So you're thinking that maybe my previous post was a bit harsh, that maybe people aren't stupid at all; in fact, maybe they're a bit of all right.
I submit to you: Exhibit A. Or perhaps that should be S, for Super. As in Powers. This link is mercilessly jacked from Jeffrey Rowland's webcomic Overcompensating, which is so superly awesomely powerful I'm beginning to suspect he might have taken the Super Power course himself.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
The Price of Freedom is...?
Why is it that once Communist revolutions which enjoy significant amounts of popular support (Chinese and Cuban for sure, Russian I'm not too sure about as I don't know much about it) assume power, one of their first moves is to suppress freedom of speech and demand uniformity of political thought? Communists point to counter-revolutionary influences as the reason for these measures - with good reason - and yet seem either unable or unwilling to see the inherent contradiction in a revolution which they claim is only successful through the good graces of "the people" which then turns and denies those people their own rational faculties.
I suppose the more salient question is: is freedom a good thing? What I mean is, why the reflexive assumption that such limits are bad? Here in North America (and, I suspect, in most of the Western world) it is a given, an equation we all learn through osmosis in our formative years: freedom = intrinsically good. Some people prosper, some people fall, but all are free, which is somehow supposed to make the failures of society feel better about themselves and their lot in life. And yet, looking around at the people and the world, it is difficult to avoid the thought (and I know I'm not the first to bring this up) that freedom can sometimes be a bad thing, a thought that stems from a simple problem.
People are stupid.
Perhaps it is more correct to say people don't know what they want, what they need or how to go about getting it most effectively. Some might argue that this is a judgemental premise, that "what they want" should really read "what I (or some other person) think they should want". This is because it is being judgemental. But then, there are also some basic things that I think most reasonable people would agree are better than other things. For example, it is better to be educated than not. A pretty easy choice, no? And yet, with their freedom, people seem all too happy to choose to remain uneducated and ignorant, to maintain attitudes and beliefs that limit their own advancement.
Marxists/Socialists/Communists would probably interject that the vast majority of individuals in capitalist societies are not, in fact, free at all; that their decisions are either limited or entirely predetermined by the ruling, economic elites. And they would be correct. But their concept of freedom, like all concepts within Communist ideology, is intimately tied to economics, as opposed to intellectual freedom. And, perhaps even more damning, the Communist system offers no "freer" alternative. True, one is not bombarded with advertisements selling a brand as identity (there's an interesting comment along these lines over in this story: "In this secular society of ours, where family and church once gave us a sense of belonging, identity and meaning, there is now Apple, Mercedes and Coke."), but the Communist alternative of a single, homogenous product can only be considered more free in a pedantic, ideological sense; the workers own the means of production, hence it is "their" product which they are "free" to change as they see fit. Except they're not, because production in Communist societies is controlled by the government (centralized planning). But that's just a minor sticking point, right?
The critique remains, though: people in capitalist societies are not free to make their own choices. From birth, we are all bombarded with messages of what is best, what is desirable and what is not. Your average ad goes something like this (I've taken the liberty of adding in a fictional observer's thought processes):
- Buy these jeans/cars/hoobajoobas!
- Why?
- Because they make you more attractive!
- Why is that important?
- Because you want to attract someone who'll like you!
- Why is that important?
- Because otherwise you'll die alone and everyone will laugh at you!
- Oh, right.
And voila! Hoobajooba sales skyrocket! Except now you need a job to make money. And a car to get to that job. And clothes to wear to the job. Oh, plus those clothes will help you be attractive to other people. So one of them might like you. Man, you'd better hope one of them likes you. Otherwise you're a pathetic loser and everyone will laugh at you and you might as well not be alive. Come to think of it, you'll need a better car and better clothes than that to attract someone; better get a higher paying job. Don't want them thinking you're a pathetic loser now, do ya? What's that? You love doing x/y/z but it doesn't pay enough for you to do all that? Well, do you want to be happy? Do you want to be successful? That's what I thought, now suck it up. Who cares if you hate your job, who cares if it serves no beneficial purpose to society, think of all the cool hoobajoobas you can buy! And you only need to work at your job for, like, 40 years or so, and then you can retire and have all the fun you want.
