Pehlwani in Dubai

Anticipation had been building up for weeks. But it wasn’t too high. After all, it was only a trip to Dubai. Having lived in Abu Dhabi, I had already been there enough times to feel as if a trip to Dubai was the same as a trip to eat KFC at the mall just down the road from where I live. Only fancier. There was still anticipation though. This trip was to “the fish market” which sounded more exciting; still Dubai though. I kept telling all my friends who had never heard about Pehlwani that I was busy on Friday because I was going to go watch Pakistani men wrestling in thongs with my theater class. I have to say, I got less laughs than I expected.

At last the day came and with it the two-hour long ride to get to Dubai when you aren’t in a fast, 5 person vehicle. Same road as usual. Some buildings and trees. Then just trees. Then sand. And then some buildings, but without the trees. That’s when you know you are in Dubai. We drove through the city and after a bit the skyscrapers began to dissipate. We weren’t going to downtown Dubai. We stopped at a hotel for a toilet break; apparently the final “decent” stop before our destination.

The bus took off and drove for a few minutes and left us at the side of a sandlot that seemed straight out of Sharjah (the emirate next to Dubai, which is often mocked by people from Abu Dhabi and Dubai for being the less developed emirate of the three). We were on the edge of the metropolis; only a few palm trees, the road, and a small building that looked like a power plant surrounded the place, with buildings in the further vicinity.

The place was bustling with brown men dressed in shalwar kameez, although some of them were wearing jeans and a T-shirt. On one rectangular space on one corner of the larger sandlot, it seemed like three games of cricket were crammed into the space of an indoors football court, and on the other corner people played volleyball, although it also seemed like they were cramming their players to fit on either side of the net. The place was lively, but it also felt hostile. We weren’t tourists contributing to the Pakistani economy by visiting their country.  We were the privileged students of NYUAD intruding in the space where these men, probably all workers, came to have fun and escape the stress of their tough migrant life. There wasn’t the slightest sense of danger, but we didn’t belong there.

In the larger sandlot, there was a circle marked by stones (cement blocks, bricks, plain rocks) which was wide enough to comfortably fit a troupe of thirty dancers. Inside there was a small, circular, elevated patch of sand that was wide enough to comfortably fit maybe only one. A middle-aged man in a shalwar kameez began spraying water on it to make sure that the sand was moist. That was the ring, the arena where in minutes two men would be struggling against each other for some sort of glory. There were a few brown men – who could easily be distinguished from the rest because of their bright western clothing and bigger bellies – who were talking to people. Them and another white man, with a camera equipped with an expensive looking lens, as well as ourselves were there, trying to document the event.

As the twilight began to settle I sat on one of the rocks that made up the big circle. I was trying to fit in, by keeping a straight, very slightly scrunched up face, and by sitting with my knees apart and the heels of my feet on the floor. It was painful and it was futile, because my light blue hoodie and brown shorts would never blend into this place. Without any sort of calling, only by the presence of the man spraying water on the small circle, people began to congregate around the big circle. Some sat on the rocks, others stood huddling right behind. There were a few men that were likely to be the organizers of the event. Somehow, they seemed wiser than the rest, an illusion created by old age and a position of power. One of these men stood in the middle and began to shout something in Urdu towards the side where the most audience had gathered. He never bothered to turn around, so I could not see his face. But the event had now started. Something was bound to happen. Anytime soon.

From behind the circle three young men suddenly jumped out, fists in the air and on one leg, asserting their presence with their loud voices. They weren’t dressed in any way that was particularly different from the others. They were dancing. They kicked their heels up right after the other and moved their fists up and down like in the opening of Johnny Bravo. One of them was slim and sported sharp, rectangular glasses. He looked like he had studied engineering, and I was suddenly reminded that all these men could well be highly educated citizens, forced to come work here to earn the money they need for their families back home. The three men danced their way to the middle circle, where they stopped, touched the ground, and remained silent for a moment, as if in prayer. They were probably praying so that the fighter they were supporting would win.

