Never a company to shy away from challenging themes and plot lines, Seattle Children’s Theatre proved their mettle yet again with two recent productions—British playwright, Charles Way’s Sleeping Beauty with new music by Chad Henry and a new production, the world premiere of The Devil and Daniel Webster by Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright, Robert Schenkkan. Both plays tackled themes that some might consider dark but both were striking in their approach and both held their audience’s attention throughout.
In SCT’s production of Sleeping Beauty, directed by Artistic Associate Rita Giomi, Charles Way has written an adaptation that is Spartan in its cast size focusing on the characters and relationships in the small fairytale kingdom. In his version of this classic tale, the young Briar Rose is head strong with a free spirit that, at first glass, doesn’t seem to need saving. The Prince, on the other hand, seems a bit feckless and in need of saving himself. But this adaptation focuses on the blooming relationship of these two characters. The plot line is similar to many others with the antagonist role filled by the snubbed and jealous evil sorceress Modron who decides to cast a spell on the unsuspecting King and Queen’s new child. The good sorceress counters this magical curse with her spell sending all in the kingdom to sleep once Briar Rose pricks her finger on that fateful birthday on the needle of a spinning wheel.
With only seven actors in the ensemble, Charles Way’s adaptation is swift and to the point. Only a handful of the characters do any doubling with the most entertaining being the two actors who double as the wood sprites in Act II when Prince Owain sets out to solve a series of tasks to reach the palace and save Briar Rose. The King of the Spiders—a large spider puppet combined with a speaking actor, was terribly impressive and garnered many gasps of awe from the full house of children and families. The rest of the design was, as always incredibly inspiring and imaginative. The design by long-time collaborator Carey Wong who teaches at The University of Washington evoked a large woven medieval tapestry with walls of leaves and vines hinting at the rose briars that will figure into the story later on. Three vertical panels of the same design served as trees that would reveal the infant who would become Briar Rose and through the use of miniature scaled palace shadow images would evoke the progress of the growing rose briars invoked by the evil Mordron.
One of the most stunning surprises of the design was an inner “stage-within-a-stage,” that created the christening chamber, and the room where Briar Rose would be laid as she falls into the deep enchanted sleep. This interior stone chamber was framed by a beautiful gilt frame. The whole unit could track upstage and downstage and was designed with forced perspective. There were several beautiful images created through the staging that bore a striking resemblance to the beautiful jewel toned paintings from the medieval period.
I was curious though to see how the new music and songs written by Chad Henry would work within the pre-existing script. Charles Way, I’m assuming, signed off on the music and lyrics, but I was less than impressed on their impact to the script which I was familiar with in the original version. Most of the songs did not propel the story or action and only served to slow down the momentum. There was a song about “having and wanting,” appropriate themes as they are, I felt the song to be a bit childish and, at times a trifle pedantic. The “dance off” with the woodland faeries was very entertaining and made me wonder how it would have played elsewhere. At first the music seemed to have a very strong Celtic feel, but as the play progressed, the music became more reminiscent of Rogers & Hammerstein.
The dialect work was weak and seems to be a challenge for most actors in this city. Many plays this season at other theatres involved plays with dialects (mostly British) and most, if not all, were weak efforts.
The end battle between Mordron and Prince Owain was, however, very dramatic and made up for any lack of tension or slow plot movement. With only fifteen seconds left for the spell to be broken, the sword fight kept many of the children seated around me on the edge of their seats. The victory of Prince Owain elicited a very enthusiastic applause from the audience.
On a side note, Seattle Children’s Theatre, like many of the major theatres geared for young people, provides a cry room for families that bring children who get restless or have difficulty keeping quiet. At the top of each performance, the House Manager makes an announcement regarding the usual—cell phones, pagers, running times, exits, and the availability of the cry room. However, at intermission, the House Manager made another announcement resulting from a crying child who didn’t get shuffled off to the cry room during Act I. I had to wonder if it was the Stage Manager or the actors that called for the additional announcement. It was welcomed nonetheless.
Seattle Children’s Theatre’s next production really plumbed the depths of dark themes in Robert Schenkkan’s serious adaptation of The Devil and Daniel Webster penned in the 1930’s by Stephen Vincent Benet. As the audience entered the theatre, the stage picture was dark and atmospheric with bold shadows of twisted tree branches that fell over a cluster of gravestones that anchored the far downstage left and right areas of the playing space. The main playing area was a large sweeping raked trapezoidal platform that diminished as it moved upstage to a dark and brooding sky. The whole design was inspired by the old hand tinted wood block prints from the
A desperate farmer, in an effort to marry his sweetheart and appease her skinflint father, makes a pact with the Devil. When his deal comes due at the end of six years, the farmer pleads with the Devil to release him from his bargain claiming that he has indeed fulfilled his end of the bargain. The Devil, old Scratch himself, feels otherwise. He denies Jabez Stone, the young man, any sort of reprieve. The young man approaches Daniel Webster, a noted lawyer to help him figure out a way to free his soul from the pact he has made with the Devil. Daniel Webster manipulates old Scratch into agreeing to have a trial whereby Webster will defend Jabez Stone.
The Second Act begins with Jabez Stone, his young wife Abigail, and Daniel Webster sitting in their home waiting for the clock to strike midnight. Again, a dramatic setting utilizing the previous Act’s raked floor with the addition of a door and towering upstage interior wall with fireplace, large mantel and ominous mantle clock. As the hour strikes, the door knocks and Scratch appears. He conjures a jury of his peers, which in this trial means one comprised of infamous villains from the past and the future including such luminaries as Lizzie Borden, Benedict Arnold, Al Capone, John Wilkes Booth, a member of the Klu Klux Klan and Blackbeard the Pirate. The playwright, Schenckkan has taken some liberties with this episode in the story, but it plays relatively well. The jury appears through a scrim above the fireplace painted to look like the interior wall of the house until there is a dramatic lighting change revealing the combination of actors and puppets. The use of puppets was predicated, I’m sure about cast size, but it works relatively well and carries through with the earlier use of puppets in several moments from Act I. The Second Act transpires as Webster and Scratch bandy lengthy arguments regarding themes of slavery, the value of a soul, the virtue in forgiveness and the strength and value in love and compassion. Ultimately Daniel Webster wins the trial with old Scratch leaving nursing his own pride, and the young couple living a long and prosperous life.
I think this production was effective and suitable for the target audience of junior high school children and some younger during the performance I witnessed. The shorter but much wordier Second Act lacked the energy and dynamic rapid staging of the Second Act so attentions began to waiver. But at the moment of Webster’s triumph, there was actually a collective breath of release from the audience which signaled the audience’s connection despite the shifting and shuffling.
The performance featured the ubiquitous Question & Answer session that follows all the SCT productions for middle elementary aged children and older. The actors lead the Q&A with questions posed to the audience which is really the best way to handle these sessions. I was struck by the answers to the question, “What is this play to us? Why do it?” The answers offered were varied but two children answered with, “Responsibility,” and “Civil Liberties.” The story has a power and resonance that can not be denied. I thoroughly enjoyed this piece and hope that it has a life beyond the premiere here at SCT.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Cathay: 3 Tales of China
Cathay: 3 Tales of China
Conceived, Written and Directed by Ping Chong
Made in Collaboration with the Shaanxi Folk Art Theatre of Xian, China
I recently had an auspicious opportunity to see Ping Chong’s latest theatrical cultural exploration in his new piece Cathay: 3 Tales of China that premiered at Seattle Repertory Theatre September 10 – October 9, 2005. In the Rep’s more intimate Leo K. Theatre this piece did not suffer from the misfortunes of guest productions forced to play in larger barn theatres that diminish the artistic power of an evening of theatre filled not only with subtlety of story, but the delicate and intricate puppetry art that has become a signature of Ping Chong’s New York based company.
Cathay: 3 Tales of China is just that, three tales exploring the cultural dynamics of an ever-changing China. The piece was conceived by Ping Chong after several visits to Xi’an (pronounced Shi-ang), a city that was once the most populace in the world. The city’s dynamic evolution is a testament to the resilience of the Chinese culture and one that Chong respects deeply. His curiosity of this evolution makes up the backbone of the spirit of his new piece which he explores through the use of traditional Asian puppetry arts including rod puppets and shadow puppetry combined with his usual infusion of contemporary technology of robotic lighting and digital imagery.
