
(Entrance at Campus Road and Hillel Place)

Fee:
$450
$100 deposit is required to secure a space and is refundable until June 8th
Remainder of fee is due June 15th

Please make checks out to Adrienne Kapstein and mail to:

Adrienne Kapstein
2515 Glenwood Road, #6G
Brooklyn, NY 11210

Oh no you didn't....

2009-04-14T12:57:00.000-07:00

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=85022455880&ref=mf#/event.php?eid=85022455880&ref=nf

The Collaborative Theater - PART THREE: The Collaborative Theater

2009-04-14T12:12:00.000-07:00

Theater is by its nature collaborative, no matter what way you slice the pie (unless you don’t slice the pie at all – see notes below). But we seem to have certain nomos (the Greek term for tradition, or unwritten law) in regards to how we create theater, of which I am starting to think – based on my previous exploits in parts one and two – are standing in our way of creating greater art.

Recently, I have had an Actor confide to me their fears of having to take a stage-craft class, and a Director share how they opted not to take an Improv II class because they weren’t “an actor.” In many other careers, this would (and probably should) be standard fare (you may not want an eye doctor giving you open heart surgery). But we are so fortunate to be working in such a free and exploratory environment; the nomos of the theater is not in stone - we do not have to adhere to “rules” of how to do Theater, there are no “Theater Police” to arrest us should we not create art in the way our society expects us to.

And how do we know what “society” is expecting us to do, anyway? Many of my good friends at this point, I am sure, are shaking their heads in shame, with Richard Foreman or John Jesurun pounding on their frontal lobes (please see notes). But I will abate your fears.

What happens should we momentarily put aside our prescribed titles (Actor, Director, Designer, etc.) in the working of theatrical projects? Would it work towards forming a more collaborative feeding ground for our art? I see a great quality of Theater growing out of Peter Brook’s question 'Why Theater?' and think, because of this, we all should, first and foremost, be Theater Artists.

So what I am calling the Collaborative Theater begins with Theater Artists interested in working with one another. And they come together lacking any preconceived notions of what is to happen, save for ideas they may want to play with theatrically. Here they embark on a discussion of their art, what brought them together, those ideas they may want to play with, etc. This discussion is most vital, not only because it is in the hope that this is the discussion that will lead to the creating of a work of art, but it is also about freeing everyone involved - discussing Theater freely, what one sees working or not working, what one finds interesting and boring - because this establishes the relationship of the artists from here on out. And it is here, hopefully, that an idea is arrived at which can begin to be worked theatrically. Obviously this could be an incredibly wide range of possibilities, depending on the people in the room; working from only fertile soil, the possibilities are truly limitless.

In deciding on a project, the preproduction element (crafting of a conceptualization, the writing of a play – anything) should remain as free and open to discussion as this initial discussion has been – no one has a “job” yet, we are all Artists with equally valuable thoughts. However, in the midst of crafting a project, leaders in certain aspects will seem to emerge – maybe a Designer, or a Director, even Characters. This should happen. For a piece of theatrical work to come to fruition, it is (or at least should be) demanded that each artist involved be their own leader of their aspect of the craft (or crafting).

In the Collaborative Theater, it is good to allow here for the unexpected. A prescribed “actor” may emerge designer, “director” may emerge actor, “designer” may emerge director. These roles, these Leaders, should emerge organically (and in that, it will be more organic that, say, the designer becomes a designer through this process. What we don’t want is, for example, non-collaborative actors to be fighting over a part – that would be counter-intuitive, more of that pie problem).

This term, “Leader,” is important, for who is a Leader without Followers? The idea here is that ultimately everyone becomes a Leader (an emerged designer will be the Leader of their element, an emerged actor will be the Leader of their character), and thus everyone else involved becomes everyone else’s follower. And they are all Followers not by blindly following, but they believe in their Leader, and know their ideas, when voiced, will be heard, discussed, thought about – each Follower is allowed to have an influence upon the Leader. Call it Democratic Theater, if you will.

The Collaborative Theater begins with the simple fertile soil of Artistic minds so as to keep the discussion open and free throughout the process. It is coming from the belief that the more truly collaborative our work, the stronger the piece we emerge with will be. It comes from a desire to keep fear or inhibition of sharing ideas (or opinions) out of the work, allowing for there always to be room to grow, ideas to be voiced by anyone within the group about any aspect of their production. When we all start from the same simple place of a desire to create, we are able to hear everyone more clearly as we move through our personal creation, for everyone else’s ideas were the one’s helping to shape what we ultimately created ourselves.

A Few Notes:

1. Tadashi Suzuki has some excellent thoughts I feel I should point out:

"[E]very aspect of the terrorist group known as the Japanese Red Army is evidently centralized. In such a communal mode of thinking, the communality supports the collective vision in its entirety, and therefore, personal and everyday dimensions of living are fulfilled by the group. When a group, be it theatrical or political, establishes its own logic, the individual constituents of the group are forced to regard themselves only in terms of this framework."

This is very true, and very much the opposite of what my aim with the Collaborative Theater is. This is the reason I have to treat the projects, as they move out of their embryonic states of ideas into actual practice, in regards to the Leaders. Everyone must take responsibility as a leader, doing work necessary to and contributing artistically with their position, as well as being an active follower to everyone else, being involved and curious about the creation of the rest of the piece.

2. The pie. One can cut the theater pie however they may like, but so long as it is being cut, it is being collaborative. So grabbing the pie and running would be selfish theater making. And I’m not quite sure how it would turn out, nor do I think anyone else would know, seeing as how it has been taken. It may also be interesting to expand this idea to the making of the pie itself. It is certainly possible for one to bake a pie by themselves, entirely for themselves. I recently made a batch of cookies in this same manner. In regards to the theater pie, however, this seems doomed from the start – doing it by yourself for yourself sounds as though the audience, if there is one to begin with, will be very disengaged and disinterested. As for my selfish cookie expedition: I wound up sick.

3. There are many artists out there doing excellent work in regard to collaboration, such as Tadashi Suzuki, Anne Bogart, David Levine, PS122, Less the Band, and so, so many others. I did, however, mention Richard Foreman and John Jesurun, admittedly mocking their work in my reference to loosely making theater by unconventional means, and I do not mean to completely discredit these accomplished Theater Creators (…ok maybe a little). But what little of their work I have seen is, to me, extremely selfish, and lacking some serious responsibility. And having a lackluster attitude toward responsibility diminishes any notion of immediacy.

The Collective Kitchen Table

2009-04-14T06:28:00.000-07:00

This is our kitchen table:

This is what has become of our kitchen table in the home stretch of our busiest semester yet:

The kitchen table has always been a symbol for conversation and togetherness. For us, it's also a symbol for everything that we need to deal with in the immediate future.

About a month ago I was attempting to clean it (read: put stuff into a collin pile and a kaitlyn pile) and I came across the receipt Collin had filled out for one of those sponsor a child companies. When I asked him why he had signed up when we were struggling to pay rent, his reply was one of admirable sympathy: He felt bad for the street canvasser. By filling out the form, Collin contributed to the quota this guy had to fill in order to get paid for the week. His intent was to terminate the account as soon as it was activated, knowing that his cancellation would not affect the employee’s commission.

At this point, neither of us had thought about the child.

A couple weeks later, I was making a new attempt to clean the kitchen table when I noticed a large opened envelope from the same company, with its previous contents stacked neatly on top. While I perused the thank you letter that was capping the stack, I was still wondering if Collin had canceled yet. Then I saw the picture that was included in the package. His name -Moryz- was printed across the bottom, and he was absolutely adorable. I propped his picture up against another random kitchen-table-stack while I read a sheet of information about Moryz:

He is Filipino. He is six years old. He loves to dance. He goes to school. His favorite subject is art.

By the time Collin made his way back to the kitchen, I was in tears and Moryz’s picture was in a magnetic frame on the refrigerator. I told him that we had to sponsor him despite our diet of ramen noodles and water. He is real. He has a face and a name and a blue and white shirt. Our monthly contribution, about a weeks worth of starbucks, increases his family’s income by 50%. Collin admitted that he was already thinking of a way to approach me about it.

............................................................................

This personal account is a necessary preface to the subject of immediacy. Collin was more interested in helping the street canvasser than the hungry child because the street canvasser was there, right in front of him and Moryz was not. I did not care about Moryz when he was a statistic, only when he had a name and a picture. When he was sitting on our kitchen table. When he became immediate.

Pertaining to theatre, we often use the word immediacy to mean “live action,” in an attempt to differentiate theatre from television and film. Supplemental to the direct relationship between actor and audience member, immediacy can also describe the relevance and relatability of the subject matter, a political or emotional appeal and the urgency of a reaction from the audience. In the near future, I’m hoping to discuss some of the things that have influenced my thought, including Iranian Theatre, Carol Churchill’s Seven Jewish Children, and Venice Saved: A Seminar, a production recently featured at PS122. Until that glorious time, however, I’ll leave you with Artaud’s thoughts on the matter while desperately, as always, urging you to leave me with some of your thoughts:

"We are not free. And the sky can still fall on our heads. And the theatre has been created to teach us that first of all.”

What a piece of work is man...

2009-04-08T12:14:00.000-07:00

Hamlet's Facebook Page

Written by Sarah Schmelling and photoshopped by Angela Liao.

Thanks, Will!