This event reminded me of the shows that boxers and MMA fighters often put up right before they walk into the ring. With great energy, they fire up the audience and excite the support that they need to win the match. Since nobody who looked like a fighter came out after the silence came back to the circle, I was expecting another show to come out as well. And indeed, coming from the other side of the circle a single man screamed and danced his way into the circle for a prayer. I guess not everyone can have the dedicated support of three people. The organizer man kept saying some more stuff in Urdu, out of which I managed to make out the word “pahlwan.” Now I could be sure somebody would start. While he spoke, it was possible to catch a glimpse of a man behind the audience who was stripping behind the audience and putting on a red thong over his underwear. A pahlwan; a Pehlwani wrestler.

Around this time, I could no longer bear the pain from my legs from sitting down in the position I was, and in an effort to not look too foreign, I decided to stand with the other Pakistani men. Some of my classmates told me I blended it quite well. I from the moment the man next to me began eyeing my clothes while trying to avoid my gaze that I still stood out. I decided to change my location in the circle to escape the complaints of a couple of my classmates trying to get the people with cameras to move out of the way so they could take good pictures and maybe win themselves 100AED from the university. After I had moved the organizer man once again began shouting something in Urdu. This time he faced in the direction of where I had been sitting. It was not my day.

The wrestlers finally went into the ring. The fit guy wearing a red thong and his opponent - a less fit guy wearing a light blue thong with a pattern on it. The two went into the circle and their heads connected. Held hands and after a sign from the organizer, they both began to push. They struggled against each other and for a moment the fit guy seemed like he was going to lose. His opponent had managed to get a hold of his back and he lay on his knees, his torso curled down, right next to the floor. They had strayed close to the edge of the circle, and so the referee stopped the match. They both stood up, walked towards the center of the circle. The fit guy went back on his knees and the man in the blue thong went back on top of him, and after the referee spoke once more, they began to struggle against each other once more. The fit guy pushed his opponent and heaved his opponent of his back. One could feel the crowd agitating, clapping and cheering. The man in the blue thong had been pushed down and was on his back. He had lost. The two wrestlers went back into the circle and stood side by side. The referee held their hands and lifted the hand of the fit guy. People cheered.

The winner then proceeded to go around the circle of the audience with his hands out and people would give him some money. Mostly just coins, although some 5 or 10 dirham notes were pulled out. This was really the only reward he seemed to get. The audience’s reaction to the winners was far from some intense cheering or recognition by the community. Straight faces, although now peppered with smiles and laughter, still dominated the circle of migrants. Not many people seemed particularly excited or happy of the man’s victory. But one could feel the satisfaction. The fit guy put on some stylish read and black sweatpants and for the rest of the event lingered around, shirtless and proud.

After this moment, the rest of the event seemed to be much less organized. More men came into the circle, doing the same dance and with their voices equally high, made their way into the circle and more men in thongs went in to fight. The inside of the wide circle became a hodge-podge of prayers, sweat, and excited photographers. At one point, during a fight, less than a meter away from the action, a man had danced his way in and was in the middle of touching the floor and praying, completely oblivious to the action occurring right next to him. I was probably more worried about him than he was of himself.

As the fights progressed many things became apparent, both from the organization of the event and the way the wrestlers fought.

The event, even though run by a specific group of men who had the last say on who came into the ring, was something the entire community there present was involved in. At one point the men standing next to me began shouting so that one of the organizers would come to where they were in the middle of a fight. When I asked them what was happening, they feigned not being able to speak English and while their inhospitable faces articulated something that sounded like “next Friday” they pointed at another man right behind them who seemed younger and kinder than them; and who was also much bigger. I deduced that they had just registered their friend to take part in next week’s Pehlwani match.

