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.  

Deep Play in Hell(House)

Deep Play. “Play in which the stakes are so high that it is [...] irrational for men to engage at all.” (Clifford Geertz). The idea that humans will often engage in activities where the stakes are too high to be rationally justified is one that can be difficult to fathom at times, but nonetheless is something that occurs very often across many different cultures. We first learned of this concept when talking about Cockfights in Bali (Clifford Geertz’s “Deep Play: Notes on the Balinese Cockfight”), but an example of it can be seen in the Hell House performances in the U.S.A.

In Ann Pellegrini’s documentary film, there is an account of the staging process and performance of a Hell House in the United States. At the end of this performance, we see that the audience members are taken to a room that is no longer part of the “staged performance.” In that room, a man (who coincidentally happens to be the only black man I remember seeing in the film up to that point) is telling people that if they decide they want to “accept Jesus” then they should walk into the next room. He then says that they only have a few seconds to move, and starts counting down. This event is one that I am sure stuck with many who saw the film, albeit being a part of the event which is barely mentioned throughout the film until this part. I would say this is because the amount of pressure that an event like this places on people is something that can come across as inhumane; and as such, it is the central event that cements the idea that Hell Houses are not a good idea, for those that began to form that idea as they were watching the film. What happens in that room is almost a form of coercion. Without it, the Hell House would probably just be some kind of house of terror, only with religious suggestions. This is the point where the audience loses their immunity to the performance; they are no longer safe, and are left to make a choice that will be seen by the rest of the community and that may affect them in the long run.

The deep play comes into play at this very event as well, and everyone is engaged in it. The participants are forced to take a risk, where the stakes may vary depending on their faith and how moved they were by the Hell House, but where there is still going to be a gamble on the decision that they choose. In a very extreme case, a member of the audience could be moved to the point that they would change their lives and become a devout Christian, thus changing their lives forever. On the other end, a member of the audience could have equally been offended or simply not have been engaged with the performance, and this act of coercion might even lead them to develop a sort of hatred towards religion. This leads us to the way in which the Deep Play is also present for the church itself: it’s almost an all-or-nothing gamble. On one side they may be successful in converting the people who come watch the Hell House, but on the other hand, those who are not engaged may turn against them (similar to the group of teenagers who were arguing against the ideology portrayed in the LGBTQ scene).

The Hell House is a gamble. It is Deep Play. One where all its participants can be deeply involved.

Are religious rituals dying?

Ta’zieh, a Shi’a tradition that has been ongoing for centuries. It is similar to the medieval passion play in the sense that it narrates the story of the death of one of, if not the most, important religious figure in their culture. The plays are usually staged throughout the month of Muharram and consists of various stories staged throughout 10 days, culminating in the story of the death of Imam Hussein, the Shi’a’s most important imam.

The video in question (link below) is a short documentary about Ta’zieh. A narrator speaks in a sober tone saying various facts about Ta’zieh while the video shows performers and audience members during a performance. At times there are also various interviews with performers who explain certain aspects of the Ta’zieh. The narrator speaks about how the performance is a tragedy and how it is highly cathartic, a statement which is backed by the shady green-ish lighting of the tent, the serious tone of the performers, and the faces of the spectators moved to tears from the spectacle. In a sense, everything that the narrator is saying seems to fit in very nicely with the images in the video, allowing for a very informative piece.

However, that is not the only image that one receives from watching the video. The disconnect is not between the images in the video and what the narrator is saying, but between the entire video itself and the live performance. The narrator’s voice is a very standard one for documentaries in the time the video was made. This would affect the perception of the, likely western and english-speaking, viewer, since documentaries of this type are typically done to provide information about something that is foreign to one’s own culture. Even though the narrator talks about how the performance is meant to bring the community together, it is hard to tell from the video itself how true this claim is. The only people who are seen being moved to tears are elderly people, while the young people are onlooking with expressions that show either confusion or disinterest. At the beginning of the video there is a young woman looking down at her cell phone and there is a shot of a young man nonchalantly laid back to a wall while recording the performance and chewing gum. One can also see a part where a woman is walking around serving tea for audience members, perhaps not just for the sake of hospitality, but also to give people who are not as involved something to do with their time.

