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WALKABOUT:
Fresh Air for Theater
[Walkabout - September, 2002]
The lesson of the
COMIC SHOP - part 1: COSMETIC SCHIZOPHRENIA. The lesson of the
COMIC SHOP - part 2: KIDS. The lesson of the
COMIC SHOP - part 3: MISE EN SCENE. [Walkabout - June, 2002]
The lesson of the
SCALPEL. The lesson of the
COURTYARD. The lesson of the
MASTER. [Walkabout - April, 2002]
The lesson of the
CHEESEBURGER. The lesson of
KARAOKE. The lesson of the
SPAGHETTI DINNER. [Walkabout - March, 2002]
The lesson of the
BREAKDANCERS. The lesson of the
MAYANS. The lesson of
ANARCHISM. [Walkabout - February, 2002]
The lesson of the
GARDEN. The lesson of the
TRAINS. The lesson of the
SWORDSMAN.
Hits since 03/22/02:
In "Transmetropolitan," Spider Jerusalem wears sunglasses created by an acid-tripping computer, one lens a red square and the other a green oval. In "The Nikopol Trilogy," various mutants have asymmetrical facial markings. Watch for the embodiment of fractured subjectivity in clothing and accessories -- especially around the eyes -- as the human body begins to split and glow like a stained-glass window.
The days of Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman are over, and the next generation is younger -- at least in name. Tank Girl, Zero Girl, Astro Boy, Hellboy. Boys and girls are on the cusp of gender and adulthood; their pronouns name their destiny, but their bodies are undefined. Grownups haven't been sexy since the 60s. Infantilism and ageism meet in the teenage idol.
Set in interplanetary cities, post-apocalyptic war zones, and other, stranger scenes, the images offered by the current comic book renaissance are more visionary than their counterparts in literature or film. Theater comes last on this list, because the theatrical avant-garde has become trapped in the black box. Post-Grotowski "poor" theater fears to invest in the stuff of the world. It is hiding out from the mise en scene.
Doctor R. J. Howard has written that "The most important person in the operating theatre is the patient." If for our purposes the audience is assumed to be the patient, then we may work towards a theater of cruelty which attempts to operate directly opon the soul-organs of its viewers. But perhaps it is the performers who take on the role of the patient, allowing themselves to be publicly dissected for the edification of discerning onlookers.
Between tall buildings one often finds a small manufactured area of grass. The border between green and concrete forms a kind of proscenium, and the architecture of such spaces cries out to be perfomed upon. Indeed, any bounded area, literal or figurative, defines a potential playing space. The theater begins at the precise moment when a "fourth wall" comes into existence, and such walls can be found everywhere.
In a certain classroom, we are being lectured on theater training by a master of the craft. She moves like a god. Her every action is perfectly controlled. This is why I hate her so much. She is well-versed in the Suzuki Method, yet Suzuki himself is sitting next to her at the table, and he has none of her eerie inhumanity. She has actualized a kind of proto-fascist dream of control, as if theater training could make her immortal. But the art of performance is not the craft of absolute self-control, and the actor is not the uebermensch.
When eating a cheeseburger represents cruelty and imperialism, you may choose not to eat it. If you choose to eat it anyway, then it is your obligation to accept fully what you are doing, without blocking out any painful truths. Similarly, one ought never to judge a work "on its own terms." Nothing that is in the world may be put aside or conveniently forgotten. Everything is at stake in everything.
People flock to karaoke for the pure joy of plugging into a completely defined text. The pleasure comes from playing a role, even to the extent of mimicking the style of the original singer. Why does the average person not relish the idea of playing a scene of Hamlet? Why aren't there theatrical karaoke bars where people can go and take turns reading scenes off the wall?
The price was listed as five dollars, but when I got there, the price was ten dollars. "Ten dollars isn't so cheap for dinner," I said. "You get to watch theater too," they said. Which is true, but it changes the nature of the event fundamentally. At five dollars, the performers are bribing a very poor audience to come watch them in exchange for food. At ten dollars, we have entered the realm of theater, no matter how cheap.
In the Times Square subway station, a large crowd has gathered. The performers, all male, are dressed entirely in black & white -- the traditional costume of mime. Yet mime is dead, and breakdancing very much alive. Here, both company and audience are intergenerational. The work is stretched into past and future. Old traditions are passed on to young students. No living community can exist within a single generation.
They say there was a time when the Mayans refused the wheel. They knew of it, but they did not want it. This is difficult to imagine. "Not taking what one doesn't desire is the hardest thing in the world," said Camus. Indeed, the world is full to bursting with things we have taken that we did not desire. Theater, at this moment, is defined by what it refuses: video, pop music, internet connections, advertising. Question: Did the Mayans survive? Answer: You cannot survive unless you accept the wheel. But the moment you accept the wheel, you are already dead.
The philosophy of anarchism does not propose disorder or chaos, but rather an order that is voluntary. Such order can only exist when every participant is able to balance listening and speaking. Anarchism requires both the generosity to give up domination and the shared vocabulary with which to communicate. Any successful non-scripted performance is an enactment of working anarchism.
On Spring Street north of Chinatown there is a garden packed with statues, fountains, and other garden fixtures. These icons are for sale. Eventually they will be displayed individually, each one sovereign over a different patch of land. Here, in this pandemonium, they are crammed together like gods in a carnival. There are many such factories, where the stuff of our daily surreality is stocked wholesale. Visit them to see your own dreams in context.
There are weird trains that move through the tunnels at night carrying no passengers. Perhaps they carry garbage, or poison, or the followers of a hidden subway cult. The trains are painted yellow and black. It is the yellow of dumpsters, of nuclear fallout shelters, of sickness and decay. Every color has a thousand facets, depending on where it is placed. To tell our children that yellow is the color of the sun, of canaries, and of corn, is to comfort them with lies.
In Washington Square Park there is a man looking for students to train in the art of the sword. His disciples, he says, will be able to wield their blades both in battle and on stage. To him there is no difference. The craft of the actor is the craft of the warrior. But a teacher demands to be questioned, while a general wants only to be obeyed, and the actor, like the warrior, must serve questions befor eanswers -- or else become a soldier.
walkabout = fresh air for theater
all text by bspatz
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