Oh, and never forget: you're free.
I suppose the more salient question is: is freedom a good thing? What I mean is, why the reflexive assumption that such limits are bad? Here in North America (and, I suspect, in most of the Western world) it is a given, an equation we all learn through osmosis in our formative years: freedom = intrinsically good. Some people prosper, some people fall, but all are free, which is somehow supposed to make the failures of society feel better about themselves and their lot in life. And yet, looking around at the people and the world, it is difficult to avoid the thought (and I know I'm not the first to bring this up) that freedom can sometimes be a bad thing, a thought that stems from a simple problem.
People are stupid.
Perhaps it is more correct to say people don't know what they want, what they need or how to go about getting it most effectively. Some might argue that this is a judgemental premise, that "what they want" should really read "what I (or some other person) think they should want". This is because it is being judgemental. But then, there are also some basic things that I think most reasonable people would agree are better than other things. For example, it is better to be educated than not. A pretty easy choice, no? And yet, with their freedom, people seem all too happy to choose to remain uneducated and ignorant, to maintain attitudes and beliefs that limit their own advancement.
Marxists/Socialists/Communists would probably interject that the vast majority of individuals in capitalist societies are not, in fact, free at all; that their decisions are either limited or entirely predetermined by the ruling, economic elites. And they would be correct. But their concept of freedom, like all concepts within Communist ideology, is intimately tied to economics, as opposed to intellectual freedom. And, perhaps even more damning, the Communist system offers no "freer" alternative. True, one is not bombarded with advertisements selling a brand as identity (there's an interesting comment along these lines over in this story: "In this secular society of ours, where family and church once gave us a sense of belonging, identity and meaning, there is now Apple, Mercedes and Coke."), but the Communist alternative of a single, homogenous product can only be considered more free in a pedantic, ideological sense; the workers own the means of production, hence it is "their" product which they are "free" to change as they see fit. Except they're not, because production in Communist societies is controlled by the government (centralized planning). But that's just a minor sticking point, right?
The critique remains, though: people in capitalist societies are not free to make their own choices. From birth, we are all bombarded with messages of what is best, what is desirable and what is not. Your average ad goes something like this (I've taken the liberty of adding in a fictional observer's thought processes):
- Buy these jeans/cars/hoobajoobas!
- Why?
- Because they make you more attractive!
- Why is that important?
- Because you want to attract someone who'll like you!
- Why is that important?
- Because otherwise you'll die alone and everyone will laugh at you!
- Oh, right.
And voila! Hoobajooba sales skyrocket! Except now you need a job to make money. And a car to get to that job. And clothes to wear to the job. Oh, plus those clothes will help you be attractive to other people. So one of them might like you. Man, you'd better hope one of them likes you. Otherwise you're a pathetic loser and everyone will laugh at you and you might as well not be alive. Come to think of it, you'll need a better car and better clothes than that to attract someone; better get a higher paying job. Don't want them thinking you're a pathetic loser now, do ya? What's that? You love doing x/y/z but it doesn't pay enough for you to do all that? Well, do you want to be happy? Do you want to be successful? That's what I thought, now suck it up. Who cares if you hate your job, who cares if it serves no beneficial purpose to society, think of all the cool hoobajoobas you can buy! And you only need to work at your job for, like, 40 years or so, and then you can retire and have all the fun you want.
Oh, and never forget: you're free.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Coincidence? I Think Not.
So I'm reading the biography of Ernesto "Che" Guevara, right? And out of the blue, look what happens. Who knew that choosing a book to read could have such crazy repercussions?
Sunday, August 27, 2006
The More Things Change...?