As the audience entered the small, approximately 200 seat theatre, the setting onstage consisted of a very clean, contemporary interior with painted marble floor, a small seating area center stage comprised of clean contemporary ottoman/benches, two small raised areas left and right of center, and a back wall that consisted of a large timbered grid with panels measuring approximately four feet by six feet. The whole wall comprised twenty of these panels with the large timbers dividing them. The center panel contained a digital video projection of the title of the performance that was animated to give the illusion of silk billowing gently in a breeze. The whole setting visible at the top of the show inclusive of the full wall was only around eight feet from the edge of the stage. The audience conversations ranged from the curious as to how the puppets would figure into this setting to those who really had no idea what the play would entail.
The framing devise used by Ping Chong for his three tales were two ten foot tall terracotta Chinese dragon/sphinxes that tracked in onto the low platforms left and right.
The conceit of these framing characters—because each of these dragons came to life with glowing eyes and large elephantine ears that would raise and lower along with movable head and articulated jaws—was a matter of expansive time. What I mean by this was that each of the stories told by Chong’s company was prefaced by a quick repartee between the dragons that would help place each story along a linear timeline. These terracotta dragons would have been similar to the ones found in ancient burial chambers unearthed in 1974 by farmers. What they found was an ancient site containing 8000 terra-cotta soldiers, horses and other attendants for the first emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang.
The first tale, taken from the pages of classic Chinese literature is entitled “The Lady and the Emperor.” In this story set in imperial China, a young woman has won the heart of the Emperor. She becomes the primary consort for him, but is seen as a threat by the armies of the Emperor. Their relationship, a beautiful testament to true love and star-crossed fate, sets the wheels in motion for the third story’s key plot line.
The first story is told through the use of beautiful rod puppets manipulated by the company comprised of members of the Shaanxi Folk Art Theatre and members of the Seattle based Carter Family Puppet Theatre. What was so striking and imaginative was the cinematic way in which each of the scenes was played out. For each vignette, a different panel of the large wall would open either up or down revealing a four by six, or sometime larger, playing area. The cinematic quality would allow the scale of the puppets used to change from one scene to the next from large oversized heads only, to diminutive settings where a large number of smaller scaled figures would play exterior scenes or large group scenes. The effect was as if the camera would pull back for a long shot or come in for close-up shots allowing the audience to experience the whole performance like a film. One of the cleverest scenes was when the Emperor’s consort was visiting with her servant girl while sitting at her dressing table. The audience viewed this scene from above, as if the lens were directly above the puppets and table looking down onto the scene. The use of foreshortened puppet torsos and forced perspective (along with an amazing use of a little Shitzu dog puppet) garnered a collective gasp of astonishment and wonder from its audience.
The second story, further along the timeline, centered on a small child “Little Worm” and his family just prior and following the Japanese occupation of China during World War II. Here the technique shifted to an amazing variation of shadow puppetry where the puppets were not completely opaque like traditional shadow puppets, but made with semi-translucent plastic that cast a tinted image with painted detail onto the projection screen. Here, as in several other moments, the use of digital projected imagery was combined with the puppetry to create a highly cinematic fluid style. Little Worm wonders what will happen if the Japanese invade and is forced to run away during a Japanese air raid. This sequence is another testament to Ping Chong’s vision as the shadow characters are juxtaposed with digital images of squadrons of bombers flying over the Chinese countryside combining angle and visual perspective for the audience. Little Worm, separated from his family and community, is forced to flee on foot to safer locations. A Japanese soldier corners him. During the pivotal moment, the Japanese soldier fires his rifle leaving the audience to wonder the fate of the little boy.
The final story once again opens with our two dragons, but this time, they awaken to the sound of rocks falling and a brief glimmer of light from the outside world. We now see a digital image of the word “New”—the title of the last piece. We hear a soundscape of a hotel lobby and as the panels begin to open to reveal this story’s characters, we immediately realize we have now caught up with today. We are introduced to a brusque, obnoxious American businessman and his wife. We then glimpse an older gentleman who arrives at the hotel for a clandestine meeting with another older gentleman that we find out is Japanese. Interspersed with the vignettes are moments of sly commentary as a Chinese Rap artist MC Tang raps about modern Chinese culture.
This last vignette brings the two older characters together as we learn they are Little Worm and the Japanese soldier who tried to kill him in a poignant commentary on reconciliation. One of the younger male characters we meet in this section also comes to realize that the beautiful female hotel registration clerk is undeniably someone that he knows or perhaps met in a previous life. Ping Chong not only cleverly uses the device of the terracotta dragons as bookends to the story, but threads all three together with the trope of reincarnation that poetically brings the two star-crossed lovers from the first story—the Lady and the Emperor—together with the discovery of the male and female ingénues in this last story.
The play ends with a whimsical change of scale and perspective as the lights come up to reveal the setting visible at the top of the show with the addition of the two terracotta statues onstage. We are now in the hotel lobby. The puppeteers then make a couple of passes in costume with large puppet head/masks covering their own representing several of the characters from the last story. The commentary is filled with irony and humor, and leaves the audience with a sense of questioning the possibilities of our own lives and our own culture.
The evening proved moving and filled with wonderful moments of stylistic beauty. The only major detriment to the production was in the first story where we are given a scene between the Lady and the Emperor in their bed chamber when the two finally consummate their love. It was humorous in a very uncomfortable way and brought back images of the vulgar and base puppet sex-scene in the film Team America. All of the voices in the entire evening were pre-recorded—and to hear these two voices give an interpretation of breathless love, really brought the whole audience out of the moment. I began to wonder how this production would play to younger audience members since the last stop for the production would be the New Victory Theatre in New York City, a venue dedicated to theatre for young audiences. The moment mentioned above was so jarring and without merit, I fear that the rest of the story in section one would be lost to the twittering and whispers of a younger crowd.
The beauty in this completely theatrical event, was witnessing the artistry of the puppeteers from both cultures working in collaboration. Such an extraordinary cultural collaboration does not happen that often and it is to the credit of the Kennedy Center for commissioning the piece. Perhaps this is evidence to a growing awareness and appreciation for the puppetry arts beyond the Muppets or citizens of Avenue Q to a more refined and ancient art form that is given such exquisite expression in Ping Chong’s Cathay: 3 Tales of China.
Director Ping Chong's latest work, Cathay: 3 Tales of China received its world premiere September 10 - October 9, 2005 at Seattle Repertory Theatre, then continued on to the Kennedy Center in Washington D.C. as part of The Festival of China then to the New Victory Theatre, New York City. Photo © 2005 Seattle Repertory Theatre.
Conceived, Written and Directed by Ping Chong
Made in Collaboration with the Shaanxi Folk Art Theatre of Xian, China
I recently had an auspicious opportunity to see Ping Chong’s latest theatrical cultural exploration in his new piece Cathay: 3 Tales of China that premiered at Seattle Repertory Theatre September 10 – October 9, 2005. In the Rep’s more intimate Leo K. Theatre this piece did not suffer from the misfortunes of guest productions forced to play in larger barn theatres that diminish the artistic power of an evening of theatre filled not only with subtlety of story, but the delicate and intricate puppetry art that has become a signature of Ping Chong’s New York based company.
Cathay: 3 Tales of China is just that, three tales exploring the cultural dynamics of an ever-changing China. The piece was conceived by Ping Chong after several visits to Xi’an (pronounced Shi-ang), a city that was once the most populace in the world. The city’s dynamic evolution is a testament to the resilience of the Chinese culture and one that Chong respects deeply. His curiosity of this evolution makes up the backbone of the spirit of his new piece which he explores through the use of traditional Asian puppetry arts including rod puppets and shadow puppetry combined with his usual infusion of contemporary technology of robotic lighting and digital imagery.