What I am saying is that the video does not tell us the reality of this age-old tradition in our time. While the elderly are still very involved, we cannot really tell if the younger generations are as involved in the performance as well. While young performers seem to be equally engaged, it is still hard to say the same about the larger population, since these young performers are likely to be involved in the tradition due to their familial values. It is also very difficult to tell if this disinterest of the younger generations (if it is true) persists after growing up. So while it is unsure, the video might be telling two stories in one: the story of the great Ta’zieh and how it unites its community (told by the narrator and the people interviewed) and the story of a new generation that seems to be growing out of this type of performance.

This might not be the case, however. As one of the performers says in the video “it is not entertainment.” For that reason, disinterest may be a natural part of the ritual, and one that does not undermine its effectiveness. If the seemingly uninterested younger generation wanted to entertain themselves, then they have a myriad other media they can use. But Ta’zieh is not meant for that, but it is instead more of a ritual. A five year old in a christian family does not go to church eagerly, or understanding what happens there; they go because they are pretty much forced to by their family. Eventually, the children will grow to understand the ritual (or not), but even then they understand that it is not meant to be for entertainment. It is for learning. It is for gathering the community. It is to unite people of a specific culture and propagate the values that keep that people together. Ta’zieh is similar in this regard: it may not matter that the younger generation is not interested in the performance. What matters is that they are there, learning, albeit not consciously, about their tradition and their values, which will eventually become a key part of their identity as part of their community.

https://youtu.be/8aKAPL9Fkz4

Antigone, is that you?

#2. Which concept that Marvin Carlson defines – illustration, translation, fulfillment, or supplement — best describes  the Anne Carson  Antigonik and the Trajal Harrell Antigone Jr.?   Why?

When looking at the question that serves as a prompt for this blogpost I cannot help but feel that all of the options could be applicable to both pieces. The terms are seemingly relative to the audience’s own interpretation of the piece. As such, there may not be any single one that best describes any of the pieces. However one can try to argue for a specific one, which is what I will attempt to do here.

Anne Carson’s Antigonik is best described as a translation of Sophokles’s work into a modern day era. And this is speaking of the print itself, not the script as a possibility for a play. The text in the print has a certain theatricality to it, the words are separated in non-conventional ways, such as placing only one word in a page or scattering them throughout the page at times, which creates a type of “pacing” while reading the play that would otherwise not exist. The font resembles handwritten letters, which fills it with personality and an interesting aesthetic, which keeps it interesting, apart from introducing some rather odd illustrations throughout the book, which also keep the read being dynamic. The reason why this is a translation of Sophokles’s original work is not only because it is translated from ancient Greek to English, but because without all of this additional aesthetic supplement and the simplification of the text in a very humorous and perhaps even absurd way, the play may be lost to the general public of nowadays. I say this because in my experience, Greek drama which is translated with a focus of being loyal to the original text usually is dense and difficult to read, due to the heavy amount of references to their specific culture and the extremely long monologues that were product of having only one or two actors on the stage at a time. Antigonik is engaging on its own, just how the original Antigone might have been for the Ancient Greek audience. Therefore, it is a translation, which replaces the foreign and outdated type of text that existed originally by a humorous text and entertaining aesthetic geared towards helping a “Western” audience remain engaged. The only issue is that the original values of the play might have been “lost in translation” but because the ideas themselves are what is being translated in order to be kept relevant, I believe this was just an inevitable consequence.