The matches got more interesting as they went on. The men would engage in the fight always in the same way: foreheads touching and one hand holding the opponent’s hand. I believe there was only one time that I saw them wish good luck to each other before a match. But the crowd became more and more engaged in the battles as the event went on. The brown and vicious sweaty bodies that pushed and turned in the middle arena were playing as if they were playing cricket, like the men from the smaller sandlot who kept batting the ball inside the Pehlwani ring. It was intense and exciting, and one could clearly see more than just their muscles being put to work. All their efforts were directed towards keeping their back away from the ground. Even if it meant giving up an advantageous position, the wrestlers would push up with their head and feet to arch their backs up, because everyone knows that as soon as some sand sticks on their back, it’s over. The fun is over, and the loser must take the walk of shame while the winner gets to collect his prize money. The audience became more and more excited with each fight, clapping and screaming and laughing and talking to each other. I could feel people pushing behind me and smiling and chatting while the tussle of wrestlers and cameras kept turning inside the ring. Then suddenly, a battle ended without anyone’s back touching the sand. Everyone got up and left. I asked, and I didn’t understand what I was told. But when I asked if it was over, they said yes. It was time to go back to the world of straight faces and foreign feelings.

Empathy?

In his essay Aristotle’s Coercive System of Tragedy, theater practitioner Augusto Boal describes the way in which the structure of Greek tragedy with its elements as defined by Aristotle. He describes how the system created by applying the Aristotelian structure of a tragedy, which involves a character that possesses both a certain amount of social ethos (so that one may relate to them) and hamartia – a “tragic flaw.” The character then undergoes peripeteia, a “reversal of fortune” where the character’s situation changes for the worse. Then there is anagnorisis, a “recognition” the character undergoes where they realize the reality of their situation. There is then an inevitable catastrophe that takes place, which causes the audience to experience catharsis. The idea Boal describes is that of a plot structure where the audience identifies with the main character, being seeing themselves in it. Boal states in his conclusion that when seeing a “Western” film, “[The villain] does all the evil he possibly can, and we empathize with him and vicariously we do the same evil,” while relating “Western” films (through the perspective of the villain) to the Aristotelian structure of tragedy. He also mentions that “‘Westerns,’ like children’s games, serve the Aristotelian purpose of purging all the spectator’s aggressive tendencies.” Which demonstrates that his understanding that through the feeling of sympathy towards the “tragic hero” we are “purged” (catharsis) of our immoral desires, because we see ourselves in the catastrophe.

In his conclusion, Boal also makes a point of saying that Aristotle’s “coercive system of tragedy” can never be used during a social revolution. He states this because during a revolution there is no clearly defined social ethos that the audience can identify with and thus it is not as effective in this situation.

Empathy can to a great extent be used to make a performance more engaging and more impactful. For instance, Anton Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya is a play which relies foremost on the audience feeling empathy for the characters in the story. Louis Malle’s film of André Gregory’s production of this play is an interesting example of techniques used to increase the level of empathy felt by the audience. The production itself has a generally realistic performance style: the movement of the actors are naturalistic, and the costumes are realistic (according to a contemporary era). This allows the audience to empathize more easily with the, as they would be more capable of seeing themselves in the situation of the characters, since it is portrayed in a realistic way. The film makes it easier to empathize by allowing us to observe the detail in the actors’ expression. While the typical un-naturalistic change of viewpoint of film may make the experience less realistic, the closeness to the actors’ faces allows an immersion into the scene which would not be possible if the audience was simply sitting in front of the performance like in a typical proscenium arch stage.

However, the production also has various elements that make it more difficult to empathize with the production. In the production, any element of comedy in the script was enhanced to the point that the performance felt like a tragicomedy. The comedy detracted from the seriousness of the performance, but did not do so in the same way that comic relief does, where it “refreshes” the audience’s mind in order to make it easier for them to be involved in the more dramatic parts. The comedy in the production felt out of place, since uncle Vanya and Aastrov were the only ones who seemed to carry it out, and the rest of the characters did not react so positively to it. In the film, the performance space and the cut between acts was also a problem when it came to empathizing. In the live performance, it is possible that the setting – the run-down theater in 42^nd street – could have given a sensation of nostalgia to the audience, thus priming them to feel more emphatic towards the performance. Through the film this is not the case, as it is much more difficult to grasp that “atmosphere of nostalgia” that would be perceived in real life, where one is completely surrounded by the theater. Between every act in the film, there was an explanation from the director to a woman, explaining that between each act there is a time lapse. Through these explanations the audience gets a sense of this time lapse, but they are far too short for this purpose, and at times simply seem to be intruding the performance itself. They take the audience out of the narrative, which makes it difficult to get back into the narrative and empathize with the characters. 