As the audience entered the small, approximately 200 seat theatre, the setting onstage consisted of a very clean, contemporary interior with painted marble floor, a small seating area center stage comprised of clean contemporary ottoman/benches, two small raised areas left and right of center, and a back wall that consisted of a large timbered grid with panels measuring approximately four feet by six feet. The whole wall comprised twenty of these panels with the large timbers dividing them. The center panel contained a digital video projection of the title of the performance that was animated to give the illusion of silk billowing gently in a breeze. The whole setting visible at the top of the show inclusive of the full wall was only around eight feet from the edge of the stage. The audience conversations ranged from the curious as to how the puppets would figure into this setting to those who really had no idea what the play would entail.
The framing devise used by Ping Chong for his three tales were two ten foot tall terracotta Chinese dragon/sphinxes that tracked in onto the low platforms left and right.
The conceit of these framing characters—because each of these dragons came to life with glowing eyes and large elephantine ears that would raise and lower along with movable head and articulated jaws—was a matter of expansive time. What I mean by this was that each of the stories told by Chong’s company was prefaced by a quick repartee between the dragons that would help place each story along a linear timeline. These terracotta dragons would have been similar to the ones found in ancient burial chambers unearthed in 1974 by farmers. What they found was an ancient site containing 8000 terra-cotta soldiers, horses and other attendants for the first emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang.
The first tale, taken from the pages of classic Chinese literature is entitled “The Lady and the Emperor.” In this story set in imperial China, a young woman has won the heart of the Emperor. She becomes the primary consort for him, but is seen as a threat by the armies of the Emperor. Their relationship, a beautiful testament to true love and star-crossed fate, sets the wheels in motion for the third story’s key plot line.
The first story is told through the use of beautiful rod puppets manipulated by the company comprised of members of the Shaanxi Folk Art Theatre and members of the Seattle based Carter Family Puppet Theatre. What was so striking and imaginative was the cinematic way in which each of the scenes was played out. For each vignette, a different panel of the large wall would open either up or down revealing a four by six, or sometime larger, playing area. The cinematic quality would allow the scale of the puppets used to change from one scene to the next from large oversized heads only, to diminutive settings where a large number of smaller scaled figures would play exterior scenes or large group scenes. The effect was as if the camera would pull back for a long shot or come in for close-up shots allowing the audience to experience the whole performance like a film. One of the cleverest scenes was when the Emperor’s consort was visiting with her servant girl while sitting at her dressing table. The audience viewed this scene from above, as if the lens were directly above the puppets and table looking down onto the scene. The use of foreshortened puppet torsos and forced perspective (along with an amazing use of a little Shitzu dog puppet) garnered a collective gasp of astonishment and wonder from its audience.
The second story, further along the timeline, centered on a small child “Little Worm” and his family just prior and following the Japanese occupation of China during World War II. Here the technique shifted to an amazing variation of shadow puppetry where the puppets were not completely opaque like traditional shadow puppets, but made with semi-translucent plastic that cast a tinted image with painted detail onto the projection screen. Here, as in several other moments, the use of digital projected imagery was combined with the puppetry to create a highly cinematic fluid style. Little Worm wonders what will happen if the Japanese invade and is forced to run away during a Japanese air raid. This sequence is another testament to Ping Chong’s vision as the shadow characters are juxtaposed with digital images of squadrons of bombers flying over the Chinese countryside combining angle and visual perspective for the audience. Little Worm, separated from his family and community, is forced to flee on foot to safer locations. A Japanese soldier corners him. During the pivotal moment, the Japanese soldier fires his rifle leaving the audience to wonder the fate of the little boy.
The final story once again opens with our two dragons, but this time, they awaken to the sound of rocks falling and a brief glimmer of light from the outside world. We now see a digital image of the word “New”—the title of the last piece. We hear a soundscape of a hotel lobby and as the panels begin to open to reveal this story’s characters, we immediately realize we have now caught up with today. We are introduced to a brusque, obnoxious American businessman and his wife. We then glimpse an older gentleman who arrives at the hotel for a clandestine meeting with another older gentleman that we find out is Japanese. Interspersed with the vignettes are moments of sly commentary as a Chinese Rap artist MC Tang raps about modern Chinese culture.
This last vignette brings the two older characters together as we learn they are Little Worm and the Japanese soldier who tried to kill him in a poignant commentary on reconciliation. One of the younger male characters we meet in this section also comes to realize that the beautiful female hotel registration clerk is undeniably someone that he knows or perhaps met in a previous life. Ping Chong not only cleverly uses the device of the terracotta dragons as bookends to the story, but threads all three together with the trope of reincarnation that poetically brings the two star-crossed lovers from the first story—the Lady and the Emperor—together with the discovery of the male and female ingénues in this last story.
The play ends with a whimsical change of scale and perspective as the lights come up to reveal the setting visible at the top of the show with the addition of the two terracotta statues onstage. We are now in the hotel lobby. The puppeteers then make a couple of passes in costume with large puppet head/masks covering their own representing several of the characters from the last story. The commentary is filled with irony and humor, and leaves the audience with a sense of questioning the possibilities of our own lives and our own culture.
The evening proved moving and filled with wonderful moments of stylistic beauty. The only major detriment to the production was in the first story where we are given a scene between the Lady and the Emperor in their bed chamber when the two finally consummate their love. It was humorous in a very uncomfortable way and brought back images of the vulgar and base puppet sex-scene in the film Team America. All of the voices in the entire evening were pre-recorded—and to hear these two voices give an interpretation of breathless love, really brought the whole audience out of the moment. I began to wonder how this production would play to younger audience members since the last stop for the production would be the New Victory Theatre in New York City, a venue dedicated to theatre for young audiences. The moment mentioned above was so jarring and without merit, I fear that the rest of the story in section one would be lost to the twittering and whispers of a younger crowd.
The beauty in this completely theatrical event, was witnessing the artistry of the puppeteers from both cultures working in collaboration. Such an extraordinary cultural collaboration does not happen that often and it is to the credit of the Kennedy Center for commissioning the piece. Perhaps this is evidence to a growing awareness and appreciation for the puppetry arts beyond the Muppets or citizens of Avenue Q to a more refined and ancient art form that is given such exquisite expression in Ping Chong’s Cathay: 3 Tales of China.
Director Ping Chong's latest work, Cathay: 3 Tales of China received its world premiere September 10 - October 9, 2005 at Seattle Repertory Theatre, then continued on to the Kennedy Center in Washington D.C. as part of The Festival of China then to the New Victory Theatre, New York City. Photo © 2005 Seattle Repertory Theatre.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Best Laid Plans
Commentary on Seattle Children's Theatre's productions of Seussical and Nothing Is The Same will unfortunately not be posted. Scheduling and box office snafus made this impossible.
The Grapes of Wrath and The American Cycle: An Epic Program of Theatre and Outreach at The Intiman Theatre
The Intiman Theatre, best known of late for the Tony Award-winning musical A Light In the Piazza, should also be known by all of us in the theatre world due to their efforts in creating and giving breath to an epic program of theatre outreach that could serve for future models of similar programming.
The Intiman Theatre in Seattle, Washington, is currently being helmed by Bartlett Sher, Artistic Director and Laura Penn, Managing Director. Mr. Sher has been responsible for many of the recent outstanding production at the theatre since he joined in a leadership capacity and was the director for the Seattle production of Piazza and the eventual New York transfer winning a Tony nomination for his direction.
The American Cycle is the new brain-child of the creative team at The Intiman that will roll out over five years. The Cycle, as described in their program, includes five plays over five years, and a series of annual programs that explore the local resonance of themes and ideas generated by the works on stage. As an audience member, I had been exposed to some of the media coverage of this Program, but it really did not hit home for me until I recently attended the Intiman’s production of John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, directed by Linda Hartzell, Artistic Director of Seattle Children’s Theatre.
Grapes of Wrath is the second of the five play Cycle that started with Our Town, featuring Tom Skerritt as the Narrator and will continue with Richard Wright’s Native Son (2006), Robert Penn Warren’s All The King’s Men (2007, rights pending) and Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird (2008). What, I think is so extraordinary with this program, is the breadth and scope of the entire program. The selection of plays alone is exciting, but it is the ancillary components that really resonated for me.