Defining the "Rebel Army's" political slant in almost the terms of an FDR liberal, Matthews wrote: "It is a revolutionary movement that calls itself socialistic. It is also nationalistic, which generally in Latin America means anti-Yankee. The program is vague and couched in generalities, but it amounts to a new deal for Cuba, radical, democratic and therefore anti-communist. The real core of its strength is that it is fighting against the military dictatorship of President Batista...[Castro] has strong ideas of liberty, democracy, social justice, the need to restore the Constitution, to hold elections." (emphasis added)
Quoted in the Che biography I'm reading, the above paragraph was written by Herbert Matthews, a NYT reporter who managed the first interview with Fidel. One of the things I find so fascinating about Che (and this holds true for most human beings) is the incredible self-contradictions found in their words and deeds, typically caused by a rigid adherence to an ideology, whether religious or political.
As an aside, it brings to mind a comment from an acting teacher I once had. The teacher had given a note, to which the student on stage replied - and I paraphrase - "But wouldn't that make my character a hypocrite?" Said the teacher: "Of course it is - to be human is to be hypocritical."
Returning to Che, Fidel and the above quote. Isn't it fascinating that Castro overthrew a military dictatorship with the stated aims of restoring a democracy? Was that his true goal, or did he always have a different outcome in mind? Castro has been portrayed in the Che biography as a passionate man with a streak of political opportunism; Che the most strenuous (uncompromising?) Marxist at the time of the Revolution. So maybe Castro really did believe in democratic nationalism - but if so, when did it change, and why? That's a question that will likely never be answered, especially considering the fact that the official (governmental) accounts of the Cuban Revolution are all carefully edited, much like those of any revolutions - and yes, that includes the American one. The winners, after all, write history; he who controls the past controls the future.
Along those lines, what's up with Communist revolutions being successful based on the support of the people, and then their subsequent destruction of the very people on whose backs the revolution was successful? How can it be that individuals who pledge their minds to an ideology espousing fraternity and the common bonds between the oppressed classes can then allow and even encourage or perpetrate continued oppression? Are they so blinded by their ideology that they are unable to see the simple replacing of one set of elites with another?
Sometimes it seems like there's no way people will ever just live happily; that society, by its very nature, pushes people down, squeezes every last drop out of them until there's nothing left but to die. Countries have tried, with varying degrees of success, to escape from the umbrella of overt foreign domination and colonialism, emerging into - what? A world of subtle corporate domination, of international realpolitik and American hegemony. Look at Hugo Chavez - on the surface he seems like a complete nutjob, some whacko dude who has some new claim about US conspiracies every week. And yet, reading things such as this Che biography (in which the question of US support/funding of the Cuban Revolution is raised - not the first nor the last time the US would have funded an individual who would later turn on them), Confessions of an Economic Hitman and numerous other books, you learn that the US has acted along such lines in the past, funding some extremely questionable activities all over in pursuit of its own hegemonic goals. So maybe there is some substance to some of Chavez's claims. Who knows?
I do know that all the Che reading is making me very political these days; I'm thinking I'm going to try to track down some of the writings of Mao, Nehru and Gandhi, more on the Cuban Revolution, and possibly anything I can find on Taiwan, which is probably (from my extremely superficial knowledge of it) one of the best examples out there of a well-engineered societal transition from dictatorship to democracy. Sadly enough, I'm sure if I can find any good books on the topic it will be revealed to be anything but a good example, but such is the nature of things.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Oh, and While I'm Here
| Your Learning Style: Personal and Passionate |
 You are very flexible and curious about the world. Human understanding is very important to you. You Should Study: Anthropology Architecture Art Art history Art therapy Classics Counseling Foreign Languages and Literature International Studies Linguistics Literature Psychology Sociology Teaching |
| Your Passion is Yellow |
 You're a total sexual shape shifter. You possess a complex sex drive and are very adaptable. Of all the colors, you are the most likely to be bisexual. While you the most passionate, you are very open minded. |
Speaking of Young Marxists
1. The Complete Poems, Anne Sexton
2. On the Road, Jack Kerouac
3. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby
4. Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakami
5. Sideways, Rex Pickett
6. The Shipping News, Annie Proulx
7. Le Morte D'Arthur, Sir Thomas Malory
8. Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh
9. The Sonnets, William Shakespeare
10. To The Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf
11. The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
12. A Thousand Years of Good Prayers, Yiyun Li
13. interpreter of maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri
14. The Neverending Story, Michael Ende
15. Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf
16. Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami
17. Blink, Malcolm Gladwell
18. The Lexus and the Olive Tree, Thomas Friedman
19. The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell
20. the namesake, Jhumpa Lahiri
21. Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro
22. seven types of ambiguity, Eliot Perlman
23. Unhooked Generation, Jillian Straus
24. Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, John Perkins
25. The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
26. This Book Will Save Your Life, A. M. Homes
27. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce
28. Youth in Revolt, C.D. Payne
29. jPod, Douglas Coupland
30. The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, Rainer Maria Rilke
31. History of the Peloponnesian War, Thucydides
32. Tropic of Cancer, Henry Miller
33. Che Guevara: A Revolutionary Life, John Lee Anderson
Tropic of Cancer was every bit as good as I was told it was. On a sad note, I appear to have fallen off my 50 book pace. Guess I'll have to step it up over the next few months, though Che isn't going to help much; like most biographies it looks to be in the 800 page range. Maybe I'll grab some books from my childhood to reread; I saw a copy of Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes the other day in a Barnes and Noble and had an odd urge to buy it. It's also been a long time since I read any of the Winnie-the-Pooh books...hmmm..........
2. On the Road, Jack Kerouac
3. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby
4. Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakami
5. Sideways, Rex Pickett
6. The Shipping News, Annie Proulx
7. Le Morte D'Arthur, Sir Thomas Malory
8. Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh
9. The Sonnets, William Shakespeare
10. To The Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf
11. The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
12. A Thousand Years of Good Prayers, Yiyun Li
13. interpreter of maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri
14. The Neverending Story, Michael Ende
15. Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf
16. Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami
17. Blink, Malcolm Gladwell
18. The Lexus and the Olive Tree, Thomas Friedman
19. The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell
20. the namesake, Jhumpa Lahiri
21. Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro
22. seven types of ambiguity, Eliot Perlman
23. Unhooked Generation, Jillian Straus
24. Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, John Perkins
25. The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
26. This Book Will Save Your Life, A. M. Homes
27. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce
28. Youth in Revolt, C.D. Payne
29. jPod, Douglas Coupland
30. The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, Rainer Maria Rilke
31. History of the Peloponnesian War, Thucydides
32. Tropic of Cancer, Henry Miller
33. Che Guevara: A Revolutionary Life, John Lee Anderson
Tropic of Cancer was every bit as good as I was told it was. On a sad note, I appear to have fallen off my 50 book pace. Guess I'll have to step it up over the next few months, though Che isn't going to help much; like most biographies it looks to be in the 800 page range. Maybe I'll grab some books from my childhood to reread; I saw a copy of Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes the other day in a Barnes and Noble and had an odd urge to buy it. It's also been a long time since I read any of the Winnie-the-Pooh books...hmmm..........
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
A Portrait of the Marxist as a Young Man, Cont'd
Breakfast. Two eggs, sunny side up. Burnt toast. Orange juice. He breaks the yolks and makes faces, swirly faces that struggle to establish their identities before melting back into the sea of yolk with a silent scream.
"What happened to that nice girl you were with - Jane? Joan?"
"Joanne. I don't know, mom."
"What do you mean, 'You don't know'?"
"She's just a friend, mom."
"You should ask her out. She seemed like a nice girl."
"You already said that, mom."
"Honestly, I don't understand what's wrong with you. You should find yourself someone."
"How can I think of that when I'm surrounded by so many problems? How can I be so selfish? Someone has to help the people - maybe I'm that someone."
"That's nice, dear. Eat your eggs first."
Walking behind a bottle blonde on the street. Eyes swivelling, following, tracking. He wants to scream, wants to rip out all those arrogant, probing eyes and dance in the mush. Most of all, it is his own eyes he would pop, his eyes that reveal nothing but the inevitability of life.