Trajal Harrell Antigone Jr. features a performance of Antigone that many would probably not understand very well. Most of the performance involves two actors modeling back and forth and dancing in the vogue style, while eventually some words related to Antigone are thrown out in order to reassure the audience that the play is still the Antigone of Sophokles. I would like to argue that the Antigone Jr. is more of a translation. However, as opposed to Antigonik, the fact that Antigone Jr. is a performance instead of just a visual text forces it to translate to a modern audience by applying itself onto contemporary traditions, such as vogueing. Through the use of these contemporary techniques, alongside a brief retelling of the actual story and a mistake in the beginning that sort of “breaks the ice” among the audience, the performance creates a space where the audience is entertained and feels comfortable, much like how original Greek plays used to be. While the fact that the play is a tragedy or the values may not have been carried over as loyally either makes it even more clear that this is a different audience that perceives things differently. Ultimately it does not seem too far-fetched to speculate that the effect that Antigone Jr. has on the contemporary Western audience somewhat assimilates the effect of Sophokles’s play on an Ancient Greek audience.

Antigonick in a Selfie

Schechner's Drama, Script, Theater and Performance: Badke

When evaluating a performance like Choreographer Koen Augustijnen’s Badke - or any performance really - in terms of Richard Schechner’s concepts, it is probably most appropriate to start by appreciating the performance since this is the element that, as an audience, one is exposed to. That being said, Badke truly made for a fantastic performance. Personally, I had never seen a one-and-a-half-hour long, continuous, extra-energetic dance performance like this one in my life. The sheer amount of energy that the dancers were putting into every movement without fail was already enough to make for an invigorating performance, and on top of that the combination of all their different dance styles made for a variety that constantly kept the show alive and interesting, despite practically always having the same music looping over and over and always being on the same set. The performance was so lively and invigorating that I (especially being seated on the front row) felt like getting up and dancing with the performers. Additionally the clear symbolism of the performance about the occupation in Palestine was something that really resonated with me, having lived in Abu Dhabi for four years and having had various Palestinian friends throughout that time. The whole performance felt like it was some sort of party in Palestine; with many things that are maybe common there: constant air raid sirens, couples having problems, homosexuelity being explored, dealing with authorities that come to try to shut down the event, and a persistent bunch of people who keep on dancing despite all the adversity.

In terms of the theater that was created, the involvement of all the performers into creating something that is genuinely theirs is evident. By “theirs” I mean that the theater they created was mostly for the sake of the performers themselves, rather than the audience. The performers are enjoying the performance. They dance for themselves and for their own enjoyment before dancing to please an audience. The performers are indeed dancing in a party of sorts, even if it’s within the confined space of a rehearsal room or a performance space. I believe evidence of this from the performance could be seen in two aspects: firstly the fact that in most of the group sequences there was a leader, who would get people together and dancing in synchronization, however this was done in a very organic way, as opposed to a the way in which dance performances typically occur (in my experience at least) where all moves are known by everyone from beforehand. In Badke the performers were constantly feeding off each other’s movements, allowing for a certain type of energy between the performers that truly feels like a party, where movements are not planned and the dancers are simply enjoying. The second instance was one where one of the performance was pointing at random members of the audience and then banging his chest. Talking to the choreographer after the performance, he said that he was meant to be saying something “deep” like that the person he pointed to is in his “heart” or something of the sort. However, his brother comes by and interrupts him as if he were crazy. This precise moment of joking around reveals a commodity in the space and a sense of camaraderie that exists outside of the audience’s influence.

The drama of the performance is most likely something that permeates everything that I’ve said so far. I can only speculate in this regard, but it would seem that the drama originated in the performers and their own experiences rather than the choreographer, who typically is the one with the initial idea. These dancers, with their diverse backgrounds and their Palestinian heritage, bring to the table a specific set of “movement ideas” that could tie in together without much outter help, but it is then up to the choreographer to pinpoint these ideas and weave them together to form a script, which allows for an organized performance and the focused transmission of the message the dancers wished to convey in a more effective manner. However, I would like to argue that the drama of this Badke is something that existed before its inception. It is a drama that is actualized whenever a Palestinian party takes place and the people there dance dabke. It is an abstract mixture of enjoyment and resilience.