Upon entering the Intiman’s spacious theatre lobby, I immediately noticed the extent to which the Education Department had gone to invite the audience to explore the historical significance of Steinbeck’s subject matter. On one side of the lobby was a map of the United States tracing the journey of the Joad’s and the primary path of many migrants during the Dust Bowl. This was accompanied by pictures of various locations that were pin-pointed on the map—images by Dorothea Lange, and other visual images of the photographers of the WPA program. On the other side of the lobby was a historical representation of how the Dust Bowl and Great Depression impacted the Pacific Northwest region and industries such as Salmon fishing. This was executed through maps, photographs and a digital program playing on a lap top computer. Throughout the center of the lobby, was a large two sided display board that snaked its way through the central expanse—symbolic in many ways of the journey that the Joads and others undertook. It was an enormous amount of visual resource and text exploring life during this time.
As stated in the program, The American Cycle Goals are—Produce Great Art, Cultivate Curiosity, Advocate for Literacy, Encourage an Informal Citizenry and Understand Interconnectedness. Most of this is obvious, but for me, the two that caught my eye were Encouraging Informal Citizenry and Understanding Interconnectedness. Having spent the last fourteen years trying to solve these questions with my own work and company in Austin, I was intrigued by how an institution of The Intiman’s size and caliber would handle these two thorny issues.
The last two of the above goals are of course connected and not mutually exclusive within a program such as this.
Having missed the programming for Our Town and much to my chagrin Grapes of Wrath, I can only go by what the theatre shares itself. But the outlook looks impressive and I am eager to participate in the future productions and programming going forward.
One of the key components that I think really should be shared is the Rough Eagles program. This collaboration is between the youth of two disparate schools with the Seattle metropolitan area. One from a north end school with greater resources and the other from a south end school with limited resources. The two groups came together to explore the themes of Our Town and now, continue this program by exploring the themes found in Grapes of Wrath. Over the span of several months, these students along with their teachers and sponsors create a theatrical presentation of their devising in response to the play and its themes. Along with this major component can be found civic dialogues leading up to each production along with community readings, talk-backs and others as created.
It would seem to me that this program’s success stems from its ability to reach to not only its adult base, but to the future audiences by really making an effort to connect with non-theatre-goers, and young people who traditionally may not have the ability or desire to attend these productions because of finances or the misperceptions that it is too high-brow.
The Frank Galati adaptation, first produced by Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theatre is a clean and faithful treatment of Steinbeck’s monumental work. As directed by Linda Hartzell, the story was poetically moving and captured the lonely and desolate love shared and lost by the Joad family. The casting of the main characters was dead-on with a superlative performance by Beth Dixon as Ma Joad. Her stoicism and mid-west sensibility keep the family going through the toughest times and it is through her eyes that we experience the excruciating heartbreak as her family slowly crumbles around her not unlike the dry earth that forces her family to flee in the first place. Her dreams, her family, dissolve into dust blown on the winds of change.
Hartzell stages the opening tableau like a dance with a handful of several isolated characters throughout the Intiman’s large stage—lights dim, the faint sound of dry wind and the images of dilapidated cedar post fence and dusty sky are all we need to set the tone and mood of the play. Carey Wong’s design is comprised of basically a bare stage within which he places simple scenic elements that set each of the locales of the play.
The costumes were dusty-worn, sepia tinted and drawn from the stark and evocative images we all know from the famous photographs of Dorothea Lange. The one draw-back for me was the lighting which seemed to conflict with itself at many times when trying to set a mood with motivated light sources such as fire-pits or lanterns. The lighting effects were thwarted by too much overall stage light. Having seen the Steppenwolf’s production, I was aware of the need for it to rain onstage and for a large trap to open in the downstage playing space to reveal a pool of water roughly four feet by 24 feet that was used for the river and swimmin’ hole. I knew it was coming, but experienced the joy of this simple theatrical design element when the collective gasp of awe rippled through the audience not unlike the wind on the dusty farm field. It was a magical moment.
And there were many magical moments for me due in no small part by Linda Hartzell’s staging. Of course there were many similarities to the Steppenwolf production both in design and directing, but I believe much of this must be in the specifics of the script directions in the stage adaptation by Frank Galati. However, two moments that stand out for me were when Ma takes a moment and moves downstage and sits alone in a chair next to a fire pit in the floor. She holds a musical jewelry box. She opens it, listening to the music. She removes a pair of earbobs and with much heartbreak, throws the box into the fire. It was a brief moment, but it underscored the quiet loneliness and resolve of this wife and mother—to have to sacrifice something so little, but yet something of such significance for her. The other moment, was of course the ending when Rose of Sharon, having lost her newborn child, makes the decision to feed a man, near to death. It is after a rain storm (one of those theatrical effects that evoked a collective gasp), the sound of the water still dripping from the catwalks can be heard, Ma covers Rose of Sharon with a blanket who gets up and crosses to the man. The two are left onstage as Rose of Sharon draws the man to her as she gives her breast to him. It is such a moving moment first on the page, and then to see it translated so beautifully and fearlessly to stage by Hartzell and her actors.
This was my first production at The Intiman, and I know it will not be my last.
For more information regarding The Intiman Theatre, visit their website at:
http://www.intiman.org/2005/default.html
To view the full list of events and programs related to The Grapes of Wrath and The American Cycle, visit:
http://www.intiman.org/2005/g_events.html
The Intiman Theatre in Seattle, Washington, is currently being helmed by Bartlett Sher, Artistic Director and Laura Penn, Managing Director. Mr. Sher has been responsible for many of the recent outstanding production at the theatre since he joined in a leadership capacity and was the director for the Seattle production of Piazza and the eventual New York transfer winning a Tony nomination for his direction.
The American Cycle is the new brain-child of the creative team at The Intiman that will roll out over five years. The Cycle, as described in their program, includes five plays over five years, and a series of annual programs that explore the local resonance of themes and ideas generated by the works on stage. As an audience member, I had been exposed to some of the media coverage of this Program, but it really did not hit home for me until I recently attended the Intiman’s production of John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, directed by Linda Hartzell, Artistic Director of Seattle Children’s Theatre.
Grapes of Wrath is the second of the five play Cycle that started with Our Town, featuring Tom Skerritt as the Narrator and will continue with Richard Wright’s Native Son (2006), Robert Penn Warren’s All The King’s Men (2007, rights pending) and Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird (2008). What, I think is so extraordinary with this program, is the breadth and scope of the entire program. The selection of plays alone is exciting, but it is the ancillary components that really resonated for me.
Upon entering the Intiman’s spacious theatre lobby, I immediately noticed the extent to which the Education Department had gone to invite the audience to explore the historical significance of Steinbeck’s subject matter. On one side of the lobby was a map of the United States tracing the journey of the Joad’s and the primary path of many migrants during the Dust Bowl. This was accompanied by pictures of various locations that were pin-pointed on the map—images by Dorothea Lange, and other visual images of the photographers of the WPA program. On the other side of the lobby was a historical representation of how the Dust Bowl and Great Depression impacted the Pacific Northwest region and industries such as Salmon fishing. This was executed through maps, photographs and a digital program playing on a lap top computer. Throughout the center of the lobby, was a large two sided display board that snaked its way through the central expanse—symbolic in many ways of the journey that the Joads and others undertook. It was an enormous amount of visual resource and text exploring life during this time.
As stated in the program, The American Cycle Goals are—Produce Great Art, Cultivate Curiosity, Advocate for Literacy, Encourage an Informal Citizenry and Understand Interconnectedness. Most of this is obvious, but for me, the two that caught my eye were Encouraging Informal Citizenry and Understanding Interconnectedness. Having spent the last fourteen years trying to solve these questions with my own work and company in Austin, I was intrigued by how an institution of The Intiman’s size and caliber would handle these two thorny issues.
The last two of the above goals are of course connected and not mutually exclusive within a program such as this.
Having missed the programming for Our Town and much to my chagrin Grapes of Wrath, I can only go by what the theatre shares itself. But the outlook looks impressive and I am eager to participate in the future productions and programming going forward.