Don't Follow the Yellow Brick Road.

Expectation is a tricky thing to tamper with. When going to watch Yellow Brick Road the audience should have been told to completely let go of any expectations of similarities to the source material, which the audience is told beforehand is The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. As the play unfolds, the audience is taken through a journey which at first glance is very similar to one’s expectation of what The Wizard of Oz should be like: it starts with Dorothy in Kansas, then there’s the tornado, she lands in a place with “munchkins,” she meets the scarecrow, then the tin-man, then the lion, then they fall asleep under the witch’s spell in the flower field; but after this point the events no longer matches the storyline that was preset in my mind, whose only experience with The Wizard of Oz had been in performing an adaptation of the film in a theater in Venezuela. The events that follow after the scene with the flowers (from which there does not seem to be a logical transition, as Dorothy and the lion are simply left asleep) were a problem for me the first time I watched the play. After having seen the production once, I felt obliged to see it one more time, because I felt as though in my attempt to relate what I was seeing to what I knew as The Wizard of Oz I had completely missed out on the play. The frustration that my situation caused was enhanced by the fact that, while the events no longer matched the storyline of the source material, subtle elements – such as the green lights in the entrance of the waiting room, which alluded to the Emerald City of The Wizard of Oz – kept reinforcing the idea that, somehow, this was still the same story I was expecting. This was something that likely happened to more than one person in the audience, whose expectations – similar to mine – were not met. This, I find, was an issue with the way the play was presented, because an average audience would then have been unlikely to enjoy the play for what its true worth. Perhaps if the play had been introduced differently, by telling the audience not to expect The Wonderful Wizard of Oz then this could have been avoided, while still preserving the possibility for links to be made back to the source material due to the unequivocal similarities in the events.

The “true worth” of this performance dawned on me once I decided to let go of any expectations I had. The production is more of a simple sequence of scenes that allude to some sort of journey, which just happens to have a striking similarity with that of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. This sequence, however, appears to be more symbolic than narrative. Through impeccably accurate sound effects to accompany the movement on stage and visually stunning movements, lighting, and costume, the audience is made to feel three identifiable stages of a narrative. The first, where the colorless, simplistic depiction of Kansas, the intruding loudness of the tornado and the inhospitable attitude of the munchkins, give the impression that the character Dorothy, denoted by a plush dog and an apron, is unsafe in a cold, foreign world. There is then an immediate break as music that one would relate to a jolly farm environment, a warm light, and the silly expression of the scarecrow create a humorous atmosphere. The humor and relative light-heartedness continues throughout the following scenes, as they meet the tin-man, the lion, fall asleep through the flower fields, and are then seen singing a happy song around a campfire at night. The light-heartedness of the scenes and the underlying humor of the scenes gives a feel of friendliness, and even without words, there is a sense that these four characters are now friends. This friendship is then reassured through the next two scenes where the group (together) does a slow walk in a warm light and exciting music, endures a barrage of fruit that apparently gets Dorothy all bloodied up, and together are rejected by the cold people in white at the waiting room. The formation and reassuring of this friendship constitutes the second part of the journey. The final part is one where Dorothy is left back alone as she started, and are simply the next two scenes, where Dorothy’s friends are each “captured”, one by one, by a chorus of abstract, inhospitable beings and then throws water at the witch to make her “melt,” and then is taken back to a circle of rubble which, by the fact that the house lights are turned on, one gets the impression that it is over (and thus she is back to Kansas). While the progression of the scenes does not seem to have a logical progression, the audience can still get a sense of a story being unfold, and thus empathizes with the situation of the characters, creating an emotional experience. There is a question, however, of whether or not the audience would be able to recognize the narrative sequence if they had no previous knowledge of The Wizard of Oz, or how effective the performance would have been in that case.