3 Things

2009-02-11T15:17:00.000-08:00

I've valiantly resisted the viral "25 Random Things" Facebook post, but I have to admit that the format is pretty enticing to a girl buried under the first month of her last semester of undergrad. So here goes my edited version: Twenty-Five minus Twenty-Two Not Very Random Things About Me and Theatre.

1.) I think a lot about how a surrounding can influence the impression of a production. I was recently able to revisit this idea first-hand as the lucky recipient of a friend-of-a-friend's extra ticket for Chekov’s The Cherry Orchard at BAM. I was leaving work when I got the call, and before I knew it, I found myself mingling with a group of charming upper middle (lower upper?) class folks. My favorite was a sassy old woman boasting a diamond-studded Obama shirt, enlightening the entire women's bathroom line with her (intelligent!) ideas concerning the possible purpose behind the production's design concept. Sure, I felt a little out of place, but I was in total rapture. OF COURSE, the play I happened to catch was centered on social Darwinism and the dangerous mixture of class structure. I was relishing my new found atmosphere, much like Lopakhin was in his climb towards the top, and my fondness for the company I was with sentimentalized those characters on their way down. This is a production I would have enjoyed anywhere, but the warm, sparkling camaraderie I discovered myself misplaced in was a magnifying glass, drawing the play closer so I could recognize the familiarity.

2.) I'm quite steeped in theatre theory currently, as I've started an interesting course on 20th Century theatre. While reading an excerpt from Wagner’s Outlines of the Artwork of the Future! (Sorry Wagner, but an exclamation point belongs at the end of a title like that) I noticed that he used the masculine pronoun to describe all artists, but he used the feminine pronoun to describe art itself. I don't know if I should be offended or complimented. What do you guys think?

3.) On a whim, Collin and I went to see a show we knew absolutely nothing about, just because there was a pay-what-you-can special. All we had was an address. Turns out it was Virginia Woolfe's only play, Freshwater directed by the talented Anne Bogart at The Women's Project Theatre. Wow. That was lucky. GO SEE IT. It's a little pricey if you didn't catch the deal, and besides obvious artistic merit, they make it quite clear that there is not much more the play offers other than top notch hilarity. Yet in that promise they sure do deliver; this farcical, slap-stick, absurdly ridiculous parlor piece might as well equip its audience members with seat belts. I can’t remember the last time I had so much good, clean fun at a play.

When was the last time you had a blast at a show? (If you say Blasted, I will hunt you down and punch you in the shoulder...or eat your eyeballs). Seriously, though, I really want to know. What show was it? What was it about the show that made it so much fun? Let me know! Thanks for reading (and dealing with my obsessive parenthetical phrases)!

The Collaborative Theater - PART TWO: The Actor's Manifesto

2009-02-01T17:17:00.000-08:00

Undoubtedly, Theater is an Art. And in that, Acting is an Art. It involves both a skilled intellect and a willingness to open one's self to a viscerally vulnerable place. And because an Actor's work demands such great personal sensitivity, it demands a certain level of respect from all co-workers, making them an equal among the creative playing field. I have, however, witnessed others take advantage of Actors due to a perceived notion that they are both desperate and disposable.

Those people – those ideas – frustrate me. Yet venting this frustration is only blowing hot air in a humid cavern. So instead of allowing the belittling nature of another to propagate to a point of the recipient's need to vent frustration, we all simply need not let our status lower in the face of what we have been told is “authority.”* The murk of the cavern floor is littered with matches, so make a spark.

Just to let you know, having worked at both an agency and in casting, I can assure you that appointments are often given with 24-48 hours notice. Actors schedules need to be flexible to accommodate audition opportunities.

In an ideal world, it would be great if these things could be arranged with more advanced notice, but that isn't something this industry is able to consistently provide at this time.

This was part of an email I received from an artistic director when trying to coordinate an audition for a show I happened to have helped workshop into fruition that past summer. It is in response to my request that I be given ample time to schedule and prepare for an audition appointment - something roughly more than 24 hours, seeing as how I am a full-time student, have a full-time job, and was, at the time, in rehearsal for two shows. And as strange as it may sound, I still had ample time to schedule an audition, had this company been willing to reply to an email (or four) so that it could indeed be scheduled.

I never attended their audition. But the reason we actors are still ambling in the dark is because many people did go to that audition. Those “in charge” - anyone who wrangles sole control over a theater company - have shoved actors into a box at the bottom of their closets, easily accessible for when it comes time for them to flaunt their “artistic genius.” And complacently, we Actors sit here, like a stick in the mud, because they tell us to. Because “actors schedules need to be flexible to accommodate audition opportunities,” as though their show is far superior to one’s own individual artistic credit.

What we need to be doing is asserting ourselves. Ask questions, and want clarification when when your questions are not answered. Come prepared - research what you can (play / company / playwright / director), rehearse your audition pieces thoroughly, warm up - and be willing to not take an audition when it would require compromising one’s professional life - when it would not allow decent preparation, or hinders one’s quality of life by interfering with work, school, or any other life-sustaining commitment. We, Actors, are Artists. And we should think of ourselves as such. Those offering us “audition opportunities” are no better nor no more important than us; they need us just as we need them.

There is no light at the end of this tunnel, because it is not a tunnel we are in. This dark cavern only gets brighter, only gets better, if we make it so. Pick up a match, light a fire, make a change. And though I speak specifically on behalf of the Actor, this should go for any practicing theater artist.

Because I believe in Collaboration.

* admittedly, frustration can rear its proverbial head in so many ways, one inevitably encounters it interminably. But that is a discussion for another day.

The Monthly Manifesto Presents: VALENTINE'S DAY!

2009-01-19T14:44:00.000-08:00

We are sick of Hallmark trumping Valentine's Day, so this February 14th, come join us for an inexpensive celebration of love!

What to Bring: A tale of love, true or not, in any form.

We'll be sitting around in the morning, enjoying some form of a warm beverage, and sharing these tales with one another.

We will be disclosing the location privately, so if you want to join, make sure to contact us via email!

Kaitlyn Recommends a Book

2009-01-17T20:19:00.000-08:00

Two years ago, I read A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier by Ishmael Beah. It’s an autobiographical account of a boy who spent his childhood fleeing from the atrocities of the civil war in Sierra Leone. Eventually, he was recruited into the army to fight on the front lines. It doesn’t take much for me to shed a tear when I read, but this remains the only book I’d ever had to put down for sobbing breaks.

This Christmas, I picked up a copy of it for my friend Mack. I thought he’d like it because he’s always reflecting that "This is real life,” at appropriate moments, like when he helped Collin and I move in together or when we met our godchild for the first time. I also thought that he’d be interested in Beah’s childhood affinity for Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, as he’s cast in an adaptation of the piece to be performed in May. I wanted to reread it before I gave it to him, but I was busy making sure that Haruki Murakami’s The Elephant Vanishes wasn’t too sexy to give to my grandmother for her Christmas present.

I inhaled some more fiction before I finally pulled A Long Way Gone off of the shelf this week. It hit me just as hard this time around. I mention it here because I’ve noticed in this business there is often a healthy and perpetual emotional kindling. We like to feel things, both negative and positive. We embrace a good tug on our heartstrings now and then. We’re not afraid to cry, because we believe in some abstract, halfway-defined concept called catharsis. If you’re up for reading this real account, brace yourself for what it may awaken inside of you. The truth, inspiration, and hope it will return makes it worthwhile.

Here's the unusually quiet Daily Show clip that made me run out and buy the book almost two years ago:

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Ishmael Beah

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

Two outta Three Ain't Bad

2009-01-15T10:50:00.000-08:00

Because of our conflicting work schedules and insufficient funds, we don't get to go out and see plays as much as we'd like to. This past week, however, we had a couple of evenings off, and we took full advantage of them. We broke our rut of catching bad shows recently by hitting the mark with two out of the three.

EQUUS

“A wizard and a muggle in the parallel universe of Harry Potter, Daniel Radcliffe and Richard Griffiths reunite in Peter Shaffer's classic play about the effort to heal a troubled young man” was the first thing I read on playbill.com in discovery that there would be a revival of Equus on Broadway. I am quite a big fan of both Equus and Harry Potter, but being also a fan of artistic morality, I was very concerned.

Then I started seeing an irritated Peter Shaffer being quoted all over the Internet: “I was irritated that people talked on and on about it. It was so infantile. In the papers, I was always reading about how Harry Potter is 'waving his other wand,” “There is a great deal more going on in the play, you know. I'm not writing porn, for God's sake!”

But then, and quite to my surprise, I must admit, I started seeing Daniel Radcliffe all over the Internet – defending himself and the play in a rather articulate manner: “Offended mothers were calling up and saying I shouldn't be doing this, that they weren't going to go see it. OK, don't see it,” “They're treating it like it's pornography and it's not. It's only seven minutes at the end of the play when I'm naked, and I'm 19 now.”

I was impressed, and started searching out more interviews with Mr. Radcliffe, hoping for more insight on submerging himself into both the play and Broadway. And I was pleasantly surprised at what I found (which mostly has, strangely and sadly enough, disappeared from the internet – oh what a fickle little thing it is!). Daniel was excited about the play, and the theater, and so took to practicing the Alexander Technique, working on his voice, doing scene study…

Obviously, by this point, I had to see it.

