As a counterpoint to Zev's thoughtful post over at On Chicago Theatre...

I suggest this article over at Slate, by Bill James trying to explain why we as a nation produce so many great athletes but don't produce very many great writers (or sub in actor/dancer/classically-trained musician/fine artist, etc.). Really... RTWT, I'll be waiting.

I don't disagree with Zev's post at all, btw. I think he points out that the best way to fix things is to actually try ways of fixing him.

I think what James points out that is useful is that, the reason we have so many great athletes is that we encourage them along every step of the way. We're all familiar with the cliche about schools building a new stadium while shutting down the arts departments. But it goes beyond that. The fact is, athletes who show promise are encouraged from a very early age and given the resources to develop their talents so that they can become superstars.

Whereas, in comparison, writers are told to go hone their craft by themselves, get really good, and then come back in 20-25 years.

Or actors are told to go act for free, pay for training, and generally pay their dues before they might start getting something approaching a salary.

I'm not trying to say that the arts don't require hard work, some thankless honing of craft. But athletes work hard too, in high school and college and when they turn pro, at least when it comes to training. And schools and pro/semi-pro teams give them incentives and rewards and acclaim as they develop.

This doesn't mean "support all theatre equally" or "don't criticize bad work". But it suggests that artists and their institutions need to recognize that artists take time to develop, along with mentoring and resources.

Sure, no one would say that America has no good writers or actors or etc etc. But Bill James points out that Shakespearean London was the size of Topeka, Kansas, and gave us Bacon, Shakespeare, Marlowe and Jonson (and that's just hitting the biggest names).

Even being conservative, that suggests that every small to mid-size metropolis should have a burgeoning literary community, at least two or three small theatre companies competing to out-do each other each season, a couple of chamber music groups or orchestras...

There should be the equivalent of at least a hundred Elizabethan Londons scattered across America. But there aren't. Maybe part of this is a difference in the national character or the modern temperament.

Or maybe part of it is that, from the highest to the lowest levels of the arts, we focus on short-term projects and goals, getting our thing done, raising our money, winning our company praise, just keeping the doors open, instead of thinking about who will join our company in the future, or create the new theatre company that.will replace ours.

Moving forward, that has to be both a subject for discussion and something to put into practice. Self-reliance isn't a bad thing to have, but community is certainly not a bad thing either.

"A mother-in-law ought to know where her son-in-law can be arrested..."- The Three-Penny Opera, 1931, d. G.W Pabst

Tears of the Black Tiger Mother

Okay, this is not the real post I promised. And Tears of the Black Tiger is a Thai film, not Chinese, but it was the first pun to come to mind...

So there's apparently some sort of mild controversy around Amy Chua, who wrote a book about her rather strict "Chinese mother" (her formulation, not mine) parenting style, which raised two genius daughters. The whole thing is rather storm-in-a-teacup, the kind of controversy that I'm sure publishers love springing up around non-fiction, because suddenly everyone wants your author to show up and explain his/her life/decisions or what-have-you.

For the most part, count me as a disinterested party. On the one hand, I think children are sociopathic little monsters who need to be disciplined (and also loved) into being socially tolerable. On the other hand, no matter what, I doubt Amy Chua's parenting style will ever be adopted by more than a small minority, mostly because parenting has become such a strange creature due to societal and economic pressures that even the strongest willpower can only do so much to overcome.

But... what bugs me about every article I read w/r/t Mrs. Chua is that, among the things she denied her kids, along such usual culprits as sleep-overs, TV and computer games, was being in the school play.

Amy Chua has nothing against art in general, as she talks about the importance of teaching her daughters music and making them practice, and also ballet. But not only did she not allow her kids to be in the school play, she also let drama be one of two classes they did not have to be #1 in.

(Gym was the other class, which seems rather silly, as most gym programs would give you an A just for not beating up kids and trying to do the activities. And if you practice ballet for hours a day, I bet you can climb the rope once.)