Technically, the play itself is also very well carried out. The movements of the actors are very precise, and the auditory elements that go along with the movement is consistent with the visual action. The way that it was carried out is also very interesting, since there is no spoken dialogue and the actors and the people doing sound are constantly visible to the audience, even when they are not directly involved in the action. The lack of dialogue and, instead, the heavy emphasis on physical movement in order to tell the narrative might be an attempt to create a sort of etic theater, a theater that transcends cultural barriers, an idea I have encountered once while reading The Art of Stillness, The Theatre Practice of Tadashi Suzuki by Paul Allain. Allain wrote about how Tadashi Suzuki attempted to create, through heavy emphasis on physical movement and not so much on language, a type of theater that could transcend cultural barriers, as movement is a form of communication that is much more visceral and direct than language, which is interpreted differently by every individual’s own perspective of the world. It appears to me that the endeavor to rid Yellow Brick Road of spoken language was a step in this direction. The fact that the actors and the sound production are always visible by the audience at reminded me of Bertolt Brecht’s “Alienation Effect” and when during the talkback session on Friday evening people began to mention that they saw similarities between the production and the real world refugee crisis, this directorial choice made sense. The fact that the performance is made in the round, and that the intimacy of the space and the texture of the seating makes one more aware of the audience also adds to this effect of alienation from the events of the “narrative.”  The audience becomes more aware of the fact that they are watching a performance. However, the effect is not as pronounced and may not even have even been intended, as the effect does not detract much from the emotional experience of the play itself, which overall amounted to an enjoyable and very interesting experience.

On 3 "Performances"

1.      There was this group of Singaporean girls from NTU which were with us during many of our adventures in Singapore, who were acting as hosts for us. In a sense, it’s like they were putting up a performance for us. They were not being “fake” and they were not necessarily consciously aware of the fact that they were probably changing their behavior to be good hosts to us, but their kindness and their willingness to take charge in times of need (like when they wouldn’t bring our food) made the experience much more enjoyable. Having a local friend becomes like a sort of key to the real life of the people in the place that one is visiting and this “host performance” that the girls were putting up for us had that very effect. It allowed for a friendlier environment. I could especially notice the difference when we went to a Chinese restaurant without a Chinese speaker, where we felt like intruders in a foreign world, compared to when one of the girls ordered food in the food court for us speaking in Singlish with the cook. The kindness allows for the experience to be much more enjoyable.

2.      Right after leaving Gala, we saw a couple of pianos laying at the plaza right in front of the Victoria Theater. While everyone was having a conversation in a circle, Rodrigo went towards the piano to patiently wait for a man to finish playing Happy Birthday on one of the pianos. He then sat down and began to play a beautiful piece with all the engagement of the world. His body was moving, his eyes were closed (or at least in my memory they are), he was in his own world, completely disregarding the fact that the rest of the people in the place were not paying attention to him. I was just enjoying the show by the piano. After a while, Atoka came and interrupted Rodrigo, begging for a chance to play. She began playing this incredibly difficult piece on the piano and I could only marvel at her thin fingers swiftly tapping the keys. Everyone began to gather around her performance and they were all smiling and in awe. Atoka had just brought us all together under the influence of music once more. Maybe all this just happened because we had just come out from seeing Gala, but at least until Valentina insisted that we needed to leave, we all stood in admiration of the beautiful performance of vibrations that was being produced in that open space.

3.      When we went to Theater Works to listen to the panel of actors from Gala, it was almost as if they were putting up another type of performance for us. They were professional yet casual, and all of them, especially the guy who was the drag queen, had a sort of natural charm that made the talk engaging and interesting. They were trying to get at ideas along with us, taking us on a journey through their rehearsal process using their words, a couple of videos of their solos, and whatever hand gestures they could produce while on those chairs that felt natural. In a sense one felt much closer to them due to the casual tone that they took while speaking, and this improvised performance of theirs achieved not only the goal of informing us about Gala; but also further accomplished the goal of Gala in bringing communities together around theater.

Why Gala?

Perhaps the most interesting part of all of Gala is the slideshow of photos that is shown at the beginning. The photos are all of theaters, but it happens for long enough to do two things. The first is that the audience settles down into a mood where they are less likely to have their previous mood affect their perception of the play. The second is that it gets them thinking about theater. It gets them thinking about what is theater. It makes them mentally involved with the art and perhaps even sparks some epiphany related to it. This is directly related to the main purpose of this play: to gather the community around the idea of theater, thus making theater a more significant part of their lives, both of the performers and of the audience.