A Couple in a Cage: Feeling the Power of Money

Coco Fusco and Guillermo Gómez-Peña’s performance Couple in a Cage provides a very interesting vehicle for exploring the reactions within certain contexts. The performers provide a way for the audience to interact with them in a “safe” manner, in the form of paying a small amount of money in order to take a photo with the couple in the cage (for 1$), or have the male tell a story in their “native language” or the woman do a traditional dance (for 50cents). This type of interaction allowed the audience to influence the performance from the safety of being outside the cage, the section of the performing space that most people would relate to being the “stage,” or the place where the audience’s focus should be placed. However, the focus of the performance was more on the audience reacting to themselves, as Fusco said “We intended to create a surprise or “uncanny” encounter, one in which audiences had to undergo their own process of reflection.” While the audience’s encounter with the “couple in the cage” was responsible for producing part of this effect, the way the audience interacts with the performance by asking for something of the performers through money also shocked the audience.

The performance manages to put the members of the audience paying money for something by asking them to not only step to the front in order to give the money, but also by asking them to enunciate what they want loud and clear, making it possible for other members of the audience to easily know when somebody was asking for something. When the transaction occurs, the audience member will be perceived as the person in power in that situation. It is them that decide what the couple in the cage will do. This further reinforces the idea that these “Guatinauis” are not free, because not only are they in a cage, but they are also forced to do our bidding. This removal of freedom causes the occidental audience for which the performance was intended to feel uncomfortable, as it is generally against their values (in the time of the performance) to see human beings that aren’t free. An aspect that further dehumanizes the couple in the cage is the fact that the members of the audience are asked to enunciate what they want “slowly.” While this may be because the Guatinauis do not speak English, people commonly perceive poor language ability as a lack in education, this applies even to normal foreigners who come to live in a place where their language is not spoken. The initial, instinctive response is to categorize them as uneducated, and it takes practice to undo that perception.

The audience is also given power in a more indirect manner, through the capability of interpreting the “traditions” of the Guatinauis (the story and the dance) without any fear of being judged or even being wrong. A woman in the audience mentions in the film that “[The male] began his story with a private moment that was perhaps a type of prayer.” While she admits to having no knowledge of her certainty, she will never know for sure due to the nature of the performance, which means that she does not have to worry about the consequences of her thoughts. This reveals an interesting aspect of the colonialist mindset, which is that the colonialists are not held accountable for their thoughts on the culture of the colonized society. The Guatinauis may not even have a concept of prayer, but nothing can stop that woman from imposing her own views on the performance. A different woman reacted to the dance performed by the female by saying it “does not give me the effect of, say, something that I’d see on public TV from someone who has gone into some country and has lived in a culture with people unlike my own.” This brings up the issue of the context in which the performance is being received. In a sense, this woman’s comment on the dance is undermining the value of the dance itself, that is if we assume that this “effect” she speaks of to be defining of the response a “good” performance should achieve from its audience. This may, however, also reveal the woman’s frustration at the fact that these Guatinauis seemed very similar to them, and yet were so different. As she said, the dance sounded “like something from 50-cent,” which one would normally associate with American culture, and at the same time the mannerisms of the Guatinauis are very similar to occidental ones: they shake hands, the female takes a bow after her dance, and they watch TV. However, they are equally very different: their language sounds foreign and as the woman remarks, “they never talk to each other,” which strikes her as odd. All of these questions and fascinations that the audience has as a response of the production reveal an aspect of colonialism, which is that it is through performances that showcase these cultures, in a space where the audience feels (and is) safe can help maintain the view that these cultures are foreign, exotic, and maybe even inferior or underdeveloped.

It is important to remark the surprising effectiveness that this performance has in making the audience reflect upon themselves. A woman was moved to tears when expressing her views on the audience’s reaction to the performance.  She says that “to watch people get their pictures taken like they were animals” and the fact that that is happening in the USA, which she clearly perceives as being much more developed in the moral sense, “made [her] feel real upset.” While this may be dismissed as a sort of naïve overreaction to something that was meant to be solely for entertainment purposes, thus justifying the audience’s behavior, she does mention that her first impression was that it was all fake. This reaction is a clear example of the performance achieving its goal, “in which audiences had to undergo their own process of reflection.” It causes the audience members to reflect and discover some of the still underlying colonialist values that they have, which would otherwise remain invisible to their conscious mind.