His hard work and dedication to the craft certainly showed. This was no Harry Potter. This was no British teenage millionaire. This was a working actor. This was Alan Strang, the boy who I believed blinded six horses out of a lustful fear.

Perhaps the best part for me was watching when Dan would catch himself in a bad habit, take a moment, breathe, and drop right back in to keep churning through the mental labyrinth that is Alan Strang. I was proud of him – proud to be watching another actor taking his work so seriously and loving every minute of it. And he has yet to miss a performance.

This is a production, and more importantly a performance, no one else should miss, either.

Congratulations, Daniel Radcliffe.

- Collin

WOMEN BEWARE WOMEN

If there was one play I definitely wanted to catch this month, it was Women Beware Women. Even though the only Red Bull project I have seen was a dynamic reading of The Cenci, I've always been attracted to their ambitious mission statement and I adore the charming space they occupy at St. Clements. I could go on indefinitely about the successes of this production: the song and dance spectacles, the colorful characters, the sexy classic-contemporary combinations...but that's what the reviews are for, and unfortunately, it closes on Friday anyway. Still, there's something else about this piece that I have my mind on, which is...

Thank you, Jesse Berger, for including an intimate and informative director's note in the program. One that took care not to reveal plot points, but to give just enough information about the characters that the reader was drooling with anticipation. I mention this with such excitement because it is so often that I leave a play highly satisfied, but lacking any knowledge of why that play was chosen to be produced. Of course, the derived meaning or relevance of a play is often subjective, but it's nice to be able to use the director's thoughts to compare with, elaborate on, and enhance my own reactions.

Berger's note was a welcomed introduction into a world that the profound but empty scenery was beckoning me towards. In reading the note before the show began, I was able to see very clearly that Berger had a great understanding of the piece and made very specific and conscious decisions with his production. He celebrates the idiosyncrasies of the play, but presents an extremely cohesive piece. Also, it was refreshing to find the excitement and pride between the lines of his note. Berger truly loves each and every character in Women and it is evident that he had the time of his life adapting and directing it. Finally, he reminded us to be aware of the human qualities of the characters, no matter how theatrical the performance got, and regard the staged society in the light of our own. Here's to directors who know what they want, why they want it, and tell us about it.

- Kaitlyn

A Word From Captain Kirk; or What You Will

2009-01-11T17:36:00.000-08:00

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. My name is Kirk. I was previousomely the captain of an intergalactic, time traveling pirate ship, when, foolishly, I crossed the NeoClassical Kingsmen. An epic battle ensued, and on the climactic twelfth night (in the midst of a torrential storm of space debris) I was overtaken and punishéd via transformation from the unsung predecessor of the now infamous Oscar into a New York City Theatre. I fulfill my indefinite chastisement on 410 West 42nd Street. I now break my some-odd forty earth-years of silencement, with illimitable gratitude to the Monthly Manifesto, to transport news of a recent unsettlement within the confines of my bowels, brought on undoubtedly by the spirit that first captured me.

It all began as my entrails bubbled with the noisome feeling that I could only imagine were the earthly equivalent to the Galactically (and tragically) Renowned Nebulousossitisissus Yuppyoureverence Ubuntus (which, due to the extensive appellation and incredulous omnipresents, I shall thusforwardly refer to them as N.Y.U.’s): a cast of characters, an emetic PostClassical group of awkwardly immobile Minstrels, and the handy-work of a pre-non-post-structuralist that I first thought (and somewhat still think) was somesorta neonically-glowing parasite, eating away at the Artistry that beist myself (trapped, again, in Midtown Manhattan) and excreting chalk-lines, paint-tape, and frilly-laced PVC pipe. To my consternation, my seats slowly swelled with other, non-theatrically committed N.Y.U.’s. O, the Horror!

Inevitably, there be instances that I must now account to you posthaste. As the poor usher maladroitly held back the portal gates to my cavern reserved (once respectably) for performative acts, the tumoric audience proliferated prolifically. So much, as my luck would have it, that the eldliest of them all (surely once a part of, and now supporting and perpetuating the N.Y.U.’s) found there way to the front of the cluster, claustrophobing both themselves and my smallest of arteries - only to then fall fast asleep as soon as they plodded and deposited their bodies upon the seatation devices. Those who remained conscious (the younger, surlier folk that were in their ripest age to be members of that gang) showed their respect for the players in a most startling manner: heaping personal belongings, including appendages, atop my apron, committing overzealous salutations, and allotting intergalactic communication devices to remain on, and sing, during performance. In the front row, no less. Which then brings me to the palavormance.

The performing N.Y.U.’s (who were ironically costumed to look like N.Y.U.’s) cosmetically used the basest of physical gestures to aid their peers in an understanding of Shakespeare’s blatant and abundant sexual references, opposed to aiming their mission towards greater (though certainly pre-Postmodern), intergalactic importance. And the few chanteys interrupting all the sex jokes sounded not unlike any popular tune one could find broadcasted on even iAmbicPods of the gigliest bites - the actors thrusted, and the audience throbbed.

The production was intergalactically worshipped, by audience and actor alike. And my regurgitation of them all could not have been more anticipated.

I choose to run the risk of furtherworse punishment through my breech of silence because I can take it no longer. “It” being this incessant self-indulgence that the N.Y.U.’s here in this production, deep in the recesses of my digestive tract, have used to conquer the indefensible value of that whicheth theater can create. Why let this go on? Why insist on perturbing us immortals?

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to consider yourselves, thou peers, and those unforeseen spectators (those non-participants of these gangly actions) next time thou mountest a production. And please, in such a symbiotic relationship, consider the health and well-beingness of your host performance space.

... The Monthly Manifesto would like to thank the genre of Satire for being so apposite to the playful fictionalization of a night out, as well as our reader's ability to recognize when we make a flagrant generalization for the purpose of both humor and (we hope) poignancy. We would also like to thank the production team and performers of Twelfth Night for an evening of entertainment - no matter the form we took it in. This is an exaggeration of behavior we have, with sincere sorrow and frustration, come to expect. Being witness to an evening such as this, we couldn’t resist making light of what is a very real concern to us. That being said, there were a handful of engaging, spectacular, and truthful moments in a whole which otherwise fell short of its ambitious possibilities.

What I think about at Jury Duty...

2009-01-08T07:19:00.000-08:00

I had to postpone my initial summons to serve jury duty, as it fell on the single day I was given to paint the floor for my last show (coincidentally, it was a play about a man on trial for murder and a lawyer suborning perjury). I had rescheduled my civic duty for yesterday and was looking forward to taking complete advantage of my free time with Guare's House of Blue Leaves and a collection of Kafka's fiction that Collin bought for me.

The morning began with a 20 minute orientation video on the process a juror undergoes. It opened with a hilariously low-budget historical reenactment of the medieval concept trial by ordeal, where an accused man was bound and thrown into a river. I actually giggled audibly when the film over-dramatically quoted Aristotle as the man was pulled from the water and declared innocent. Next came a brief history of judicial systems and the establishment of the jury, some clips from Perry Mason (no joke) and then an explanation of how our present day court system works. At first, I was proud when the concept of a trial was likened to a piece of "dramatic theatre," due to the high level of conflict between two parties and a final resolution. Yet as the metaphor was extended to describe the people of the court as a "cast of characters," I began to feel a little uneasy. After all, a trial is serious business. Its purpose is to decide if a person is innocent or guilty, not to entertain and enlighten the spectators. Should a civil event of this magnitude be so lightly compared to theatre?

But informative-film-narrator-extraordinaire Diane Sawyer is right. A trial is theatrical. It revolves around the conflict of two opposing parties. Lawyers are playing characters because often times they don't personally believe in who or what they are defending. Their tactics are highly skilled speech and manipulation of emotion. Those on trial may be acting too, trying to portray a specific character that the jury will sympathize with. They even rehearse. The action is live and immediate, and those present are being asked to pass judgment on the characters. A good play will ask that you involve yourself as well as the elements of the play in this final judgment. But in a courtroom, the theatricality comes from trying to keep our true selves out. The accused should be judged solely on the evidence and on the interpretation of the law. Personal beliefs are not to be imposed on the situation. Therefore, a trial is one step removed from reality, perilously balancing between theatre and life. Passion and emotion are stripped from the courtroom in the attempt to collect a perfectly impartial group of people, which logistically produces a fairer trial, rendering the theatricality absolutely necessary.

Is this resemblance to be celebrated or feared? Should it make us proud or uneasy? I can’t help thinking maybe it should be a little bit of both. What do you guys think?

Still, it’s something interesting to mull over when I go see Equus tonight, a play that questions whether or not we have the right to judge another human being, and what the consequences of those judgments are.

The Collaborative Theater - PART ONE: The Battlefield

2009-01-04T16:24:00.000-08:00

It is a muddy field we battle in. The rain falls hard and fast, the soil unearths and unsteadies itself, and the slop of the field mars our true colors. So much so, in fact, that we may easily sometimes find ourselves facing off with another whom we are unsure of what side they fall on. Are they Red? Blue? Yellow? Green?

Or rather, are they an Artist? Or an Indolent Imposture with lack of knowledge and ideas claiming to be just about anything?

The trouble with art is that anyone can call themselves an Artist, unlike how, for example, not just anyone can call themselves a Doctor. To be a Doctor, you must have studied certain medicines, received certain degrees and credentials. To be an Artist, one only needs to claim to have ideas. But Artistic Merit is garnered by the reaction of peers and audience. Anyone can say they are an Actor, but it is those watching who will ultimately decide, if only for themselves.