Rather than turn this into a huge rant, I just want to say that acting in school plays was the first time I ever had people other than a teacher (or my parents) applaud my imagination and creativity. It was the first time it was socially acceptable for me to show those traits and, not only that, even be appreciated by my peers.

I'm not going to claim it turned me from an outcast to a popular kid, but it at least showed me that, at times, the world beyond administration could value creativity and imagination. And that's the one thing I personally would not want to deprive a kid.

On politics, art and selling out...

Perhaps the most thoughtful warning comes from Hannah Arendt, speaking of Brecht's acquiesence to the Communist regime:

"For the only meaningful punishment that a poet can suffer, short of death, is, of course, the sudden loss of what throughout human history has appeared a divine gift."
- page 215 of Men in Dark Times, Harcourt, Brace and Court, 1968

Something to think about this Fourth of July weekend.

Note to Chicago-area people:

Go see The Face of A Ruined Woman by Mia McCullough at Stage Left's Leapfest.

 Showtimes are tonight at 7:30 PM, Sunday 6/27 at 7:30 PM & Saturday 7/3 at 2 PM, at Stage Left's space on 3408 Sheffield.

I haven't seen it yet, but Mia's last play, Lucinda's Bed, at Chicago Dramatists, was one of the best new plays of 2009, in my opinion. It took a funny, sexy and also dark look at sex and monogamy through the lens of childhood fears. And it was a damned good play. Face, which is a monologue play about plastic surgery and the North Shore suburbs is sure to be equally entertaining and complex.

Full disclosure: I took a play-writing class at Northwestern with Mia, and I'm good friends with Zev, (who is in the play and their new co-literary manager) and know a few other Stage Left company members. That doesn't alter the fact that Mia is a gifted playwright with an amazing talent. Go out and support her and Stage Left.

The artistic are not like you or me...

You know, as much guff as I like to give Neil LaBute, it is sometimes hilarious to realize how much more messed-up authors in the past could be. From the Voice's review of Alan Rickman's production of The Creditors:

These same anxieties led Strindberg, at the time of Creditors' writing, to have his penis measured by a doctor and an attendant prostitute, who both "confirmed its normal size."

Give him credit for being thorough in his investigations, at least.

Chicago Theatre Blog thing

Maybe some day you'll get a substantive post, but for now:

CHICAGO PEOPLE! Put your hands in the air! Wave 'em like you just don't care!

Then go see Lucinda's Bed at Chicago Dramatists or the Hypocrites' production of Frankenstein at the MCA. They both have flaws but they're both really intriguing and fun.

We'll discuss in comments, perhaps?

The King of Casting...

Just watched Scorcese's "The King of Comedy", his acerbic take on both celebrity and would-be celebrities.

And then I found this article (h/t The Playgoer).

Short version: Some douchebag casting director tweeted the results of her casting session, complaining about specific (though un-named) performances.

She claims she's being helpful, giving advice, but it seems to me that she could always just write an article or blog post or something constructive for future auditioners. The internet does allow you to post more than 140 words at a time. She knows that, right?

And if she really had a problem with something a specific performer does, why not address it to that specific person? That's a really passive-aggressive way to deal with your frustration.

I hope the next time Ms. Eisenberg does something private or personal that someone tweets every detail.

This is the exact kind of deafness to personal interaction that characterizes Rupert Pupkin's character in "King of Comedy", that makes you want to retch when he actually becomes a success. But in the defense of that character, the movie does point out a severely messed-up and disappointing life that made him that way. What's a successful, powerful casting director's defense?

New York's alright if you like Sophokles..

I'm sad that, right after writing that huge post on Lucio Fulci, I found out the Wooster Group is doing a mash-up of Dido & Aeneas AND Mario Bava's Planet of the Vampires. I can't think of anything that symbolizes my interests any better in one thing. Classical myth? Cult horror films? Theatre? And all my previous rants aside, I don't mind going avant garde sometimes, especially if you've got the Wooster Group's bonafides.