"It's all so meaningless," he says, to no-one in particular, and he means it.
He would write, but he doesn't know what to write about. "Write what you know," his friends say, but what he can not tell them is that he knows nothing, that they all know nothing, that everything he is and was is a lie perptrated by a myth.
"Whatever, man," he says instead, and shrugs.
"What happened to that nice girl you were with - Jane? Joan?"
"Joanne. I don't know, mom."
"What do you mean, 'You don't know'?"
"She's just a friend, mom."
"You should ask her out. She seemed like a nice girl."
"You already said that, mom."
"Honestly, I don't understand what's wrong with you. You should find yourself someone."
"How can I think of that when I'm surrounded by so many problems? How can I be so selfish? Someone has to help the people - maybe I'm that someone."
"That's nice, dear. Eat your eggs first."
Walking behind a bottle blonde on the street. Eyes swivelling, following, tracking. He wants to scream, wants to rip out all those arrogant, probing eyes and dance in the mush. Most of all, it is his own eyes he would pop, his eyes that reveal nothing but the inevitability of life.
"It's all so meaningless," he says, to no-one in particular, and he means it.
He would write, but he doesn't know what to write about. "Write what you know," his friends say, but what he can not tell them is that he knows nothing, that they all know nothing, that everything he is and was is a lie perptrated by a myth.
"Whatever, man," he says instead, and shrugs.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Victory!
1. The Complete Poems, Anne Sexton
2. On the Road, Jack Kerouac
3. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby
4. Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakami
5. Sideways, Rex Pickett
6. The Shipping News, Annie Proulx
7. Le Morte D'Arthur, Sir Thomas Malory
8. Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh
9. The Sonnets, William Shakespeare
10. To The Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf
11. The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
12. A Thousand Years of Good Prayers, Yiyun Li
13. interpreter of maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri
14. The Neverending Story, Michael Ende
15. Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf
16. Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami
17. Blink, Malcolm Gladwell
18. The Lexus and the Olive Tree, Thomas Friedman
19. The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell
20. the namesake, Jhumpa Lahiri
21. Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro
22. seven types of ambiguity, Eliot Perlman
23. Unhooked Generation, Jillian Straus
24. Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, John Perkins
25. The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
26. This Book Will Save Your Life, A. M. Homes
27. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce
28. Youth in Revolt, C.D. Payne
29. jPod, Douglas Coupland
30. The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, Rainer Maria Rilke
31. History of the Peloponnesian War, Thucydides
32. Tropic of Cancer, Henry Miller
Phew. Never thought those damn Greeks would stop fighting. I really wanted to start the Che biography I've got, but as I'm already 100 some-odd pages into Tropic of Cancer, I figured it would be best to finish it first.
In other me-related news (and I know that's a shitty transition, but oh, well), my show opens tomorrow night and will be done by Sunday night. I've also got a pile of visa forms that I need to get filled out and sent in sometime in the next 2 months or I'll be deported.
Um, that's about it.
2. On the Road, Jack Kerouac
3. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby
4. Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakami
5. Sideways, Rex Pickett
6. The Shipping News, Annie Proulx
7. Le Morte D'Arthur, Sir Thomas Malory
8. Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh
9. The Sonnets, William Shakespeare
10. To The Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf
11. The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
12. A Thousand Years of Good Prayers, Yiyun Li
13. interpreter of maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri
14. The Neverending Story, Michael Ende
15. Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf
16. Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami
17. Blink, Malcolm Gladwell
18. The Lexus and the Olive Tree, Thomas Friedman
19. The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell
20. the namesake, Jhumpa Lahiri
21. Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro
22. seven types of ambiguity, Eliot Perlman
23. Unhooked Generation, Jillian Straus
24. Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, John Perkins
25. The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
26. This Book Will Save Your Life, A. M. Homes
27. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce
28. Youth in Revolt, C.D. Payne
29. jPod, Douglas Coupland
30. The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, Rainer Maria Rilke
31. History of the Peloponnesian War, Thucydides
32. Tropic of Cancer, Henry Miller
Phew. Never thought those damn Greeks would stop fighting. I really wanted to start the Che biography I've got, but as I'm already 100 some-odd pages into Tropic of Cancer, I figured it would be best to finish it first.
