Superfluities Redux
On culture and theatre, by George Hunka
A new journal for theatre minima and organum posts exclusively can now be found here.
Thursday, 15 May 2008
But not for long, if the grosses and the response of the vox populi critics are any indication:
Caryl Churchill's 1982 Top Girls had its Broadway premiere last week, and New York Times critic Ben Brantley gave the play a thumbs up. But apparently the "pre-opening buzz ... was mixed." ... The Times sent some poor staffer with a tape recorder to the Biltmore Theatre to get on-the-spot reactions from audience members who left after – and during – the performance. The recordings were duly posted to the Times' web site; the six responses were decidedly mixed. A few loved the play, a few hated it, and a few were puzzled. So it goes.
What this might or might not mean for the future of
non-
UPDATE: On a somewhat related note, Terry Teachout of
the Wall Street Journal considered this year's somewhat uninspiring
Tony contenders a few days ago, and noted the narrow
Broadway-
Would that the Tony Awards would tear down the wall that separates Broadway from Off Broadway! Alas, that will never happen, because the awards are presented by the American Theatre Wing in collaboration with the Broadway League, a trade association whose members are in the business of persuading the public that Broadway is the be-
all and end- all of American theater. The truth, of course, is that the real artistic action is to be found Off Broadway and in America's regional theaters. One of the finest of the latter, Chicago Shakespeare Theater, is receiving this year's Regional Theatre Tony Award, the sole occasion on which the Tony nominators deign to acknowledge what everybody who cares about theater already knows, which is that Broadway today is less a center of serious artistic endeavor than a theme park for well- heeled tourists.
Read Terry's full post here.
Posted at 10.40 am in /Guardian
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Thursday, 15 May 2008
"Art is the lie that tells the truth." Much as many would like to place emphasis on the last word of that statement, the simple, unadorned, unqualified direct object of the sentence is "lie" – that is, artifice, as in "art." Whatever truth value may inhere in the experience of theatre, it inheres ex post facto and not within the experience itself. Similarly, there is no "magic" in theatre; if we are to insist on precision, we must insist on art's status as illusionism, as something of this world and not beyond it. In citing the experience of art as supernatural, we deny responsibility for it, and our reaction to it. Theatre is discipline, nothing is accomplished there through the mere wave of a wand. We react through our bodies, in which our souls inhere.
The idea that art is magic or truth is more destructive in the realm of
explicitly political theatre, for explicitly political theatre, more than
any other, insists on its own validity, its own truth-
The art of theatre is a cold hard thing at its heart. It is a
knife-
Yesterday at the theatreVOICE blog, Daily Telegraph theatre critic and University of Strathclyde professor Mark Brown considered the performances of the Free Theatre of Belarus, which was awarded a special Europe Theatre Prize for "stand[ing] up bravely against the repression of one of the ugliest regimes in Europe." Admirable, of course, and the award had the support of Vaclav Havel, Harold Pinter, Tom Stoppard and Michael Billington, among others. Witnessing the productions of the FTB, Brown reports, "There was widespread suspicion that the award was a purely political gesture." Brown concludes (and the conclusion is worth quoting at length):
[Howard] Barker, detested though he is by a shamefully large number of people in English theatre, is entirely right when he asserts that a play has no "use." A play is not a spanner, not a blunt instrument, but (it should hardly have to be said) a work of imagination. [Which is not "magical" either in its most profound sense. – GH]
There is nothing revolutionary in the self-
satisfied posturing of the David Edgars and David Hares of this world. The courageous work of the Free Theatre of Belarus irritates, sometimes possibly threatens, their regime, but it offers little to the wider world of theatre. The truly revolutionary implications of theatre emerge in work which, without sentiment and moralism, brings us face-
to- face with the realities of human existence, raising us above the infantilising mediocrity of our day-to-day culture. We find that in the Greek tragedians, of course, and in Shakespeare, at his best. We find it too, if only more English directors and critics could bring themselves to admit it, in Barker.
Brown's entire post, titled "A Play Is Not a Spanner," is here.
Other material:
Organum II (in progress)
"95 Sentences About Theatre" (Prolegomena)
Posted at 10.11 am in /Organum
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Thursday, 15 May 2008
Gallery: Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe
Originally posted 10 January 2006.