Some say this is very bad, and that the artistry of the Theater, the noble profession of Acting, is being degraded by all of those that think they can jump right on in. I, however, think this a cause for celebration. Actors, myself included, should revel in this destruction of (oh god, dare I say it?) a Master Narrative. Those that are clouding our field of work only force those among us with true artistry to reevaluate ourselves and forge ahead with vigilant specificity – a specificity that slowly slunk away as Postmodernism slammed its way on in (which is all a part of the living nature of the theater; when it trudged its alien self upon our banks, the water fogged strange and new shades of grey. But having now settled, it is easy to think critically and objectively of what is superciliously splayed for consumption, and the time has come to embrace the challenges it has brought, finding the glory of what our overcoming of this obstacle can bring). And this is not a specificity waiting to be bought and consumed. This specificity comes from deep inside each unique individual that allows one’s true self to be present when working (auditioning, rehearsing, or performing). And the battle to move forward – the filling of that vacuity brought on by the Postmodern anomaly – happens when an actor refuses to give up this unique self for some façad that the vagueness surrounding them encourages one to think might be better than who they truly are.

Great thing about that Battlefield, those attempting to be something they’re not are easily spotted and will not last long (though occasionally convincing enough in an audition to get themselves into a show. That, and there are of course corporations perpetuating personality types that defy the true complexity of the human psyche, such as MTV). The hope then is that these individuals will come to love the Art: rather than wipe mud on their faces in the hope their idling is perceived as work, they will crave the battle, diving head-first into the tussle, unaware of the grim in their hair, the raw earth marring their once silky, teenage idol skin – they will discover the immense depth they hold within themselves, and take joy in the vulnerable demands of the field, thus transforming from Imposture to Artist. (An excellent example would be Mr. Daniel Radcliffe; lacking knowledge of the Art as he embarked on Harry Potter, the love of the Art persevered and inspired a maturity, as he has now challenged himself with the study and practice of the craft in Equus).

And all should be welcome to the Arts. Maybe I’m an Idealist, but I believe it a place meant to be devoid of Elitism.

To make the New Year a little happier...

2009-01-03T18:38:00.000-08:00

I probably don’t enjoy this time of the year as much as I should. For me, the holidays are more stressful than happy, and I end up with just enough time off of work and school to evaluate the past year while I clean my house and brace myself for the next one. I was in some desperate need of cheering up this evening, and it came in the surprising form of a Facebook invitation. It was politely asking me to attend No Pants 2k9, an event planned by Improv Everywhere, a NYC based group that has been organizing and performing guerilla theatre since 2001.

Contemporary improvisational comedy is a type of performance that is drastically different than the theatre I am interested in pursuing, but I’ve had a soft spot for the art form ever since I ran tech for an improv troupe during my first couple years of college. But this isn’t your average improv routine that eventually deteriorates to sex jokes. Instead, Improv Everywhere pre-determines and plans a situation they would like to act out in public. The Improv Everywhere website catalogs video footage of each performance or “mission” they embark on. Tonight I watched every single one, and between my laughs, I couldn’t help thinking that the performances embody some of the qualities I value very much in theatre. For starters:

1. They are not elitist. In fact, they don’t even play to theatre-goers, but rather tourists, shoppers, dog walkers, joggers, students, or anyone else who was lucky enough to be hanging around the performance site. The most intimate mission was a romantic comedy-esque coincidence staged for a single cab driver, who was able to play the hero by uniting two of his passengers after realizing they were trying to find each other.

2. They use their resources wisely. Thousands of people come to New York City to pursue theatre and performance because of the obvious hub of spaces, theatre companies, training facilities and networking capabilities. The people behind Improv Everywhere, however, use the city itself as their playing space. Everything from the Washington Square Park fountain to the 6 train becomes their stage. The most brilliant space they utilized was the six-story open storefront window in Union Square, where they positioned one person per slot, each enacting a routine for the people below.

3. There is a high level of energy for all involved. The performers are all psyched to be involved, even if their only job is to dial a cell phone number at a specific time a block away from the event. Although some of the missions lean more towards performance art than drama, they usually draw a huge crowd that screams, claps, and cheers. One of the most sentimental missions was to research a little-known band playing in a crappy venue and show up as die hard fans. They brought over thirty audience members to an otherwise three person house. They had memorized the songs, made t-shirts, and even sported fake tattoos of the band. In response, the band pumped up their energy and took on the part of real rock stars, including rushing back to the stage after their set to play the encore that was being demanded by the crowd.

If you have a little bit of free time now that the holidays are over, watch a video or two. They’re hilarious, and many of them are heart-warming. More importantly, they’re an inspiring reminder of the capability of our creativity and the value of theatre: A celebration of action, reaction and interaction.

Back to Step One

2008-12-13T20:29:00.000-08:00

What is the meaning of life? As an actor, this question bears quite a bit of weight, as it not only has to do with what my work will occasionally confront me with, but more importantly, it really asks me why I choose to do what I do. I dare not admit to having the answer to the question, but I do have an answer: To experience both with others and within ourselves. I discovered, or rather developed this assertion when I was fifteen, roughly around the same time I had consciously decided that acting and the theater would be what I would pursue for the rest of my life.

I have been thinking a lot lately of entertainment. What does this word mean? I used to think it a pedantic term the wealthy of our theatrical community use when describing the greatest of all things (of which, in the lectures I have sat through, they somehow try to convince me they find in the theater) – it was nowhere near what I have always envisioned my art to be. On the day of my high school graduation, my father came to find me before I walked-the-walk. He had a gift – a letter – that I still treasure to this day. In it, he proclaimed his pride for me in that I have never opted for the easy route in the theater and the arts: he told me I am not an “entertainer,” but an actor, striving in my art for a deeper understanding of self (in both myself and audience).

But in both recently traveling to Ohio to meet Kaitlyn’s brand-new baby nephew (where at one point I was referred to as “Uncle Collin”) and becoming a godparent to the beautiful girl two very close and dear friends just gave birth to, that word, “entertainment,” is beginning to change its meaning. It is becoming a very good thing.

Baby Charlie cries quite a bit. Sometimes he smiles. At three months old, he has started to laugh. When I saw Baby Isabella for the first time, she was sleeping soundly, but with a smile affixed to her face (something doctors will try to tell you is not possible at 6-hours-old). The smile of a baby brings immense joy – it somehow stirs a feeling of proud accomplishment, though I may not have had anything to do with their giggling beams (it may have something to do with my love and hope for the human race).

Why does a baby smile? While I enjoy entertaining (if you will) the notion that babies are far more intelligent than the “goo-goo” noises we make would have us giving them credit for, they certainly are not intellectually concerned with politics or philosophical conundrums. Babies scream and cry because of pain and fear – of needing or wanting something – and they smile and laugh because they are entertained. And ask any parent – it is best to keep a child constantly entertained.

Something interesting happened in Ohio. I would love to toss Baby Charlie into the air to make him smile and laugh, but I began to wonder why I would do this. It was certainly that proud accomplishment, but of what? – It was of creating a connection between Baby Charlie and myself. I had reached out across invisible bounds to have genuine human interaction – and we connected, we were sharing the joy of living. My entertainment had been serving a purpose – and I was not an “entertainer.” I was something else, something simpler, greater, more powerful – not necessarily artist in this one step back from the Theater, but certainly performer, of which role in the Theater is taken up by actor.

Also in my time there, Baby Charlie received an early Christmas present of a Jumperoo – mass amounts of entertainment in the round! But what was his favorite part of this phantasmagorical gift? Bouncing! He was allowed to express his excitement for the jungle animals surrounding and playing with him in an extremely physical – dare I say visceral? – manner. And in doing so, he is building the strength in muscles to ultimately learn to stand.

When we watch a good piece of Theater, much is demanded of us – it forces us to delve deep into ourselves in one way or another. And in this, the Theater can, and should, entertain. But what, at the end of it all, does entertainment mean? That is a question I cannot dare venture to answer; pleasure is derived in many different ways, specific to every individual. What is important here is that our entertainment engages us actively – that when in the Theater, we continue to experience.

The Art of Paradox

2008-12-13T06:12:00.000-08:00

I would like to respond to Issac Butler's recent tribute to your favorite deity and mine, Dionysus. Bulter, while speculating on the unknowable reasons our art form originated as praise to this elusive god, made an excellent connection with the mythology of Dionysus's death and resurrection to the nature of death and rebirth in the theatre each time we close a show or begin a new production.

Butler's view of Dionysus's evident mortality is incredibly intriguing to me because I've always considered Dionysus as the Bohemian cry for an attempt at immortality. Despite the fair amount of research I've done on Dionysus both for leisure and as a theatre student, I have never found a description of him that surpassed my freshman year History professor's proclamation that "Dionysus was the god of sex, drugs, and rock and roll." This may be why I've always kind of imagined him as a cross between Jim Morrison and Tim Curry's Dr. Frankenfurter, but it's also why I've come to see him as a god of the people. Mythology shows us that the Greeks were fascinated by the concept of immortality. Deities had faults just as humans do; the only difference between them and us was their immortality. Dionysus, although he was always resurrected, had the ability to be killed. He was the only god who shared mortality with men . Still, he is often described as having everlasting youth. Historically, in Dionysus's orgiastic rituals, his maenads, whom, as Bulter pointed out were not priestesses, worked their way into a drunken undulating ecstasy in the hope to copulate with the god and conceive his child. A child fathered by Dionysus would be a demigod, and therefore one step closer to achieving immortality.