In other me-related news (and I know that's a shitty transition, but oh, well), my show opens tomorrow night and will be done by Sunday night. I've also got a pile of visa forms that I need to get filled out and sent in sometime in the next 2 months or I'll be deported.
Um, that's about it.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Brecht in the Park
This Sunday I did something I had heretofore not managed in my time in New York: got my ass out of bed at 5 am to score tickets to Shakespeare in the Park. When I did a Fringe show a few years ago, I had a castmate who worked for the Public and mentioned she could get me tickets for performances, with sufficient advance notice. Sadly, like so many people I've worked with, I've lost her contact info and probably couldn't just call her up now and use her for tickets anyways. In any event, due to the difficulty of getting someone else to commit to going to Shakespeare in the Park and then actually getting up in time to get tickets and my refusal to go alone, I have been, as previously stated, Shakespeare-in-the-Park-less.
No more.
Though I guess, since it's currently Mother Courage running, it should be Brecht in the Park, as my post title indicates. So I guess I still haven't gone to see Shakespeare in the Park. Maybe next year, Billy.
I hesitate to recommend Mother Courage. The production was fantastic, and the chance to see Meryl Streep and Kevin Kline onstage (together - which is to say, in the same scene - no less) should not be missed by anyone who takes acting even remotely seriously. It's written by Brecht and translated by Kushner, two of the more monumental names in the history of theater.
And yet.
The production is, I think (having read far less Brecht than I should have, something I hope to rectify in the near future), fairly close to what he would have wanted. This creates a dilemma, for Brecht at his best is daunting and difficult. One does not sympathize with Mother Courage, one does not wish her success or failure; rather, it is a rational understanding, a comprehension of her actions and a detached curiousity regarding what her eventual fate will be. She's an excellently crafted and calculated character, one who interests but does not bind; Hitchcock would applaud.
For the average theatergoer, I think this poses a problem. In many ways, the work of Stephen Sondheim owes a huge debt to Brecht; we are not meant to sympathize with the characters, as they are frequently morally reprehensible; only to understand and reflect upon their situations. Without this element of emotional attachment, it becomes extremely difficult to maintain an audience's attention for any extended period of time, much less 3 hours and 15 minutes. Couple this fact with the intense elitist snobbery that people who claim to "get" Sondheim or Brecht exhibit and it becomes even more understandable why most people would rather see The Lion King than Sweeney Todd or Mother Courage. It's really a shame, as there is so much there to reward viewers with.
One disappointment, however, and perhaps I am unfair to comment on this, is the understandable difficulty of sharing the stage with an actor as honed as Meryl Streep. Personally, I've never been a Frederick Heller fan (Shape of Things), but I feel ok saying that, as I'm fairly certain he isn't a fan of mine either. He's got this weird vocal pattern going on that I can't quite put my finger on, but I know it irritates me when I hear it. I can't really remember the other son and the daughter doesn't say anything throughout the play, so I guess it's understandable that Meryl Streep overpowers them. It's just a little jarring to see the dropoff so dramatically (no pun intended) onstage. Like I said, perhaps it's unavoidable and I should be more understanding, as I would fare no better, but it still seems a valid critique to my mind.
No more.
Though I guess, since it's currently Mother Courage running, it should be Brecht in the Park, as my post title indicates. So I guess I still haven't gone to see Shakespeare in the Park. Maybe next year, Billy.
I hesitate to recommend Mother Courage. The production was fantastic, and the chance to see Meryl Streep and Kevin Kline onstage (together - which is to say, in the same scene - no less) should not be missed by anyone who takes acting even remotely seriously. It's written by Brecht and translated by Kushner, two of the more monumental names in the history of theater.