The performance serves as an opportunity to have many amateur and not-so-amateur performers be on a grand stage where they can show themselves to many people. It may be that many of them had already performed before, but at least the youngest little boy was in one of his first performances, and participating in such a performance will cause theater to be a much more important part of his life. The experience allows the performers to better their knowledge of the art and to get to know the community that is involved in it within their country. Not only that, but the experience itself is an experience that is sure to be different from anything else, considering that they only have one week of rehearsals and that they have to exchange clothes with people they’ve barely met. This bond that is formed between these people is an essential part of theater that they are getting to experience and that will allow their future experiences in the art to be guided with stronger motivation. This was especially apparent in the bond that existed among the performers during the panel discussion.

The fact that the performance is fully physical is a very big part of its effect in reaching out to the greater community. Maxim mentioned during the panel discussion that there was actually an attempt to include poetry in the performance, but it had to be a poem that everybody knew, and since they could not find one they did not do one. This makes sense, since the performance has to transcend any cultural barriers that exist between the ethnic groups of the given city where Gala is being performed. This allows the entire audience to become involved in the performance without much thought. It is a visceral experience that anybody can enjoy, regardless of how experienced and educated the audience is in “theatrical etiquette.” Eventually this allows the audience to come together under the Dionysian influence of dance and music, cheering and clapping for a common cause. While in that performance it is easy to lose oneself within the audience. One stops their critical mind and just loses themselves among the clapping and the laughing.

GALA

By now I cannot remember if when we began to walk around downtown Singapore it was already nighttime or if it was only close to it, but soon enough the Sun fell and we were moving through a cloudy metropolis with a foggy moon in the sky. Eventually we made our way to a place that I believe was called the Singapore river; beautiful display of lights reflected on the water. Somehow we began to twist and turn between bridges and grass patches. We saw a rehearsal for a children’s performance on the right, and then turned left and found a plaza where people seemed to be setting up for a big event. An art event, completely unrelated to what we were about to do and that we would not see because we were leaving the next evening. Behind the plaza stood the Victoria Theatre. On the left side there was an entrance and a small lobby, cramped with all the people about to watch the show. Somebody gave me a ticket, I lined up, and just like that I was inside. The stage was large, the theater was large; it had two balconies. Somehow we were lucky enough to sit really close to the front, and there we sat and waited in the pre-show noise that is always present before a play. Eventually a screen began to scroll down and most of the theater went silent.

The projector turned on and began to project images of theaters. Just empty theaters, in what was perhaps the strangest, most interesting moment of the play. The screen was large and images ranged from giant, 2000+ seat theaters with a large red curtain all the way to a bunch of chairs lined up in a patch of grass. The moment was not completely silent; some people in the audience kept talking and laughing, loudly enough for everyone to hear. And some people were hushing and swearing at them, the former loudly enough for us to hear, the latter whispered enough to be polite. The sequence of images felt eternal. It gave you time to think. What are they trying to say? “This is theater”? “You are now about to see a play”? “Whoops! We need a bit more time, so here’s a video to entertain you”? Whatever it was, most people in that performance will probably never be sure of the answer. But soon enough the projector was shut off, the screen came up and curtain pulled aside to reveal a deep, barren stage.

An Asian girl, with glasses and a ponytail, no older than 16, came and lay down on down-stage-right a sign that had the word “Ballet” written with marker on it. A classical music piece began to play and she went to the middle of the stage, made a turn that one would expect to see in ballet towards one side, made the same exact turn towards the other side, and then walked off stage through stage left. What followed was a series of people doing the same type of ballet turn, one by one, until the entire cast had done so. Some people were really good and could do three turns in one go; some could barely manage a single turn. The cast presented was also very varied: variations of all ages, from children bellow the age of 10 to middle-aged people; there was a fat drag queen, a black man, a woman on a wheelchair, an Indian girl, a ballet dancer guy, a girl in a figure-skating costume, a guy who seemingly had Down Syndrome, and whole lot of other people, all of them dressed in shiny, interesting, costumes that allowed for mobility. If I had to guess they were around 20. And if I had to guess, they were mostly Singapore nationals. In fact, I knew from before that these were supposedly mostly amateur performers, so I was not expecting anything too big. Watching everyone slowly do a ballet turn was tedious, but bearable. And the audience helped, because every time an interesting character came onstage they had some hearable reaction that added variety to the show.  Eventually they all began to come from behind and they would run and do a leap with their arms out, as one seemingly does in ballet, while running to the other corner of the stage through which they had originally walked in through. Then after everyone had done that, somebody finally stood behind the sign, and flipped the next sheet of paper onto it. And then it said “Waltz.”