Accepting the perpetual awareness of the certain metaphorical death we must eventually experience each time we begin working on a play, I also think we're striving for a sort of immortality. A revival is not the only way to resurrect a dead play- if it was good it will live on kinesthetically and be expressed in the form of actions, ideas, memories and emotions. As Butler mentions that the rehearsal hall is a sacred place, I remember an extremely old director explaining to a student that she dressed up to attend performances because the theatre was her equivalent to church. In the sense that it provides us with emotional and intellectual enlightenment, I completely agree. Idealistically speaking, creating theatre should be an endeavor to make a memorable impact and to connect with something divine, much like the rituals of Dionysus's women.

Butler also sites Dionysus's eventual maturation as another reason he was entitled to his own festival. It is true that by the time the festival was established, he had developed and so had the Greeks. They had just established their alphabet and began recording their dramas. Perhaps not coincidentally, Dionysus was the only Olympian who could read and write. Yet as militarily and politically driven as these festivals were (they took the opportunity of the massive gathering to collect taxes), there was also a ritualistic aspect. The festival began with a reenactment of the Dionysian myth and there is evidence that over 200 animals were sacrificed in the five day stretch. Male actors dressed as women, and large phalluses were donned. We have accounts that the audience was audibly responsive, and were allowed to eat and drink during the festival.

It seems as though Dionysus was a Freudian. His world revolved around intoxication and pleasure. He would not tolerate anyone who did not believe in him and what he represented. Those who protested his divinity often went insane and met horrible deaths. Among the many examples, the most famous is portrayed in Euripides' The Bacchae, when Pentheus's head was ripped off by his own mother for doubting Dionysus. The myth of Dionysus explains that we can not afford to deny the sexual, ritualistic impulses we have. We must recognize and embrace them or else they will destroy us. Perhaps the City Dionysia was about embracing these feelings in a responsible manner. If so, the Greeks proved their civility in finding a religious place for this part of human nature, instead of degrading it as separate and non-holy.

In my discussion, I chose avenues that were unparallel to Butler’s for a purpose. The paradox of Dionysus's evident mortality versus his celebrated immortality as well as that of his inspirational intellect and uncivilized nature are just more examples of the way he represented duality. I think theatre is the art form that most readily accepts conflict and duality because these concepts are our muses and our mediums. We are simultaneously presentational and representational, metaphorical and literal, two dimensional and three dimensional, artist and spectator, teacher and student. In many ways, our art only exists within a dirty, dizzying Dionysian ritual.

**Of course, these are just some connections I've made between Dionysus and my thoughts on theatre. I am not an expert in history or mythology and even the experts are not exactly sure how Greeks viewed their art form. I do not have enough knowledge to assert that these are actually possible reasons for the festival of plays to have been a tribute to Dionysus.

Briefly, Blasted

2008-12-04T19:39:00.000-08:00

This production left me with, appropriately, aggressive feelings. To be blunt: I hated it. But to be brief, I left more apathetic than assaulted, and it was the hypocritical arrogance of the critics that has sent me into an almost uncontrollable fury.

Simon Kane, in Mark Blankenship’s preview article of Blasted, alluded to The Dark Knight as an example of the modern mindless violence that we are all over-exposed to. Not Hostile, not Saw I – V, not the evening news. BATMAN. Blasted, according to Simon Kane, is the work of art that is intended to “resensitize” us to the violence of the world that Batman has so frivolously stolen from us. But I question this notion of “resensitization,” as I do not believe cramming horrific violence without any discernible thread of a plot down our throats in a space associated with high art and intellectualism is helping the matter in the slightest – especially as I sit in the back row watching the entire audience lurch forward each time the lights pop up again in a frantic search for the next graphic atrocity. What does this play really say about our cravings as a culture? I suggest a look at Arthur Miller’s Resurrection Blues, where a dilapidated country uses the world's lust for violence to pull themselves out of third-world status. I am equally put to an alarming state of unease when Ben Brantley admits to empathizing with these abominable characters. There is an abundance of plays with rich plot and relatable characters by excellent and important writers today that some people, like Charles Isherwood in his review of Blasted, seem to want to gloss over (like Martin McDonah or Tracey Letts – whom, Isherwood seems to have forgotten, wrote August: Osage County) in favor of out-and-out violence that they can defend because it is in the high-class locale of the theater – a place not yet squelched by gobs of buttery popcorn or easily expended as background noise to making dinner.

And then, in that same article, Isherwood went on to claim Beverly Hills Chihuahua as worthwhile “escapism.” Of course, I could perhaps be speaking too soon – I admit I have not seen Beverly Hills Chihuahua. But have you?

(However, despite all my feelings here, it needs must be said - because all the articles I have read, for some strange reason, managed to bypass this little tidbit: GO SARAH BENSON, BROOKLYN COLLEGE ALUM!)

The Best Seat in the House

2008-12-04T19:09:00.000-08:00


The Beggar's Opera

Rough theatres rejoice! There is no reason to be embarrassed about non permanent seating! Join me in celebrating the growing trend of incorporating the audience into set designs: a practice that gives even the dingiest performance spaces an advantage over the most ornate prosceniums on Broadway.

When a production team mounts a project in a nontraditional space and the members have to decide on a seating layout that will work best for their show, it forces them to think about what part they want the audience to play in the production. Contemporary theorists have asserted that the audience is just as responsible for the quality of a show as the creative team. When we have the freedom to manipulate how an audience member is situated, it allows us to make a subtle, perhaps even unconscious suggestion to the spectator about how they should be viewing the play. Both the original and the revival of Shaffer’s Equus elevated the audience around the playing space, simultaneously giving the audience members an air of omnipotence and entrapping the players in the world onstage. The Broadway production of Inherit the Wind put some audience members into an actual jury box to judge the epic Scopes monkey trial for themselves.

This is especially important to those of us who are interested in progressive theatre, for the activists using the medium to make claims about today's society to inspire thought and change. It’s exciting to know that we can give viewers a little push in the right direction simply by the way we seat them. Incorporating the audience into the design is an ever present friendly reminder that the audience is not a constant; it is living and breathing, just like the production.

Extra onstage seating was common in 18^th century England. Before actor-manager David Garrick banned audience members from squeezing around the stage in 1763, he scoffed about having to look at ghastly, dimly lit faces as a backdrop to the otherwise intimate crypt scene in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Although Garrick was disgusted with the thought, I can't help but imagine this as a breathtaking tableau, even when I de-romanticize it to include the sleeping guy in the second row, and the woman leafing through her playbill on the top. When we are seated across from other audience members, it literalizes the idea that theatre is a reflection of life, whether rippled or stagnant, because the spectators – ourselves - are well within the sightlines. When the style of seating is harmonious with the rest of a production, it follows logically that the audience is more likely to be alert and appropriately responsive. All of these qualities boil down to a standard Peter Brook definition of a responsible spectator.

These are some of the reasons I am incredibly proud that Brooklyn College is embracing this untraditional practice. After our spring production of Moliere's The Learned Ladies, we will be renovating our coveted proscenium space so that the seating is flexible. Instead of molding a show into a pre-determined space, there will be more freedom to mold the space itself. I wouldn’t be surprised to see more theatres follow suit in the future.

Green Spray Paint

2008-11-19T16:28:00.000-08:00

A quick post, because I can barely contain my excitement! Rosebrand is advertising eco-friendly spray paint! It's part of a small line of other environmentally responsible theatre products.

Check it out here!

You can't always get what you want...

2008-11-11T04:17:00.000-08:00

I wonder what would happen to a Broadway show if its budget was capped? Would we lose the concept of the spectacle as we know it? It was actually John McCain who gave me the idea when he proposed to ease our national debt by freezing all government spending. Although this probably would not be beneficial on a national level I think the same idea applied to Broadway productions would heed a positive result. The gears do not stop turning when you tell a true artist “No.” Instead they turn harder and faster. Artists may not like limitations, but we like challenges. Creating theatre is about overcoming challenges and solving problems; it shouldn’t necessarily be easy. If we pulled a McCain on Broadway, we may not be able to go with our first instincts. We would be forced to think creatively and our productions might turn out to be even better. Although perhaps, when you consider the projected $40 million that Julie Taymor requested for Spiderman the Musical in contrast to a continuously plunging governmental support for the arts, Barack Obama’s concept of “spreading the wealth” might be an even better idea.

Now is not the time to increase Broadway’s budgets. Broadway has been stuck in a sort of artistic lull for awhile now, but more money is not the answer. Bigger budgets are leading to more expensive tickets, and the coveted student rush seems to be slowly fading away. Patrons are paying almost $200 a ticket to sit in a plush seat while our economy steadily crumbles down around us. These are prices that most students and artists definitely cannot afford to pay. The most expensive ticket to a performance that I’ve ever purchased was $85 to see the Rolling Stones because I wasn’t sure they’d all live to tour again.* It was truly a matter of life and death. There are a handful of productions currently on Broadway that interest me, but I just can’t bring myself to pay those prices. What we’re in need of now is theatre that will engage and enlighten us without leaving us completely broke. Smaller budgets and lower ticket prices will fill the houses and diversify the spectators. They will eliminate the idea of elitist theatre that makes bohemian shows like RENT and In the Heights so ironic.