And yet.
The production is, I think (having read far less Brecht than I should have, something I hope to rectify in the near future), fairly close to what he would have wanted. This creates a dilemma, for Brecht at his best is daunting and difficult. One does not sympathize with Mother Courage, one does not wish her success or failure; rather, it is a rational understanding, a comprehension of her actions and a detached curiousity regarding what her eventual fate will be. She's an excellently crafted and calculated character, one who interests but does not bind; Hitchcock would applaud.
For the average theatergoer, I think this poses a problem. In many ways, the work of Stephen Sondheim owes a huge debt to Brecht; we are not meant to sympathize with the characters, as they are frequently morally reprehensible; only to understand and reflect upon their situations. Without this element of emotional attachment, it becomes extremely difficult to maintain an audience's attention for any extended period of time, much less 3 hours and 15 minutes. Couple this fact with the intense elitist snobbery that people who claim to "get" Sondheim or Brecht exhibit and it becomes even more understandable why most people would rather see The Lion King than Sweeney Todd or Mother Courage. It's really a shame, as there is so much there to reward viewers with.
One disappointment, however, and perhaps I am unfair to comment on this, is the understandable difficulty of sharing the stage with an actor as honed as Meryl Streep. Personally, I've never been a Frederick Heller fan (Shape of Things), but I feel ok saying that, as I'm fairly certain he isn't a fan of mine either. He's got this weird vocal pattern going on that I can't quite put my finger on, but I know it irritates me when I hear it. I can't really remember the other son and the daughter doesn't say anything throughout the play, so I guess it's understandable that Meryl Streep overpowers them. It's just a little jarring to see the dropoff so dramatically (no pun intended) onstage. Like I said, perhaps it's unavoidable and I should be more understanding, as I would fare no better, but it still seems a valid critique to my mind.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
A Portrait of the Marxist as a Young Man
He awakens to a day like any other, in a town like any other. Walks to the cafe, pursued by the metronome of heels, each footfall a gunshot in his ears.
"Karl," his friends say, "You should get out more, you should come party with us."
"Whatever, man," he replies.
"Good old Karl." They laugh. But he is not, "Good Old Karl" anymore. He is changing, can feel himself changing, but does what know what he is changing into.
He goes to parties at his friends's behest.
"Heyheyhey," they say to all who will listen. "Come here, you have to see Karl do this thing he does. Do it, Karl."
"Whatever, man," he says, and shrugs.
The room erupts into laughter. "Do it again, do it again."
6 o'clock in the morning and he is walking the streets, seeking - what? He spots a woman doing laundry and is instantly smitten. Here, at last, the revolution he did not know he was seeking. She is his alpha, his omega. His Eurydice. He stands still as the years wash over him, seeing their marriage, their home, their children. She has finished her washing and is waking away but he does not notice. At last he looks up, just as she turns and glances back at the strange, frozen figure by the river. Their eyes meet, and the spell is broken; he is sent tumbling back into the Hades of his thoughts, an unhappy shade.
"Karl," his friends say, "You should get out more, you should come party with us."
"Whatever, man," he replies.
"Good old Karl." They laugh. But he is not, "Good Old Karl" anymore. He is changing, can feel himself changing, but does what know what he is changing into.
He goes to parties at his friends's behest.
"Heyheyhey," they say to all who will listen. "Come here, you have to see Karl do this thing he does. Do it, Karl."
"Whatever, man," he says, and shrugs.
The room erupts into laughter. "Do it again, do it again."
6 o'clock in the morning and he is walking the streets, seeking - what? He spots a woman doing laundry and is instantly smitten. Here, at last, the revolution he did not know he was seeking. She is his alpha, his omega. His Eurydice. He stands still as the years wash over him, seeing their marriage, their home, their children. She has finished her washing and is waking away but he does not notice. At last he looks up, just as she turns and glances back at the strange, frozen figure by the river. Their eyes meet, and the spell is broken; he is sent tumbling back into the Hades of his thoughts, an unhappy shade.
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