But karma is kind, because the production I was afraid of missing, Classical Stage Company's An Oresteia sounds like a dud. Sadly, even this blessing is somewhat mixed, because the reviewer loves Euripides' Orestes (which is not continuous with either his Elektra or his Iphigenia plays) for ALL THE WRONG REASONS. I don't know how Ann Carson could have so awfully botched her translation of Orestes that it turned from a tragi-comedy (a la Shakespeare's Troilus & Cressida) into a plain old comedy. It's a play about high minded sentiments masking depraved cruelty and justice undone by political considerations, performed near the end of the Peloponnesian War, when Athens' folly was laid bare.

If there is any comedy in the play (and especially in William Arrowsmith's excellent translation), it's the darkest kind, laughing at how every character's words come to justify more and more grotesque ends.

It's easy to look back and laugh at people like Charles and Mary Lamb, Colley Cibber and Nahum Tate for having the gall to rewrite Shakespeare. But you have to wonder if, another couple generations down the line, if people will think the same thing about productions like these.

But there's no danger/it's a profession, a career/ though we could be erased/ with just a word in Cardinal Wolsey's ear

So I'm watching Henry VIII, enjoying it but feeling somewhat underwhelmed (feels a little bit like it was assembled from bits and pieces of other history plays) by both the actual play and the performances.

But then, towards the end of Act III, the actor playing Cardinal Wolsey (Timothy West) just blew me away. For most of the film, he's underplayed the part, coming off as scheming and manipulative. Then his former servant Cromwell comes to visit him after his arrest. At first, Wolsey plays at the penitent great man, rehabilitated and ready to return to society (Nixon comes to mind as a good example). All very weighty and eloquent.

And then Cromwell says that he'll serve the king, but he'll keep his prayers for Cardinal Wolsey. And for the first moment in the play, we see Wolsey as vulnerable. The text bears out this interpretation: the language gets simpler and there are a lot more pauses and breaks. West keeps it understated, but you suddenly see his sadness. He's spent his whole life raising and destroying people based on his needs, and he only now realizes the power and beauty of friendship.

It lends an amazing power to his closing lines: "Had I but serv'd God with half the zeal/I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age/ Have left me naked to mine enemies." Rather reminiscent of the Kissinger quote about how much Nixon could have accomplished if someone had loved him. Just an amazing moment of empathy that staggers me as a would-be actor and writer.

This wooden Oooooh this is awful!

For discussion: Is King Henry VIII Shakespeare's worst play? If so, produce one memorable quote or moment. Cite specific productions as needed.

(I just started watching the BBC version produced by Cedric Messina and thought, "it's a bad sign when your prologue all but says, go elsewhere if you're looking for fun.")

"Woyzeck" (Vesturport Theatre) at Brooklyn Academy of Music

If I made it to heaven, I'd have to help out with the thunder. "Woyzeck" by Georg Buchner

So I wanted to visit friends in NYC and I decided to schedule it around the production of "Woyzeck" playing for one weekend at the BAM, because Nick Cave and Warren Ellis (not the comic book writer but the violinist behind the Dirty Three and a member of the Bad Seeds) had written original music for it.  I'd already seen Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds perform live within the past month, but I figured that this music was unlikely to be recorded any time soon and wanted to see how it would fit into the context of the play. 

First, a caveat: its been a while since I've read "Woyzeck", so I remember the broad plot and the fact that Buchner never finished the play before he died (or at least, there is no "finished" version of the play) and so different productions will rearrange the scenes in different orders.

For those of you unfamiliar with the play, Woyzeck is a poor soldier who supports his lover Marie by participating in strange medical experiments. Marie has an affair with the Drum Major in his unit and Woyzeck kills her over it.

The story sounds like it should be the basis for a Nick Cave song anyhow (like "Where the Wild Roses Grow"), so I figured it would be a good fit. And it was. The four or so songs that showed up in the piece were a brilliant mix of absurdity and emotion, whether an off-key Tin Pan Alley love song Woyzeck warbled for Marie (underlining his instability and insecurity) or the swaggering blues rock of the Drum Major's entrance (that has him bragging about being six foot seven in bare feet!), the songs made sense of a play that sits on the razor's edge between Dreiser and Beckett. And the cast had some good (or at least appropriate to the character and song) voices. The Drum Major (Bjorn Hlynur Haraldsson) occasionally ventured into the territory of bad heavy metal vocalists, but otherwise could have been a (non-annoying) Broadway singer.