You must be thinking that I’m crazy. Theatre is finally being massively funded, so I should just shut up, right? All of us complain about having insufficient budgets, anyway. I know I do. Well, this is a gutsy statement for a designer to make, but I think we should start rethinking the way we physically create theatre. It is incredibly difficult to be both a theatre artist and an environmentalist. The conventional way of producing theatre is not only expensive, but quite wasteful. I shudder to imagine of the greenest of green theatre, a literal interpretation of Brook’s concept of the empty space, but maybe it’s time to start thinking of ways to reduce the theatre’s carbon footprint. Blogger Mike Lawler has some simple suggestions on how to get the green theatre revolution started.

For all artists out there who are skeptical, I am confident that we can still create beauty on a budget. The spectacle may no longer be found in elaborate scene changes, trap doors, and flying actors, but something a little subtler…like leaving the theatre and realizing that I still have enough money for dinner. If I learned anything from Mick Jagger, it's that you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you nee-eed. Yeah.

*They’ve toured three more times since I saw them. None of them died, but Keith Richards did fall out of a palm tree.

The Hyper-Narrative and You: The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of the Postmodern Direct Address

2008-11-11T04:15:00.000-08:00

The Postmodern Hyper-Narrative occurs when a character in a play changes from directly engaging other characters, where they are living out the action of the play, to directly engaging the members of the audience, where they begin to describe all the action we are no longer seeing, as though someone were reading me a fictional first-person, past-participle narrative. This form of storytelling in our Theater has emerged from the crumbling specificity of the Postmodern Self-Reflexivity, which in turn stemmed from Brecht’s Epic Theater. And while Brecht certainly had good intentions (and I full-heartedly agree with having a consciously political theater), I fear the specific artistry of the Theater has been lost along this path into the Hyper-Narrative by not trusting in our audiences or demanding more from our artists.

Not to say there do not exist plays in which a Hyper-Narrative style works. Shakespeare perfected Dramatic Irony through use of soliloquies – an active form of Hyper-Narrative allowing characters to explore and externalize inner conflict. But more contemporarily, Roberto Aguirre-Sacassa’s The Mystery Plays, while maybe not a great play, handles this style in a very functional manner: Thematically, Joe Manning of Act One’s The Filmmaker’s Mystery and Abby Gilley of Act Two’s Ghost Children are alone in their respective journeys, making the use of Hyper-Narrative apropos to the storytelling. And the actual moments of hyper-narrative are reserved solely for the protagonist of each act, allowing them to work through their internal conflict externally with the audience, rather than explaining to the audience what conflict they would have seen had they been watching a play. Oh, wait…

And that is where the Hyper-Narrative of other plays fails the Theater – as in Disco Pigs, where most the story is told rather than lived, yet the brief moments of character interaction are so raw and beautifully compelling, or in irksome Postmodern productions like Outside Inn that lose purpose with Hyper-Narrative clutter, like the incessant use of multimedia that has nothing to do with the story being told. I am worried the artists behind these pieces are catering to an audience they expect to be inactive and unintelligent. Yes, the myth of an MTV generation is real (with the mouth’s of my coworkers filled with homophobic jokes and pop-culture references), but that will not change, our audiences will not Grow, if, in our Theater, we are not expecting anything of them – reading to them as though they are droning idiots rather than living with them hoping for that spark of emotional connection. And why are we reading to them? The audience has come to the Theater! – they can read a book in the comfort of their own home, can’t they?

This side of the Postmodern has let loose the canon of non-specificity. “Why?” doesn’t seem to be a very easy (nor important) question to be answering these days, as I watch books be turned into movies be turned into musicals with famous rock bands be turned back into movies. Of course, I admit as an artist my own difficulties with the question, but I am not so sure “why?” bears the same depth and meaning in the face of a $40 million price tag dangling on a Broadway budget. This causes me great concern for what others may think being an artist really means.

The Defense of Escapism

2008-10-13T14:29:00.000-07:00

Where do I live? Underneath a blanket on my living room couch? Inside my head? On my computer screen?

Where do I live when I am creating theatre? Locked up in black boxes and Vectorworks files? Between the loose pages of a flimsy script?

Where do I live when I'm going to see theatre? In one of the two nice dresses I own? Upon a creaky, uncomfortable second-row seat? Or is it somewhere else…?

Escapism, especially in our entertainment-driven nation, invokes the image of a lethargic man, whom, in stubborn refusal to accept his own reality, pours himself into a fantasy. He buys People magazine, plays World of Warcraft, loops the RENT soundtrack on his ipod, and can beat everyone at Friends trivia…even though he has no real friends of his own to challenge.

As an admitted (and defensive) escapist, I look to the Random House Unabridged Dictionary to clear my name with the true definition:

Escapism: (n) the avoidance of reality by absorption of the mind in entertainment or in an imaginative situation, activity, etc.

Wait, wait. That’s wrong. I meant to use the American Heritage Dictionary:

Escapism: (n) The tendency to escape from daily reality or routine by indulging in daydreaming, fantasy, or entertainment.

That’s not quite it, either. Wordnet?

Escapism: (n) an inclination to retreat from unpleasant realities through diversion or fantasy; "romantic novels were her escape from the stress of daily life"; "his alcohol problem was a form of escapism"

Ok, ok, so the master narratives are making a fool out of me. But if escapism is romance novels and alcoholism, then I am sad to say that the most popular forms of theatre today perpetuate this stereotype. Broadway’s movie-musicals have provided us with redundant Utopian societies, where conflict is light and endings are joyous. Patrons are paying record breaking prices to sit in a cramped seat, turn off their brains, and consume a budgetless spectacle. I agree with those who fill the Broadway houses that escapism is valuable, even necessary, to maintain our sanity with the pace and pressure of our American lifestyles. But we are using it incorrectly. Escapism should not be an unhealthy obsession, it should be a tool that motivates and inspires those who experience it. Yes, escapism should temporarily remove us from this reality, but it should not throw us back empty-handed.

My personal definition of escapism is more idealistic than the widely accepted ones. I have felt the sensation of being summoned back to reality by the gradual illumination of the house lights after a performance. But where am I coming back from? My consciousness is too nosy to allow me to truly suspend my disbelief. Even when all the elements of a production are just right, I have never actually forgotten I was watching a play. For me, a successful escape is when I am invested in the characters and the world that is being presented and I have a definite, emotional interest in watching the piece unravel. When this happens, my creativity is stirred; afterwards, I dwell on the dramatic action and discuss it with others. Of course, you dictionary composers of the world, my physically being in the theatre allows me to temporarily escape from, oh, let’s say, the dirty dishes in my sink. But if I let myself escape even further, from my seat in the theatre and into the play itself, I am able to return to the dishes later that evening with something new to contemplate while I wash them.

Brecht proposed a solution to the theatre’s habit of producing mindless entertainment. By emotionally distancing the audience from the piece and insisting his actors have no emotional connection to his characters, he hoped to control the awareness of the viewers so that they would absorb the play actively, which, he believed, would spark discussion and lead to social and political change. In his Epic Theatre, he believed that the “spectator stands outside” studying the action, wherein conventional dramatic theatre, the “spectator is in the thick of it,” and “shares the experience[1]” Brecht preferred that a member of his audience feel as if they were in a classroom rather than a theatre. While today’s productions are guilty of removing the theatre’s fundamental purpose of instruction, Brecht wanted to remove the fundamental purpose of entertainment in its simplest definition: anything a play can offer that captivates its audience. I disagree with this solution, maintaining that escape (at least by my definition) is intrinsic to the theatre and is necessary for an audience to indulge in if the play is to affect them at all. The answer is not to eliminate escape, but to use the emotional investment that it generates as a way to communicate with the audience. Emotion inspires action.

I consider myself quite grounded in reality despite my devotion to the Harry Potter book series, thank-you-very-much. The need to escape is innate in my soul, but so is the need to create, progress, and change. Theatre has the capability of spring-boarding progress. It can raise questions and suggest answers. It is eternally searching to diagnose, treat and cure the ailments of our society. Yet its approach is paradoxical, pulling us into anti-reality in order to make a statement about true reality. Somehow, we are able see our world more clearly after we've been allowed to glimpse into another. In America, especially with the presidential election at hand, we are all dying for progression. For insight and direction, I, among many others, trustingly turn myself over to the theatre, the proverbial mirror of our society. But if we are considering escapism as a rally for inspiration, I am convinced that our society today is more complex than Shrek: the Musical. We are in need of a type of escapism that is enlightening and motivational.