One of the key components that I think really should be shared is the Rough Eagles program. This collaboration is between the youth of two disparate schools with the Seattle metropolitan area. One from a north end school with greater resources and the other from a south end school with limited resources. The two groups came together to explore the themes of Our Town and now, continue this program by exploring the themes found in Grapes of Wrath. Over the span of several months, these students along with their teachers and sponsors create a theatrical presentation of their devising in response to the play and its themes. Along with this major component can be found civic dialogues leading up to each production along with community readings, talk-backs and others as created.
It would seem to me that this program’s success stems from its ability to reach to not only its adult base, but to the future audiences by really making an effort to connect with non-theatre-goers, and young people who traditionally may not have the ability or desire to attend these productions because of finances or the misperceptions that it is too high-brow.
The Frank Galati adaptation, first produced by Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theatre is a clean and faithful treatment of Steinbeck’s monumental work. As directed by Linda Hartzell, the story was poetically moving and captured the lonely and desolate love shared and lost by the Joad family. The casting of the main characters was dead-on with a superlative performance by Beth Dixon as Ma Joad. Her stoicism and mid-west sensibility keep the family going through the toughest times and it is through her eyes that we experience the excruciating heartbreak as her family slowly crumbles around her not unlike the dry earth that forces her family to flee in the first place. Her dreams, her family, dissolve into dust blown on the winds of change.
Hartzell stages the opening tableau like a dance with a handful of several isolated characters throughout the Intiman’s large stage—lights dim, the faint sound of dry wind and the images of dilapidated cedar post fence and dusty sky are all we need to set the tone and mood of the play. Carey Wong’s design is comprised of basically a bare stage within which he places simple scenic elements that set each of the locales of the play.
The costumes were dusty-worn, sepia tinted and drawn from the stark and evocative images we all know from the famous photographs of Dorothea Lange. The one draw-back for me was the lighting which seemed to conflict with itself at many times when trying to set a mood with motivated light sources such as fire-pits or lanterns. The lighting effects were thwarted by too much overall stage light. Having seen the Steppenwolf’s production, I was aware of the need for it to rain onstage and for a large trap to open in the downstage playing space to reveal a pool of water roughly four feet by 24 feet that was used for the river and swimmin’ hole. I knew it was coming, but experienced the joy of this simple theatrical design element when the collective gasp of awe rippled through the audience not unlike the wind on the dusty farm field. It was a magical moment.
And there were many magical moments for me due in no small part by Linda Hartzell’s staging. Of course there were many similarities to the Steppenwolf production both in design and directing, but I believe much of this must be in the specifics of the script directions in the stage adaptation by Frank Galati. However, two moments that stand out for me were when Ma takes a moment and moves downstage and sits alone in a chair next to a fire pit in the floor. She holds a musical jewelry box. She opens it, listening to the music. She removes a pair of earbobs and with much heartbreak, throws the box into the fire. It was a brief moment, but it underscored the quiet loneliness and resolve of this wife and mother—to have to sacrifice something so little, but yet something of such significance for her. The other moment, was of course the ending when Rose of Sharon, having lost her newborn child, makes the decision to feed a man, near to death. It is after a rain storm (one of those theatrical effects that evoked a collective gasp), the sound of the water still dripping from the catwalks can be heard, Ma covers Rose of Sharon with a blanket who gets up and crosses to the man. The two are left onstage as Rose of Sharon draws the man to her as she gives her breast to him. It is such a moving moment first on the page, and then to see it translated so beautifully and fearlessly to stage by Hartzell and her actors.
This was my first production at The Intiman, and I know it will not be my last.
For more information regarding The Intiman Theatre, visit their website at:
http://www.intiman.org/2005/default.html
To view the full list of events and programs related to The Grapes of Wrath and The American Cycle, visit:
http://www.intiman.org/2005/g_events.html
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Welcome
Having worked in this field for the past fifteen years almost exclusively and before that in the adult theatre community as an actor and designer, I am always keenly aware of what is happening around me as an artist. I am also an artist drawn to theatre for young audiences (T.Y.A.) mainly because we are still children refusing to grow up. We are a Betwixt-and-Between. This is what Solomon calls Peter in J. M. Barrie’s Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens. We cannot fully grow up, nor do we want to I should think. I do not really feel that one can truly grow up and become successful in our field unless there is s certain spirit of joie de jeunesse that permeates all that we do.
Insight, as defined by the Oxford American Dictionary, is the ability to perceive and understand the true nature of something. It is my hope that this conversation will spur you to think and to reflect on your own contributions and give insight how the contributions of others may have a lasting impact on our craft.
I welcome your comments and suggestions.
Insight, as defined by the Oxford American Dictionary, is the ability to perceive and understand the true nature of something. It is my hope that this conversation will spur you to think and to reflect on your own contributions and give insight how the contributions of others may have a lasting impact on our craft.
I welcome your comments and suggestions.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Is Forty Halloweens Enough?
As I approach my 40th Halloween, the trees have been making their annual change—from the shades of greens and sunny yellows to a mélange of fiery reds, oranges and golds. The air, so bright and fresh, now is veiled in the delicate moisture heralding the arrival of the first chill of oncoming winter. The ubiquitous bright orange gourds dot the neighborhood doorsteps. And as always, I experience a deepening sense of nostalgia and longing for an innocence lost.
I choose to write about Halloween as my first article not because I love candy and feel a need to dress up, but because it is symbolic to me of a wider issue of how our current culture of conservatism runs the risk of undermining what I feel to be a fundamental element of growing up and experiencing the wonder and magic of the mysterious and unknown world of spooks and goblins.
But where does the origin of Halloween come from?
Over 2000 years ago, the Celts celebrated the arrival of the Autumnal equinox and the beginning of the New Year through a festival known as Samhain. The Romans, celebrated the fall harvest worshipping the goddess Pomona identified with the apple, harvest and trees. They also held a festival known as Feralia held in late October that was associated to the passing of the dead. Even later, the Christians began to assimilate the pagan rituals and festivals throughout the year. In the 7th century A.D. Pope Boniface IV designated November 1st as All Saint’s Day. This later moved to November 2. The day before All Saint’s Day or Eve was October 31. All Hallows Eve or All Hallowmas over time became All Hallow E’en and finally contracted to Halloween. All Saints Day was a day in European folklore where the spirits of the past ancestors would come back to posess the bodies of the living. To prevent this from happening, the common folk would dress up and enter the streets on October 31 to cause a ruckus to discourage the spirits from entering their bodies. Later, in the 9th century the custom of “souling” would be the basis of our modern trick-or-treating. Early Christian beggars would walk door to door begging for soul cakes that were square pieces of bread with currants. The more soul cakes collected, the more prayers offered to honor the giver. The singing trio Peter, Paul and Mary had a very popular folk-song based on just this entitled “Soalin’.”
The book in question is a small collection of vintage Halloween images. It immediately caught my eye because of the image on the cover. Edited by Jim Heimann, this collection runs the gamut from photographic images, cards, masks to various ephemera celebrating this spooky and festive holiday.
I remember vividly the old worn yellowing decorations that my Grandmother would eagerly bring out each year. The bowls of Star-mints, Butterscotch and chewy caramel treats that would soon follow and the dish of candy-corn that would always be present on her oval Early-American sofa table. Not the weather, but these clues would alert my sister and me about the impending arrival of our special day. I say “our,” because it really did seem to be ours. We would begin scouring the stores for costumes and the conversations on the playground would turn to witches, ghosts, vampires and of course space-men and aliens. We were living of course in the hey-day of the space race and the cold war. Knowing what I know now about history and having recently seen George Clooney’s engaging film about Edward R. Murrow in Good Night and Good Luck; it is no wonder that McCarthy’s efforts were labeled witch-hunts and Arthur Miller chose to write one of the greatest plays of the last century when he penned The Crucible.
It was in this little book of these same yellowing images of witches and black cats and leering carved pumpkins that started me thinking about a recent work for young audiences that seem to recapture the innocent wonderment of the scary unknown. Tim Burton’s latest film, Corpse Bride, for me was a delightful diversion from the recent spate of natural disaster, reality television and a summer of rather otherwise mediocre films.
