B. Stanley, Artistic Director of Theatre Du Jour and director of this
production, takes the stage before it starts to say more than the usual
"turn off your cell phones." He speaks a bit about experimental theater,
the creation of "a visual poem" and the theme of the evening's
performance which he sees as "What's going on here?" It isn't entirely
clear throughout the one hour performance whether he was referring to
the theme of the play being "what's going on here?" or the reaction of
the audience being "what's going on here?" But, then, if the two
confusions merge, perhaps the experiment of his experimental theater is
working on some level. Stanley actually doesn't tell the audience to
turn off their cell phones, saying that the performance will be so loud
it won't really matter. He is right. The performance itself is unsubtle and energetic
while the work the cast of sixteen is performing provides precious
little beyond communal reaction to stimuli.Storyline: On a street in a city the people look up to see the sky
seeming to disintegrate. Confusion and consternation are the initial
reactions, but soon a sense of panic begins to set in. Announcements by
the authorities that "there is nothing to worry about" and that
"everything is under control" only seem to increase the panic, as even
the comfortable fiction that society or government or something will
protect the average person melts away and all that remains is danger.
Antonin Artaud, twentieth century French
actor, writer, director and producer, was best known for advocacy of
what he termed Theater of Cruelty. He didn't mean theater about people
being cruel to other people. He meant the representation of violence to
shatter the pretense which obscures reality. But the term caught on and
a number of well known directors of both live theater and film took it
up, frequently more interested in the violence than the pretense
shattering. The film and subsequent stage adaptation of A Clockwork
Orange seemed the pinnacle of the technique. The story behind this
short play - merely a scene actually - is that the noted experimenter in
electronic music, Edward Varèse, attempted to create an opera about
public reaction to the sky falling but gave up. He passed his draft to
Artaud who tried to make it a play. He didn't complete the project,
leaving about eight pages of lines and stage directions.
The wail of Aaron O. Martin's saxophone
fills the rear hall of the Warehouse and sets the tone for the
performance. He's blowing full force, a street musician trying to get
someone's attention. The people mill about, purposefully pursuing
whatever individual errands or travels they are about, when they begin
to coalesce around individuals pointing toward the sky. The ensemble
progresses for nearly an hour through various stages of confusion,
consternation, determination, attempted action and finally some sort of
resignation. It is an exercise in ensemble performance.
Under director Stanley, there is structure
and discipline here, but not a shred of subtlety and rarely does one
performer get to emerge from the group to make an individual impression.
Just in case anyone might miss the connection between a play about a
population unprotected by their government from a natural disaster and
criticisms of the response of FEMA, the Department of Homeland Security
and the Bush Administration during Hurricane Katrina, cast members
appear in Mardi Gras beads and masks. It is hard to believe, however,
that after the wail of the street musician's saxophone, anyone in the
audience needed the clue.
Written by Antonin Artaud. Directed by B.
Stanley. Design: B. Stanley (set) Marianne Meadows (lights) Vinnie
Simonetti and Rob Gould (sound). Cast: David Berkenbilt, DJ Brobby, Kim
Curtis, Rebecca Dreyfuss, Jerry Herbille, Lucy Hood, Lydia Kraniotis,
Erin Kaufman, Kate Knott, Robert Lavery, Danielle Lazarus, Katie
Maconaughey, Aaron O. Martin, Kara Quick, Rachel Reed, Lateasha Sass. |