Manet's large 1863 canvas was first exhibited in the Salon des Refusés (along with James McNeill Whistler's Symphony in White, No. 1: The White Girl and work by Monet and Cézanne), where it was summarily snubbed by Napoleon III as well as by thousands of other attendees of the Salon next door; Le Déjeuner also is often considered the first work that can be truly called "modern art," having obsessed Picasso when he first saw it in 1900. It is one of the very first pieces of "art about art," it is said, defining an avant-garde, and also a demonstration of the ways in which theater is about 100 years behind the other arts. Most theater, anyway.
Manet worked from a classical source of inspiration, specifically the
grouping of three characters at the right-
It's very hard to say, too, how these two distracted gentlemen can be unaware of the very bright and prominent nude sitting next to them (though if they're academics, this is explained quite well), introducing eroticism: more, it's an eroticism that implicates us. Quite unprovocatively, the woman is the only person in the painting who seems to be looking at anyone in particular, and that person she's looking at is us, the perceiver. By being nude, perhaps voluntarily so (she seems unconcerned and not frightened, her clothes, a hat and a dress, in a small pile next to her), she is the unadorned human subject at the center of the painting. She is very brightly lit, the brightest subject in the painting, and the way that perspective works here she is the clearest. Her face, too, is the most detailed, the most clearly depicted of the people in the painting: she has individual identity, unlike the men. The perspective itself is one of the first intimations of Impressionism; as you look into the distance of the painting you see that the background fades, becomes two dimensional, even; smudges and blocks of color.
Given the rather goofy disinterest of the two men and the fetching but somewhat more distant (and for my money similarly erotic) woman in the background, the subject of the painting is no longer the story it tells or the characters it depicts, for these are ultimately unsolvable mysteries, but the relationship between the viewer and the painting itself. The nude invites the viewer into the world of the painting, first by inviting questions as to the situation the painting seems to depict, but finally by drawing all of our attention to her. In that imaginative world we ourselves participate in the mystery of the event of the picnic, her own mystery. Because she is neither nymph nor goddess, though, she is approachable as well. She welcomes us.
Well, she does, so long as we don't turn away from her, as Napoleon III and so many of the attendees of the Salon did nearly 150 years ago. The Manet painting has survived the years as calendar art as well as a controversial album cover which reproduced Manet's masterpiece and ran into considerable legal trouble itself (the female nude, singer Annabella Lwin, was 14 years old at the time the picture was taken). But, despite its status as a classic of 19th-century painting now, it's important to remember the outcry, the accusations of obscurity and social insult that were hurled at the painting when it was unveiled at the Salon des Refusés, the same insults that are hurled at so much avant-garde art today. Said a critic at the time of the Manet painting:
A commonplace woman of demimonde, as naked as can be, shamelessly lolls between two dandies dressed to the teeth. These latter look like schoolboys on a holiday, perpetuating an outrage to play the man. ... This is a young man's practical joke – a shameful, open sore.
The only thing this critic seems to have left out was how ... well, boring it is, which would be the ultimate insult today.
Although the Salon itself was filled with depictions of nudes, it was Manet's that rankled – unidentifiable (though clearly of contemporary origin), unashamed, inviting. And ultimately without the certainty of narrative or historical identity.
What does all this have to do with theater and drama? Well, one of the things it points out it is how far our drama is behind the other arts, about 150 years behind painting in this case. Most of our drama is still playing with Victorian narrative form; as much as there are jokes around the edges of it, "playing with form," that form is not abandoned nearly as much as Manet abandoned conventions of narrative and allegory in 19th-century French painting. But there's more, too: there's the emphasis on light and shadow, rather than shape and detail; and, of course, the implication of the viewer. Manet's nude challenges us to enter the painting, accepting the impossibility of interpreting it, of assuming that if we do so it will grant us meaning. It doesn't. Foreman, too, places people on the stage, staring out at us, inviting us into that world, and we too can reject that meaninglessness, if we wish to do so. But the sensual pleasures it offers in our entering the world of the painting, without preconceived notions, can be revolutionary in changing our way of seeing, as Manet changed the art of painting.
POETRY: A poem by Natalie Scott, "Victorine or Naked Woman in Manet's Le Dejeuner sur L'Herbe," was published in the October 2004 issue of the British poetry magazine South.
Posted at 8.47 am in /Organum/Gallery
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