Personally, I tend to gravitate towards plays which present realities filthier, more tragic and dramatic, but just as detailed and complete as our own. Whether they are absurdist (Beckett’s Endgame), expressionistic (Torben Betts’ Unconquered), or conceptually realistic (Alan Bowne’s Beirut), these plays offer us a standard 1984-esque warning. Although they transcend genre, all of these dramas provide us a glimpse at a prospective future, which is why I refer to them as Portent Plays. Essentially, these pieces cry out for a drastic change before it's too late. Can these fantastically terrifying works lend themselves to escapism? After all, the term escape suggests going to a better place, not a worse one. Yet as an audience member, we are still being asked to accept the world that is being presented, even if it is just “different” as opposed to “better.” Once we’re able to immerse ourselves in this world, we are no longer distracted by the divergences and we’re left to pick out the similarities between it and ours. How far are we from a society which gruesomely brands the bodies of abortionists with the letter “A,” as in the one presented by Suzan-Lori Parks in Fucking A? That is arguable, but there is no question that women's rights is a touchy subject in our society, with the recent government proposal that would brand contraceptives as abortion. There is one similarity that all these plays share, no matter how bizarre the alternate society is: we are still watching human beings live and die, get raped and abused: be affected. This allows us to make the emotional leap and relate to the characters despite the lack of verisimilitude. The mere fact that these fictional places are conceived and produced by real people as a result of true life experiences is startling. Projecting a society that is worse or scarier than ours also gives us the ability to be thankful for the positive elements of our lives as we walk out of the theatre and back on to the street, as opposed to leaving the Winter Garden wishing our lives contained more spontaneous song and dance routines. Perhaps the Portent Plays have the greatest potential for political and social impact because we are able to escape from them back into our own safer, more concrete reality while simultaneously using them to acknowledge that problems such as sexism, racism, nuclear war, and disease exist all around us and pose a very real threat.

I am uncertain of exactly where I am when I am watching a play. If it is a bad play, I may be dwelling on those dirty dishes in my sink. If it is a mediocre play, I may be in seat F18. But if it is a truthful play, I am somewhere else: somewhere between my physical self and the action, somewhere in the air of the theatre, floating among the spoken words, the audience’s reactions, and the beams of colored light. Theatre is not as readily accessible as television and film. It is temporary and expensive. Therefore, it is more important that we leave the mindless entertainment to other media and use theatre as a medium with which we can indulge in our need to escape in a way that is beneficial as opposed to desensitizing. I would like to revisit this topic at some point. I think it is relevant to examine the elements of escapism in other areas of theatre, such as realism and even performance art. Unfortunately, there is a sink full of dishes calling my name.

[1] Theatre/Theory/Theatre, Edited by Daniel Gerould

"An artist, a man, a faliure, MUST PROCEED." - E.E. Cummings, HIM

2008-10-13T11:15:00.000-07:00

After sitting around a table in a conference room of the New York Workshop Theater with Director Meghan Finn, some of her production team, and a decent sized group of actors to read through the entirety of E E Cummings' HIM, I left absorbed and amazed at the beauty of the lyricism and complexity of the characters, inspired to discuss with Kaitlyn the whole way home the importance of this work both in the time of its inauguration and now. But five months later I found myself leaving the Soho Rep. Walker Space silently wondering what happened.

At the E:Bar of 59E59 Theaters after the opening night of Disco Pigs, I wound up in a discussion about some problems in our contemporary Theater. And when I made a comment regarding Legally Blonde as baseless entertainment – purely in the sense of its perfect commercial “formula” and its movie-turned-Broadway Musical status, which it “is better at replicating its model than most”, as Mr. Ben Brantley boasts – that has its small place in the vast world of Theater, but does not embody the possibilities and ideas I feel so strongly should be more present in out Theater World, my conversational partner retorted:

“Mmm… be careful.”

I do not believe in being careful, I believe in being responsible; if we have reason behind our passion, we need to act on it. As Shakespeare explores in one of his most celebrated plays, Hamlet, and as American history illustrates time and again, it is important to stand up for what we believe in – Hamlet’s inability to act results in the death of nigh almost everyone, and America did not become an independent country, slavery was not abolished, women did not get the right to vote through calm, civil, obedient discussions. I bring up this comment in conjunction with a discussion of HIM because I feel the production, in its entirety, conveys both great examples of not being careful and not being responsible.

“When [Henry Alsberg] suggested that the Provincetown produce [HIM]” in 1928, they were taking a great risk, as “most of the staff was horrified.” What with all the problems of practicality – 105 characters and 21 scenes – there was also “the fact that few of them could discover what the play was about.” But Cummings, director James Light, and designer Eugene Fitsch embarked then, in their downtown space, what many people and theaters today are either too afraid to try, or try far too hard to do: they explored “the most fundamental type of theatrical experiment – experiment in dramatic form.” The three of them did all they could to quickly resolve the problems of practicality strictly so this play could be done, acting out of pure passion for the story they needed to tell without concern of “moving them uptown” but finding “what they could not find elsewhere.” [1] And as Genevieve Taggard of the N.Y. Herald Tribune wrote: “That the reader has difficulties is true. But the reader’s difficulties come not from a lack of objectivity in Mr. Cummings’ work, but because this is not vague feeling or vague thought, but very precise in its intensity, and therefore very new and strange.” [2] But in spite of comments such as this, as well as a sold out run, the 1928 production suffered stifling criticism, which I would like to think, though can only rightfuly wonder if this meant the Provincetown Playhouse had no interest in being sensitive, or careful, of their contemporary critics, but were strictly concerned with creating a compelling human drama.

Eighty years later, in a world rife with skyrocketing divorce rates, unexpected pregnancy, and adolescent parents, HIM, a tale of the harsh consequences of irresponsibility, is just as important as ever. However, very little of Meghan Finn's production was compelling because it was deficient in the humanity or the complexity of the "Human Condition" that makes this play relevant and important. I have the sneaking suspicion it has to do with stamina, and all the fervor in Finns voice back in April at the NYTW wore sore by September at the Walker Space because a time-crunch-style rehearsal period of only five weeks – where every minute counted and everyone had to be on their game at all times – stressed out both Performers and Director: it caused the Artists to stretch themselves too thin over a project much bigger than merely a month, challenging far too much the vigor of Finn as an innovative Director. (And it was that strain on this production, though not necessarily Meghan or Cast specifically, that strangley reminded me of our responsibility, as Artists, to be in constant awareness of the discovery of who we are and why we choose to devote our lives to this practice – if we lack reason, we continue to degrade the immense power Theater can command, and if we lack an understanding of ourselves, we will forever flounder in inability of making a point.) For a first major directorial outing, I applaud the ambition, but Finn seemed to desire a quick discovery of her unique Artistic Voice here, where a vulnerable exploration would have far better suited both the occasion - a Thesis production for an MFA - and the play itself.

However, the texture of Cummings' luminous and emotionally wrought poetry was being chipped away at with a rather dull instrument: Dan Cozzens.

Him is E E Cummings' autobiographical character, and Dan Cozzens' portrayal reminded me of everything my high school English 3 classmates hated and could not understand about E E Cummings. Cozzens was not grounded or present as Him, lacking depth or personality, and unable to ever connect to Elan O'Conner's Me. There was no love or joy in his character or their relationship, and therefore no journey, sadly causing this beautiful story to be told without a point. I fear Cozzens' failed in his responsibility of doing the amount of work necessary to this character, instead just memorizing lines and, rather than living and breathing in Him's "childlike sensitivity and fragility," [3] forcing on character traits like some awkwardly shrunken articles of clothing, such as the irritatingly bad habit of… pausing mid sentence for some sort of emphasis. I assume that was an attempt to attach the visual style of Cummings poems to the rhythm of his character's speech, which would be poor judgment being as it is an actors job is to discover the rhythm of the text rather than imprint their own upon it. But even still, HIM is not a poem but a play, an art form inherently rich in the visual stimulus Cozzens must have mistakenly thought a good idea to bring to the foreground of his character work. I can only wonder how he won the title role at his audition, and maybe recommend a bit more pre-casting acuity in researching those of whom one is considering casting.

Not everything about this production was worn-out or lacking depth. In opposition to Cozzens' weak work here was Corinne Donly's incredible performance as the Doctor. Opening night, she appeared slightly exhausted, but I could not expect anyone attacking this role with as much commitment as Donly to appear refreshed - besides, it allowed her to live so seamlessly in this dark world Cummings has created. As he wrote it, the Doctor appears in the majority of the show, including all the scenes of Him's play within the play, often taking on the major characters, and has countless monologues rife with dense subtext. All that, add Finn's thought that this character should ominously embody Him and Me's Daughter throughout the play, combined with Donly's aggressively grounded performance, and you have a character that might cause insomnia in any actor.

During the last ten-or-so seconds of the Doctor-as-the-Barker's final speech of the show, directed at Him, I saw a spark, a change in Corinne Donly's eyes - she suddenly morphed into an all-out Ball-of-Rage that I, sadly, saw as Donly stepping out of her character ever-so-subtly to yell at Dan Cozzens for not being present on-stage with her. Kaitlyn corrected me: "What you saw was Meghan's direction." Finn's and Donly's brilliant slight-of-hand glimpse of the Daughter behind the many masks of the Doctor was sadly obscured - for me, anyway - by Him.

Also, the design elements were incredibly successful. Justine Lacy found solid worlds of both history and fantasy in her costumes of the countless visually distinctive characters, Michael Hochman seamlessly found the darker underbellies of the story being told in his lighting design, Michael Cassidy, with his sound design, created the fear and impending viciousness of the blob scene, and Kaitlyn Mulligan’s set found both the grit of vaudeville and the circus which Cummings was so obsessed, as well as visually sucking the audience into incredible depths I never noticed at the SoHo Rep. Walker Space. These successes are due to the fact these artists were all working fervently those five months previous to the actors five weeks, as well as that their vehement work ethic never ended until the play opened – I know, I was there the morning of opening night after an all-nighter of painting the set while Lacy was tweaking costumes downstairs.