I have always loved Tim Burton’s work since I saw his early film Edward Scissorhands. His style and imagination are infused with the creepy and cooky and “draw (and think)-outside-the-lines” quality that led him away from the Disney Animation studios where he worked in his younger years as a visual artist. This visual aesthetic is what has made Burton’s film career so unique. Burton has never shied away from the macabre and has made it a signature trademark. He has also not shied away from crafted films that embrace the dark and scary images that hearken to the days of autumn and Halloween mentioned earlier.
Burton started with Edward Scissorhands and continued this tradition with Nightmare Before Christmas that was inspired by early work by Burton that was rejected by the Disney Studio. Nightmare is a dizzyingly crazy adventure, following Jack Skelington’s desire to experience something new and along the way discovering the meaning of Christmas. It occurs to me how the story and images crafted in this film seems influenced by the old Irish folk tale of how a drunkard named Jack tricks the Devil into climbing a tree. Once in the tree, Jack carves an image of the cross on the trunk affectively trapping old Scratch. Jack bargains with the Devil that if he vows never to tempt him again, he will set him free. In later life, Jack dies, and for his deeds is neither allowed to enter Heaven or Hell, but is given a single flame or ember to light his way through the darkness of eternity. This light was placed inside a carved out turnip—the origin of our lighted Jack’o lantern.
In Nightmare Before Christmas we have a main character named Jack; a tree as pathway to the underworld; and a dark demon, in this case Oogey Boogey. All sounding vaguely familiar? Whether it is intentional or not, there is no doubt in my mind how this holiday, and its beliefs and images still influence our consciousness. If we hearken back to early folk tales such as Snow White, we have a young heroine faced with a journey, a choice, and an enemy, guised as an Old Crone. And what does she offer the young lady? An apple. I don’t believe its coincidence. Remember the Roman Goddess Pomona and the apple mentioned earlier? All linked.
And in his latest film, Corpse Bride, Burton offers another dark allegorical tale using the same stylistic flare as Nightmare with stop-motion animation and the binary of living and dead. Light and dark; good and evil. Universal themes; and ones that Burton embraces with an earnestness that must not be denied.
The young nebbish protagonist is about to marry into an arranged marriage between his landed-gentry family and the upper-class bourgeoisie family of his fiancée. But, out of fear and uncertainty, he flees the ceremony’s rehearsal and runs into the forest. Here again, Burton uses to great effect the primordial presence of the dark, towering leafless trees. And as luck would have it, the young man mistakenly proposes to the boney hand of another young woman “done-in” by another of the villains of the film. She rises from her unfortunate resting place and accepts this young man’s offer. This sets in motion the resulting adventure of the young man’s journey to the underworld, and his ultimate realization that he does indeed love his young, living, fiancée and finds within himself the courage to become a man and face his adult responsibilities. His decision is also the redemption that the corpse bride requires to journey beyond the in-between world to, what we assume is heaven.
With images of singing, skeleton chorus lines, creepy-crawly ghouls, bifurcated talking cadavers and a skeletal canine, the underworld might seem garish; and for the youngest children a bit too frightening. The plot line of the power-hungry second suitor vying for the hand of the living heroine to gain her dowry and his ultimate plan to “do her in,” was even a bit surprising to me. But on second thought, I realized that it was no different than many of the traditional fairy tales that continue as staples in the children’s literary canon with scheming adults or suitors, themes of jealousy, loyalty and true love. The skill through which Burton links these themes into a cohesive narrative is a testament to his creative genious and to his unflinching belief that these stories, however dark and macabre, are valid vis à vis his personal convictions in the power and truth in this genre—sophisticated, universal, and ultimately redemptive.
As this Halloween holiday comes and goes, I am concerned that the historical significance of this holiday, and the iconography, themes and traditions are being subverted by a very vocal minority. In future posts, I will continue this thread with a look at Harry Potter and the latest film installment of the popular literary and filmic franchise along with observations regarding The Intiman Theatre’s Outreach program; and two productions from Seattle Children’s Theatre.
I choose to write about Halloween as my first article not because I love candy and feel a need to dress up, but because it is symbolic to me of a wider issue of how our current culture of conservatism runs the risk of undermining what I feel to be a fundamental element of growing up and experiencing the wonder and magic of the mysterious and unknown world of spooks and goblins.
But where does the origin of Halloween come from?
Over 2000 years ago, the Celts celebrated the arrival of the Autumnal equinox and the beginning of the New Year through a festival known as Samhain. The Romans, celebrated the fall harvest worshipping the goddess Pomona identified with the apple, harvest and trees. They also held a festival known as Feralia held in late October that was associated to the passing of the dead. Even later, the Christians began to assimilate the pagan rituals and festivals throughout the year. In the 7th century A.D. Pope Boniface IV designated November 1st as All Saint’s Day. This later moved to November 2. The day before All Saint’s Day or Eve was October 31. All Hallows Eve or All Hallowmas over time became All Hallow E’en and finally contracted to Halloween. All Saints Day was a day in European folklore where the spirits of the past ancestors would come back to posess the bodies of the living. To prevent this from happening, the common folk would dress up and enter the streets on October 31 to cause a ruckus to discourage the spirits from entering their bodies. Later, in the 9th century the custom of “souling” would be the basis of our modern trick-or-treating. Early Christian beggars would walk door to door begging for soul cakes that were square pieces of bread with currants. The more soul cakes collected, the more prayers offered to honor the giver. The singing trio Peter, Paul and Mary had a very popular folk-song based on just this entitled “Soalin’.”
The book in question is a small collection of vintage Halloween images. It immediately caught my eye because of the image on the cover. Edited by Jim Heimann, this collection runs the gamut from photographic images, cards, masks to various ephemera celebrating this spooky and festive holiday.
I remember vividly the old worn yellowing decorations that my Grandmother would eagerly bring out each year. The bowls of Star-mints, Butterscotch and chewy caramel treats that would soon follow and the dish of candy-corn that would always be present on her oval Early-American sofa table. Not the weather, but these clues would alert my sister and me about the impending arrival of our special day. I say “our,” because it really did seem to be ours. We would begin scouring the stores for costumes and the conversations on the playground would turn to witches, ghosts, vampires and of course space-men and aliens. We were living of course in the hey-day of the space race and the cold war. Knowing what I know now about history and having recently seen George Clooney’s engaging film about Edward R. Murrow in Good Night and Good Luck; it is no wonder that McCarthy’s efforts were labeled witch-hunts and Arthur Miller chose to write one of the greatest plays of the last century when he penned The Crucible.
It was in this little book of these same yellowing images of witches and black cats and leering carved pumpkins that started me thinking about a recent work for young audiences that seem to recapture the innocent wonderment of the scary unknown. Tim Burton’s latest film, Corpse Bride, for me was a delightful diversion from the recent spate of natural disaster, reality television and a summer of rather otherwise mediocre films.
I have always loved Tim Burton’s work since I saw his early film Edward Scissorhands. His style and imagination are infused with the creepy and cooky and “draw (and think)-outside-the-lines” quality that led him away from the Disney Animation studios where he worked in his younger years as a visual artist. This visual aesthetic is what has made Burton’s film career so unique. Burton has never shied away from the macabre and has made it a signature trademark. He has also not shied away from crafted films that embrace the dark and scary images that hearken to the days of autumn and Halloween mentioned earlier.
Burton started with Edward Scissorhands and continued this tradition with Nightmare Before Christmas that was inspired by early work by Burton that was rejected by the Disney Studio. Nightmare is a dizzyingly crazy adventure, following Jack Skelington’s desire to experience something new and along the way discovering the meaning of Christmas. It occurs to me how the story and images crafted in this film seems influenced by the old Irish folk tale of how a drunkard named Jack tricks the Devil into climbing a tree. Once in the tree, Jack carves an image of the cross on the trunk affectively trapping old Scratch. Jack bargains with the Devil that if he vows never to tempt him again, he will set him free. In later life, Jack dies, and for his deeds is neither allowed to enter Heaven or Hell, but is given a single flame or ember to light his way through the darkness of eternity. This light was placed inside a carved out turnip—the origin of our lighted Jack’o lantern.