What followed was basically the same plan of what had happened in “Ballet” but with various different themes. In “Waltz,” they came in by pairs and waltzed to a different piece of classical music - one that you’ve heard a hundred times in all those corny movies – and then left the stage for the next pair to come, until they had all gone.

Somebody else stood by the sign and flipped the page and now it said “Silent Improv.” Everyone came on stage at the same time and started doing stuff. It was weird. One man kept stomping the floor at a constant beat, and at one point the drag queen began to shout. It was weird, but interesting.

They all left and flipped the sign and now it said Michael Jackson, and, of course, Billie Jean started to play. Back to the “Ballet” format, each one moonwalked from one side to the stage to the opposite one. Some were great, some just walked backwards. The drag queen almost crashed into this lady. That was funny. The drag queen was really funny, he had her mouth open in a very goofy way all the time and had a butterfly make-up in her face.

After that they flipped the sign and it said “bow.” They each came and bowed. Each taking their own time. Somehow, it seemed that the people who were better at dancing were not that good at bowing. But somehow, everyone had a different bow. It was interesting, but honestly, tedious and long, because everyone bowed twice and some people just took their damn time. Still, quite interesting. And the audience clapped for every bow. Good job to the audience for keeping the energy up and the positive vibe.

After everyone bowed, a woman flipped to the next sheet and it said “Solo.” Some strange, music began to play and she began to do a strange dance to it. It was nothing magnificent or physically demanding, but slow and simply strange. The woman danced the whole song, and while we expected the next person to show up and go through all the cast doing their solos, the same woman came out again, flipped the page, and now the chart said “Company Company.” Suddenly the entire cast came out from stage-left, but their costumes were now a mess. One could see that their costumes had actually been interchanged with each other, and none of them were still wearing anything they had worn before (except probably their underwear). Suddenly the same music began to play and the woman stood at the front of the group and started to do the same dance, while everyone else followed, or rather, attempted to follow her movements from behind. It was fun to watch. The audience cheered after this, and each one of the performances that followed. The cheering grew more vigorous with every performance.

After that the order of the performances gets a bit messed up in the memory, but they were the following:

The ballet dancer was actually the second one, and his performance was absolutely amazing. One could truly see the professionalism, beyond the posture and the figure. Everyone else clumsily followed while the audience cheered and awed.

When the lady in the wheelchair came to the front the crowd immediately began to cheer. Then a really happy song that you could picture playing in a kid’s birthday party began to play and she danced really playfully and confidently. Everyone followed with their hands, and with their feet when she used wheels.

The black man danced while some ethnic South Asian music began to sound. The guy popped his eyes out, stuck his head out, and stood in a position which I would later realize is the same as the one Balinese dancers take when doing dances such as the Topeng dance. Once again everyone followed.

The drag queen did a solo, very flamboyant, to one of those nameless female pop-singer songs that give an air of “you go girl!” Just imagine a fat man dancing in the girliest way possible. It was a sight to behold, and the guy clearly was enjoying it.

One of the two little boys (the eldest, by appearance at least) danced to Uptown Funk. It was a bit of an odd dance, with more running around the stage than anything, but it seemed really fun, with all the cast coming out from under the curtain behind the stage and running from left to right.

One of the women in the cast came out with a tray with a bunch of those pink ribbons that you see in the gymnastic events of the Olympics. Half the cast grabbed one and the other half walked off stage. Then the woman took a blue ribbon and they all lay sitting gracefully (or at least she was) on the ground. The “Shut up and dance” began to sound and the light blue ribbon began a mesmerizing dance all over the stage, while a hilarious cacophony of pink ribbons tried to keep up at the back. She was amazing. The song ended, and the other half of the cast came out, took the ribbons, and they did the whole thing again. Nobody was complaining. Everyone was cheering. Amazing performance.