The play is long, the language dense, the plot difficult to follow, but the story is there – one of responsibility itself. And Cummings explores this, for all the flair and style of his poems, in the only way that seems to make any sense: he has written a history of himself through the perspective of an anesthetic-induced dream of his former wife, mother of his daughter – and more than that, he wrote it theatrically: living, breathing, naked, and honest. To tell this story fully, it not only required Cummings to write it, but it needs people to relive it; we can learn all the facts we want from everything our history professors lecture on about, but it is the parts of history we live through, our history, which we will carry with us forever and deem of most importance – it is why we feel so passionately about the coming Presidential Election or think Post-Modernism will be the death of the Art World as we know it. I am not interested in Theater exploring our world as it should be, but as it is or could be, for while “the beautiful… is form considered in its simplest aspect… the ugly… is one detail of a great whole” which “constantly presents itself in new, but incomplete shapes” [4] – an admittedly Romantic view of Theater Cummings’ play explores so skillfully. So while HIM may instruct and it may delight, which many critics since Aristotle argue to be the intention of Theater, this play's purpose is much simpler: "it simply is;" [5] Cummings is offering his play to an audience "as a glass through which to examine the sublime" and make their own judgments, a play where "the grotesque… is the richest source of inspiration that nature can throw open to art." [4] But I found no grotesquely beautiful breath of life here, due to Cozzen's strange approach to such an immense character, as well as the stretch Finn’s Direction had to endure.

And this play can be done, this story can be told. I could not imagine, due to my biased opinion generated from the uncontrollable fact that I am a young adult in 2008, a more necessary time to do this play. But if we heed the calm advice to be careful of voicing our own thoughts and opinions – the tools of progress – we lose the significance of HIM by not demanding we do better in learning from our failures, thus forfeiting the Theater's power to every unconsidered, uncriticized play and production as mere acceptability (consenting it to be the best we can do) and lack the hope and ability to move forward.

1. Helen Deutsch and Stella Hanau, The Provincetown, 1931
2. Gilbert Seldes, him AND the CRITICS, 1928
3. Linda Wagner-Martin, Cumming’s HIM – and Me, 1992
4. Victor Hugo, Preface to Cromwell, 1827
5. E E Cummings, HIM playbill, 1928

Why blog?

2008-09-14T10:43:00.000-07:00

I chose to devote my life to the theatre because of my thirst for knowledge and polymathic nature. One of the most beautiful elements of our art form is the research that is required in order to pursue it. Each production we stage brings a new understanding of psychology, history, geography, politics, literature, and much more. Being a theatre artist puts me in the position of a permanent predator of information. An action as monotonous as walking down a residential street in Brooklyn becomes an educational experience for me as my senses absorb summer humidity, Spanish music, and weathered wrought iron. I have a habit of collecting interesting pictures and reference books on any subject and I carry an electronic dictionary with me where ever I go. An unquenchable curiosity about the world in which I exist is not only a part of my job; it is a part of my nature.

With this blog, I hope to apply this innate need for observation and learning directly to my art. While studying theatre history with Amy Hughes, I was introduced to historically ground breaking dramatic literature, passionately conflicting theories, and the great and powerful Oscar Brockett, theatre historian extraordinaire. I discovered that the more I learned about the past, the more I was able to understand the present state of the theatre and the more informed my own theories became. The literature we were assigned sparked late night discussions and intellectual debates, which often resulted in a personal solidified opinion based on an understanding of facts. The two required semesters of theatre history only wet my appetite for more. I want to keep reading, analyzing and discussing, but this time in a more public forum. Working on this blog will allow me to submerge myself even further into the sea of dramatic literature and theory. In addition to friendly conversations over Ben and Jerry’s and animated subway speculations, I will compile an online record of these realizations and opinions that I continue to form as I continue to become informed.

There is also a correlation between knowledge and confidence that interests me. I need to exercise my ability to articulate and research in order to solidify an image of myself as a scholar and theorist. My humility is what is keeping me from beginning this blog as a drastic call to arms even though there are evident problems with today’s theatre. Instead, I am going to begin as a speculator, making suggestions here and there, but mostly defining the world I am talking about. From that point, I will feel comfortable enough to begin to offer opinions and criticism in a responsible manner. Eventually, I would like this blog to grow into a dynamic forum that is both making and answering the call to a progressive theatre.

So here’s to art, knowledge, and scholarship…you might as well pour yourself a glass of wine now.

A Start

2008-09-08T21:13:00.000-07:00

For the past few days, weeks, months, I have been trying so hard to formulate what would make a good essay to describe my opinions and where I am coming from theatrically, creating a personal opening statement for me here at the blog. I thought it necessary to put out what I want, specifically, from our theater community as a sort of grounding thesis. But no such luck. When thinking of such difficult subject matter, my thoughts would scatter, leaving me unable to articulate things that were, and are, indeed in my head, yet suddenly unable to be formulated into some articulate dialogue of sorts; I was frustrated, for I was certain I had strong and coherent viewpoints while debating in my Theater History course this whole past year that, apparently, I was incapable of hanging on to.

In my time this summer away from intense and enlightening lectures from Professor Hughes, drunken Oscar Brockett reading, and wide-eyed late-night revolutionary talk spawned from reading the likes of Victor Hugo and the infamous Antonin Artaud, had I slipped my way down into the dregs of the ever-generalizing Post-Modernism, where self consciousness and a blatant disregard for gestalt rules all? I had come, as my Theater History course came to a close, to hold “Post-Modernism” in revulsion because I saw it as the lazy choice at a critical moment in the history of theater; Theater was growing, expanding its bounds, and so instead of remaining specific and being responsible for this highest of arts (as Artaud states in his The Theatre and Its Double), the theater world at large - particularly here in America, the King of Capitalism - somehow cracked and flooded with – literally – absolutely anything.

This morning, my consciousness shook me, reminded me that I am not creating this forum out of fear of being or becoming “Post-Modern”, but that I am upset and offended at the theory (or lack thereof) behind Post-Modernism. I do not think it is fair to lump the likes of Caryl Churchill, John Jesurun, Richard Foreman, and Robert Wilson (among all other practicing artists) into the same category – two of these individuals mentioned are bending back their bow, arching that arrow through the air with such diligence, care, and awareness toward an achievement greater than the confines of just the box in which their art is presented, that I cannot begin to fathom how the others seem to lack even suspicion as to what it is they clumsily clutch in their over-sized and under-achieving hands.

I want change – Growth – in the art of Theater, and to achieve this evolution I do not think coming outright with some outlandish, potentially asinine theory is the answer – that would be me succumbing to the need to be portentous that I see so much within Post-Modernism. Healthy Growth is gradual, and successful Revolution comes from strong ideas fueled by passion and a need to consistently know more about who we are, where we come from, and what is happening around us. So as of now, I have no “answers”, per se, but I know what I’ve seen, of which all I feel passionately about, some conforming very nicely to the non-conformity of Post-Modernism, earning more credit than they deserve, and others that are… hmm… something else, deserving far more credit than they earn.

Mission Statement

2008-09-07T20:08:00.000-07:00

Reason

Our thirst for knowledge and scholarship is unquenchable and we dwell deeply in our curiosity of the world in which we exist. By producing a constructive outlet for our ideas, we hope to spark discussion and creative thought, and demand a more enlightened theatre. In the course of our research and writing, we hope to be improving awareness of ourselves as artists, theorists and critics. Through our publications we will endeavor to stir that same awareness in others. Although there is greatness within our theatre today, we feel most of it is masked by popular productions or averted by renowned critics. Through our discourse, we shall strive to awaken and capture that spirit of greatness in order to revolutionize our contemporary theatre.

Influences

Our need to create the Manifesto emerged from a continually renewed excitement and inspiration from studying theatre history with Professor Hughes at Brooklyn College. As we studied the progression of theatre, we became familiar with theorists and playwrights who called for a reevaluation of their art. We learned about Aristotle [1], whose ideas are always a great basis of comparison for later theories, Victor Hugo [2], who was willing to go against the rules by establishing the controversial genre of Romanticism, and Antonin Artaud [3], who asserted that theatre artists are responsible to deliver a higher awareness to the public. With the academic year coming to a close, and with our burgeoning excitement to discover the role in which we play at present, we were introduced to the post-modern muddle. Through history, theatre has sought to continually redefine itself based on ideals, either refuting or embracing theories of the past, so we were disappointed to learn that the post modernists are choosing to put an end to this growth, and propose the notion that there is no such thing as an original idea; everything that will be has already been. Further, its structure is so vague, that it encompasses all practicing artists. It is this pretension and lack of responsibility to the art that spurred the need for us to voice our opinions publicly.

Approach

We will take on this responsibility. We are observant artists with good ideas, and are confident in stepping up to the task of scrutinizing today’s theatre with the aid of historical texts. Tracing our contemporary theatre through its own history will consequently develop a deeper understanding for the art to which we chose to devote our lives. It is our intention that this understanding will foster growth and inspire new directions in our theatre.

1: Aristotle, Poetics, c. 335 BC

2: Victor Hugo, Preface to Cromwell, 1827

3: Antonin Artaud, The Theatre and Its Double, 1938