In Nightmare Before Christmas we have a main character named Jack; a tree as pathway to the underworld; and a dark demon, in this case Oogey Boogey. All sounding vaguely familiar? Whether it is intentional or not, there is no doubt in my mind how this holiday, and its beliefs and images still influence our consciousness. If we hearken back to early folk tales such as Snow White, we have a young heroine faced with a journey, a choice, and an enemy, guised as an Old Crone. And what does she offer the young lady? An apple. I don’t believe its coincidence. Remember the Roman Goddess Pomona and the apple mentioned earlier? All linked.
And in his latest film, Corpse Bride, Burton offers another dark allegorical tale using the same stylistic flare as Nightmare with stop-motion animation and the binary of living and dead. Light and dark; good and evil. Universal themes; and ones that Burton embraces with an earnestness that must not be denied.
The young nebbish protagonist is about to marry into an arranged marriage between his landed-gentry family and the upper-class bourgeoisie family of his fiancée. But, out of fear and uncertainty, he flees the ceremony’s rehearsal and runs into the forest. Here again, Burton uses to great effect the primordial presence of the dark, towering leafless trees. And as luck would have it, the young man mistakenly proposes to the boney hand of another young woman “done-in” by another of the villains of the film. She rises from her unfortunate resting place and accepts this young man’s offer. This sets in motion the resulting adventure of the young man’s journey to the underworld, and his ultimate realization that he does indeed love his young, living, fiancée and finds within himself the courage to become a man and face his adult responsibilities. His decision is also the redemption that the corpse bride requires to journey beyond the in-between world to, what we assume is heaven.
With images of singing, skeleton chorus lines, creepy-crawly ghouls, bifurcated talking cadavers and a skeletal canine, the underworld might seem garish; and for the youngest children a bit too frightening. The plot line of the power-hungry second suitor vying for the hand of the living heroine to gain her dowry and his ultimate plan to “do her in,” was even a bit surprising to me. But on second thought, I realized that it was no different than many of the traditional fairy tales that continue as staples in the children’s literary canon with scheming adults or suitors, themes of jealousy, loyalty and true love. The skill through which Burton links these themes into a cohesive narrative is a testament to his creative genious and to his unflinching belief that these stories, however dark and macabre, are valid vis à vis his personal convictions in the power and truth in this genre—sophisticated, universal, and ultimately redemptive.
As this Halloween holiday comes and goes, I am concerned that the historical significance of this holiday, and the iconography, themes and traditions are being subverted by a very vocal minority. In future posts, I will continue this thread with a look at Harry Potter and the latest film installment of the popular literary and filmic franchise along with observations regarding The Intiman Theatre’s Outreach program; and two productions from Seattle Children’s Theatre.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Here We Go Again: Thoughts On a Post London Attack
Two weeks ago I had the great fortune to attend my first TCG National Conference in Seattle. I had debated on whether or not to attend, but having just relocated to the Emerald City I felt that it would offer an unprecedented chance to mingle and meet potential new colleagues, visit with old friends, and bask in the warmth of a collegial gathering of like souls. I wasn’t to be wrong in my choice to attend.
As a matter of course, attendees must be affiliated with a member organization or be sponsored by such an organization as an independent artist. As I was neither, I quickly approached the Seattle Children’s Theatre and Linda Hartzell, Artistic Director and Kevin Maifeld, Managing Director. With great generosity and enthusiasm, Kevin Maifeld agreed to a sponsorship that would allow me to attend. Seattle is an amazing city. For anyone who hasn’t visited, it really must be placed on your urgent “To Do” list. There is so much art and culture here it really can seem overwhelming. I have spent all of my life living in Texas, the majority of it in Austin with a brief five-year internment in Plano (a sterile northern suburb of Dallas.) For its part, Austin has a great amount of culture. As a blue oasis in a red state, there is much to see and do and experience in a city that prides itself as the “Music Capitol of the World.” There is regional theatre, a vast fringe theatre contingent, ample dance and visual art and a robust and thriving academic arts community. But Seattle is beyond what I had anticipated.
The Emerald City is also a bastion of blue in a sea of red. And it was wholly appropriate that the theme of the TCG Conference was “Theatre in A Polarized World”—a theme that was geared to spur discussion and to further the ongoing dialogue that has risen to the forefront of the minds of all artists in this emotionally charged climate of moral value and right vs. wrong; red vs. blue; Christian or other. The diversity of this city is a marvel. Its climate is ideal. The culture, as was mentioned earlier, is omnipresent—a city that wears its heart and mind on its sleeve. There are book stores everywhere. There are art galleries on every corner. Fitness crazed citizens can be found running, hiking, jogging, walking, boating and every other form of outdoor and indoor activity. Gardens flourish and there is a deep sense that this city, like most in the Pacific Northwest, values the beauty of their world.
It is with great affinity that I must acknowledge the superb leadership of Ben Cameron, Executive Director of TCG and his staff for putting together such a wonderful gathering. I also appreciated Mr. Cameron advocating the legitimacy of theatre for young audiences and for repeatedly mentioning Seattle Children’s Theatre as one of the host theatre organizations. During the two and a half days of the conference, we mingled and talked. We heard speakers that were intellectual marvels that spent time extolling the virtue of liberals (as if we didn’t already know it.) One such speaker, a quiet and soft-spoken gentleman of easy demeanor, spent his time not behind the podium (always a dangerous indicator) but to the side, sitting comfortably before a rapt crowd. To say his lecture was one of the highlights of the Conference would be an understatement. His name is George Lakoff, distinguished scholar and linguist teaching at Berkley. His talk was centered on his book Don’t Think of An Elephant; an explanation as to how the conservatives have managed to take control of this country. It was one of those moments when nearly 800 attendees all sat as quiet as church mice all leaning forward in their seats jaws agape at the information being provided. Basically Mr. Lakoff spent his time laying out his thesis based on years of research into the tool of “framing” used by the Conservatives—mastered by them and so nefarious as to set the work of the Left and the Liberals on their heads. It seemed so simple, so logical. So much so that when his time was finished there was a brief collective moment of group shock. As if to say as one, “It can’t be that easy?” But yes, it really seems to be the case. For those who haven’t read the book, RUN don’t walk. For those that have, share it with your friends, your family or anyone that has become as frustrated and disenchanted by our current government as I have.
And then this morning, not unlike any morning, it happened again. A horrendous act of hate targeted against civilians. This time not at the United States, but at Britians—a coordinated bombing attack on London’s Underground Railroad system. The images were flashing across the screen of the television. The news crawl was zooming across the bottom of the image with an ever-lengthening littany of adjectives to describe the horror and carnage. And all I could think of was how all of this was being framed. And sure enough, our country called it acts of hate, acts of terror targeted at civilians—which of course it was. But it was the moving speech given by Prime Minister Tony Blair that placed the tragedy in its rightful place but using words of encouragement, of hope, of a common value that peace will prevail. That he used the word hope is in itself a sign of the difference of our current government and many around the world. It all goes back to George Lakoff’s lecture and book (again, RUN don’t walk to get it.)
But what does all this have to do with theatre? Everything. As a field dedicated to young people, we must not lose sight of the fact that what we give our children and young people does have an impact. We are the custodians of the moral future of these children. I hesitate to use that word since it connotes something different to everyone. But if we are to counteract the Conservative agenda and definition of what is moral, then we too need to frame our art in such a way as to give the Right no chance to spin it to their usual advantage.
As a race, I have always maintained that there is an innate ability of some to see the future even without knowing it. This capacity to intuit, or seer for lack of a better term is evidenced by many people throughout history. Those that come readily to mind are some of the great science fiction writers of our age that have, through their writing, predicted far into the future. H. G. Wells, one of the first great writers of this new genre saw a future rife with assault and devestation (see the new War of the Worlds film). His story of alien invasion, however bleak, makes a turn at the end that allows humanity to prevail against all odds. Gene Roddenbery, father of the Star Trek phenomenon, saw in his future a world with mixed races, worlds and ideologies. His technology of laser guns, sensor devices, hypo-sprays, hand held computer devices seemed crazy and an impossible fiction, but, nearly thirty years later, we have cell phones, lap top computers and PDA’s that are direct results of one individual or many individuals dreaming of a future.