At one point, the guy with Down Syndrome stood at the front with a hand in his back, and the audience was cheering for him. A classical piece of music began to sing and everyone realized that it was in fact a European middle-aged man’s turn. The black guy patted Down Syndrome on the shoulder and the performance carried on. A hilarious “contemporary dance” performance ensued, that involved a lot of motion in the space.

Down Syndrome’s performance was right after that, and some cheery music with a Latino vibe began to play. I thought I could see in his eyes that he was about to cry, but he did a great job of keeping it together and delivering an excellent performance.

By the time the final performance came around the audience’s energy had crescendoed into a party of emotions. We were laughing, crying, clapping, and when the man stood at the front he began snapping his fingers and New York New York began to play everyone was happy. It was an amazing performance and they actually shut down the music and sang “Singapore Singapore” when it was supposed to be “New York New York” and then they all lined up and did the kicking typical to that song and then everyone was happy and then it ended and then everyone clapped and then the curtain came down and just like that, it was over.

The curtain went back up, they bowed, we clapped, and we got up, and left into the night, with Dionysian energy binding us to happiness.

Aristotle's Passion

If I was Aristotle and I had to write this blogpost about the subject of Sarah Ruhl’s Passion Play being imitation (mimesis) then this would probably be a very straightforward thing to do, for two reasons. Firstly, Aristotle did not know about anything other than art that was about imitation, so arriving to the conclusion that Ruhl’s Passion Play is about something else or even considering that option would have been highly unlikely. Secondly, Aristotle, assuming that he somehow is still in his prime time while writing this, had an unprecedented Ethos, and thus anything he said was likely to be taken seriously as long as it followed some sort of logic, so I wouldn’t have to deal with not being confident about what I say being received properly. However, since we aren’t Aristotle, this is what I will be doing here: talking about why Passion Play is indeed mimesis and trying to justify it well so I have credibility.

Arguably, Aristotle’s view that all art is about imitation, is correct. Whenever an art piece is made, regardless of it being Aristotelian or not, some imitation has to occur in order to evoke specific ideas in the audience’s mind. In Passion Play imitation becomes the subject of the play, as the narrative itself is an imitation. It is an imitation of what would be a medieval Passion Play being staged, with some internal/external conflict occurring around those involved with the play. One might therefore say that Passion Play is, indeed, a play about a play, where the play has a big social and even political influence (as can be seen by the fact that people of high political influence such as the Queen and Hitler, in their respective acts, are compelled to react publicly to the Passion Play). Passion Play is, then, really about the power that this play has. A play that is, in fact, much more strongly based around the idea of imitation, since its sole goal is to imitate the story of Jesus Christ’s death. Sarah Ruhl’s Passion Play is more about providing commentary on the power of mimesis and how it can influence an audience and a whole community, as is seen by her entire narrative, where the characters and the communities are changed due to things that happen because they are staging the Passion Play.

It is interesting to see that Ruhl may also be speaking of how dangerous mimesis can be as well, which can be related to Plato’s view that the arts should be banned in the ideal State. For example, in act 2, we learn about how Eric finds it tough to become fully involved with his role of playing the “Christus,” often leading to Mary 2 asking what is wrong with him. This causes him to become depressed and not be able to partake in his other daily activities as effectively. In act 1, the fact that Pontius is a person of lower class than John is clearly emphasized by their roles in the town’s Passion Play, where the latter plays Jesus and the former plays Satan. This causes the people in the town to have skewed perceptions of these two individuals and what they are like, which must have had some effect on Pontius’s suicide at the end of the act, since he was being perceived as a “lower” human being, not just for being the fish gutter, but for playing Satan as well. These are examples that Ruhl demonstrates in her play of how engaging in the arts can be detrimental to a society. It may be possible to then say that Passion Play to an extent is supporting Plato’s claim that arts should not exist in the ideal state, as they prevent the individuals from accomplishing their full potential in society.