Unfortunately, Nick Cave and Warren Ellis' music really only shows up in the first half.  And the show only clicks when everyone is singing. Because (oh god!) this play was directed by a pretentious European director with A (cough*bullshit*cough) CONCEPT.  There is nothing more dangerous in the world of theatre than a director with a bit of acclaim and A (cough*bullshit*cough) CONCEPT.

See, Gisli Orn Gardarsson decided to set his production of "Woyzeck" at a water factory that looks like a cross between playground equipment and the Nostromo in Alien. Oh, and there are also water tanks that the actors will swim in, like people would if they were making drinking water.  And a trapeze and a climbing rope, just like in all water factories. The design is well-executed, but I never felt that this set, even in the abstract, was a place where people worked. It was a cool-looking place that the actors could do circus tricks on.

You know, I am breaking my "No Snark" vow, but geez, High Concept directors must be stopped!

Moment of fairness: water is talked about a lot in "Woyzeck". But except for a bit of inconsistently altered dialogue (Herr Gardarsson also "adapted" the script), three vague lines in the director's notes and the water tanks to play in, there wasn't a sense that the water factory itself was that important to the world of the play that Herr Gardarsson conceived.  It could have been any factory or any physical labor site or even the army.  So perhaps someone could still do a water factory "Woyzeck" that would work, but it would at least have to use the concept to inform the actual play.

Unfortunately, there were no performances that suggested even that charitable view. Every character spoke/shout (in English) in the exact same inflection. In all fairness, I'm not sure if it was the fault of acting in the performers' non-native language or a directorial choice, but I will say that when they sang, the performers seemed to use the proper kind of phrasing you would expect from an American pop song. I was sitting in the balcony, so I might have missed some physical subtlety, except the default setting for physicality was clumsy slapstick. Woyzeck (Ingvar E. Sigurdson) pissed on the Doctor's face (Harpa Arnarsdottir), the Captain (Vikingur Kristjansson) tried to rape the Doctor, etc. (In retrospect, a lot of brutality was visited on the Doctor, played by a woman, in a way that is not borne out by the play. It had no place in the play and it added undertones of misogyny where none existed before.) "Woyzeck" is not a comedy, but if it must be, it shouldn't feel like one of those sub-Three Stooges comedies that PRC films cranked out by the dozens in the 1940s.

These are just the major issues that struck me during the play. It is hard to believe that this company performed a critically acclaimed Romeo and Juliet at the RSC and in New York!

The one thing I will give this awful production is that it illuminated a religious side of "Woyzeck".  The frequent references to water, the Captain's bourgeois discussion of morality, Woyzeck's disbelief that sin should leave no mark on Marie's face, and the quote that starts this post seemed increasingly significant in this tonally dissonant piece where finding a director's meaning was like reading a hack detective novel missing half the pages. I thought that "Woyzeck" focused on the dehumanizing ways of the modern world in the manner of Georg Kaiser or Arthur Schniztler. But in my state of alienation, it seemed to represent the dehumanization of the poor in a world where bourgeois conceptions of religion consider morality to rely on money.  Thus the Captain can say Woyzeck is good but not "moral", the Doctor can conduct cruel and manipulative experiments on him, and the Drum Major can take his wife with no consequences. Woyzeck is without friends to help him (Andres is merely a gossip, Marie is his betrayer, the other men watched the Drum Major beat him without helping) and there is no chaplain or priest to offer comfort. As such, he can only commit a brutal murder against the one person less powerful than him. 

I'd need to read the play again to verify if this could be a valid interpretation. But other than Nick Cave and Warren Ellis' compositions, it was the one interesting thing I took from the evening.