It essentially boils down to one major component—hope. This is the key. Even in a world of chaos there can be hope. I see it everyday in a flower; a burly man feeding his two pugs ice cream outside the café in which I now sit; the laughter of a child; in the paintings that are proudly displayed in galleries. I see it when a grassroots organization holds back the tide of construction in our urban cityscapes where instead there will be a garden or common area. I see it when two men or two women can walk down a street holding hands and no one even consider whether it is sexual or not.
And in our field, I see it when a theatre filled with young people is compelled to turn and face the stage and nudge their parent or friend in anticipation of what the future of the next fifty minutes or hour and a half might bring. I have seen it here in Seattle at every production I have attended at Seattle Children’s Theatre. The children of this city have culture and know it for something special. It is an amazing sight coming from a city where at least half of the population has never seen a play. I have taught college students that have never seen a play. But when they have, whether adult or young person, something occurs. There is a microscopic change. Something occurs. And with luck and with time, this microscopic change will grow and multiply. I believe that what occurs is hope. Not unlike the organisms that end up destroying the alien invaders in H. G. Wells’ story; this growth of “hope” will prevail. It is what Tony Blair referred to in his speech, it is what George Lakoff talks about in his book, and it is what I see in the faces of children when they see live theatre.
It is my hope that what we do—the plays we write and produce, will feed this seed of hope and give our young people the immunity to the hate and vitriol that we must now contend.
As a matter of course, attendees must be affiliated with a member organization or be sponsored by such an organization as an independent artist. As I was neither, I quickly approached the Seattle Children’s Theatre and Linda Hartzell, Artistic Director and Kevin Maifeld, Managing Director. With great generosity and enthusiasm, Kevin Maifeld agreed to a sponsorship that would allow me to attend. Seattle is an amazing city. For anyone who hasn’t visited, it really must be placed on your urgent “To Do” list. There is so much art and culture here it really can seem overwhelming. I have spent all of my life living in Texas, the majority of it in Austin with a brief five-year internment in Plano (a sterile northern suburb of Dallas.) For its part, Austin has a great amount of culture. As a blue oasis in a red state, there is much to see and do and experience in a city that prides itself as the “Music Capitol of the World.” There is regional theatre, a vast fringe theatre contingent, ample dance and visual art and a robust and thriving academic arts community. But Seattle is beyond what I had anticipated.
The Emerald City is also a bastion of blue in a sea of red. And it was wholly appropriate that the theme of the TCG Conference was “Theatre in A Polarized World”—a theme that was geared to spur discussion and to further the ongoing dialogue that has risen to the forefront of the minds of all artists in this emotionally charged climate of moral value and right vs. wrong; red vs. blue; Christian or other. The diversity of this city is a marvel. Its climate is ideal. The culture, as was mentioned earlier, is omnipresent—a city that wears its heart and mind on its sleeve. There are book stores everywhere. There are art galleries on every corner. Fitness crazed citizens can be found running, hiking, jogging, walking, boating and every other form of outdoor and indoor activity. Gardens flourish and there is a deep sense that this city, like most in the Pacific Northwest, values the beauty of their world.
It is with great affinity that I must acknowledge the superb leadership of Ben Cameron, Executive Director of TCG and his staff for putting together such a wonderful gathering. I also appreciated Mr. Cameron advocating the legitimacy of theatre for young audiences and for repeatedly mentioning Seattle Children’s Theatre as one of the host theatre organizations. During the two and a half days of the conference, we mingled and talked. We heard speakers that were intellectual marvels that spent time extolling the virtue of liberals (as if we didn’t already know it.) One such speaker, a quiet and soft-spoken gentleman of easy demeanor, spent his time not behind the podium (always a dangerous indicator) but to the side, sitting comfortably before a rapt crowd. To say his lecture was one of the highlights of the Conference would be an understatement. His name is George Lakoff, distinguished scholar and linguist teaching at Berkley. His talk was centered on his book Don’t Think of An Elephant; an explanation as to how the conservatives have managed to take control of this country. It was one of those moments when nearly 800 attendees all sat as quiet as church mice all leaning forward in their seats jaws agape at the information being provided. Basically Mr. Lakoff spent his time laying out his thesis based on years of research into the tool of “framing” used by the Conservatives—mastered by them and so nefarious as to set the work of the Left and the Liberals on their heads. It seemed so simple, so logical. So much so that when his time was finished there was a brief collective moment of group shock. As if to say as one, “It can’t be that easy?” But yes, it really seems to be the case. For those who haven’t read the book, RUN don’t walk. For those that have, share it with your friends, your family or anyone that has become as frustrated and disenchanted by our current government as I have.
And then this morning, not unlike any morning, it happened again. A horrendous act of hate targeted against civilians. This time not at the United States, but at Britians—a coordinated bombing attack on London’s Underground Railroad system. The images were flashing across the screen of the television. The news crawl was zooming across the bottom of the image with an ever-lengthening littany of adjectives to describe the horror and carnage. And all I could think of was how all of this was being framed. And sure enough, our country called it acts of hate, acts of terror targeted at civilians—which of course it was. But it was the moving speech given by Prime Minister Tony Blair that placed the tragedy in its rightful place but using words of encouragement, of hope, of a common value that peace will prevail. That he used the word hope is in itself a sign of the difference of our current government and many around the world. It all goes back to George Lakoff’s lecture and book (again, RUN don’t walk to get it.)
But what does all this have to do with theatre? Everything. As a field dedicated to young people, we must not lose sight of the fact that what we give our children and young people does have an impact. We are the custodians of the moral future of these children. I hesitate to use that word since it connotes something different to everyone. But if we are to counteract the Conservative agenda and definition of what is moral, then we too need to frame our art in such a way as to give the Right no chance to spin it to their usual advantage.
As a race, I have always maintained that there is an innate ability of some to see the future even without knowing it. This capacity to intuit, or seer for lack of a better term is evidenced by many people throughout history. Those that come readily to mind are some of the great science fiction writers of our age that have, through their writing, predicted far into the future. H. G. Wells, one of the first great writers of this new genre saw a future rife with assault and devestation (see the new War of the Worlds film). His story of alien invasion, however bleak, makes a turn at the end that allows humanity to prevail against all odds. Gene Roddenbery, father of the Star Trek phenomenon, saw in his future a world with mixed races, worlds and ideologies. His technology of laser guns, sensor devices, hypo-sprays, hand held computer devices seemed crazy and an impossible fiction, but, nearly thirty years later, we have cell phones, lap top computers and PDA’s that are direct results of one individual or many individuals dreaming of a future.
It essentially boils down to one major component—hope. This is the key. Even in a world of chaos there can be hope. I see it everyday in a flower; a burly man feeding his two pugs ice cream outside the café in which I now sit; the laughter of a child; in the paintings that are proudly displayed in galleries. I see it when a grassroots organization holds back the tide of construction in our urban cityscapes where instead there will be a garden or common area. I see it when two men or two women can walk down a street holding hands and no one even consider whether it is sexual or not.
And in our field, I see it when a theatre filled with young people is compelled to turn and face the stage and nudge their parent or friend in anticipation of what the future of the next fifty minutes or hour and a half might bring. I have seen it here in Seattle at every production I have attended at Seattle Children’s Theatre. The children of this city have culture and know it for something special. It is an amazing sight coming from a city where at least half of the population has never seen a play. I have taught college students that have never seen a play. But when they have, whether adult or young person, something occurs. There is a microscopic change. Something occurs. And with luck and with time, this microscopic change will grow and multiply. I believe that what occurs is hope. Not unlike the organisms that end up destroying the alien invaders in H. G. Wells’ story; this growth of “hope” will prevail. It is what Tony Blair referred to in his speech, it is what George Lakoff talks about in his book, and it is what I see in the faces of children when they see live theatre.
It is my hope that what we do—the plays we write and produce, will feed this seed of hope and give our young people the immunity to the hate and vitriol that we must now contend.
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