Nik Bärtsch

Attended from 7:00pm (start) to 3:30am

Blackbox Theater

Left for about 10 minutes at some point after 11:30pm to quickly stuff a cold sandwich down my throat. I was still in the Arts Center lobby though.

I have very mixed feelings about Nik Bärtsch’s “Mobile.” Staying inside that black box of magic for so long was indeed a challenge, but I’d say a better word to capture the essence of what my experience there was would be “experience.” It was an experience most certainly unlike anything else I had ever experienced before. The reason why it was such an interesting experience is mainly related to the atmosphere that was created inside that room.

It all starts with the entrance. You walk through a circling corridor dimly lit with blue lights. The walk is just long enough for you to stop thinking about the outside world somewhere along the way so that when you finally arrive at the performance space you feel like you’ve already journeyed to a different world. And when you arrive that’s almost what it feels like. A square pit in the center, containing all the instruments and an odd knot in the center, made with ropes that then spread out in all directions towards the roof, surrounded by mattresses and further back some chairs. The center pit was focused on with colored lights, and there was a constant fog inside the room throughout the entire performance. Eventually the musicians begin to arrive, one by one, and begin to play. I must have been very tired when it all started, because for about the first hour or so I dozed off, until a camarographer tripped with my leg and then I was unable to go back to sleep. The toughest thing to do inside that room was then to find out something to do. There were times in which I admired the musicians, who were absolutely stellar. From where I was (I didn’t move for the whole night) I couldn’t see the percussionist, but I was left in awe by how the pianist directly influenced the chords of the piano to make different sounds, how the saxophonist could use his instrument for percussion, and by how the drummer was so resilient (I think he spent the most time playing out of the bunch, from what I saw). The musicians were especially nice to admire in the more intense segments of their music, when they were really just “rocking it out.” I remember somebody shouting “yeah!” at one point because it had been so good. The music would shift between many different moods, going from the intensity that I just mentioned, and through some delightful jazzy tunes, which allowed for good peace of mind, to some avant-garde “stuff” that my musically illiterate mind couldn’t really understand. The other things I would do to entertain myself then varied between looking at the other stuff there was to look at - the moving patterns that were sometimes projected onto a screen above the musicians, how the fog moved through the beams of light, or just people in the audience, shaking their heads to the beat or just laying on the mattress in deep sleep - or writing random thoughts on my notebook - of which I couldn’t see the pages - or talking with my friend around after 2:00 am, when pretty much everyone else was asleep and nobody seemed to mind our whispers. The conversations I had that night were probably the nicest, most sincere ones I’ve had since starting at this university. Eventually the performance apparently started again and a man snapped at us to shut up. We left shortly after.

In the end, it was the mixture of so many different things that made Mobile such a wholesome experience. The changing moods in the music. The changing lights, which would sometimes only be a sudden burst of bright light and at other times would leave the place almost completely dark. The performance of the poet Afra, whose poem on her identity I had already heard twice before, but who was still perhaps the most amazing surprise of the night. And perhaps most importantly, the challenge of staying entertained in a “please turn off your phone” space for over 6 hours. It was certainly an experience that took me through a myriad of moods. Although ironically my fondest memory of the night was that of being able to engage in deep conversation with my friend, who was not a part of the intended performance. This may as well be evidence that when watching any spectacle, the people with you could have as much of an influence on your experience as the performance itself.

Orature: The Venezuelan "Tonada"

An example of orature can be found within the culture of my home country, Venezuela. In the region of the Venezuelan plains, there is a type of music known as the tonada, which is traditionally sung while milking a cow in order to relax the animal and facilitate the production of milk. The particularity in the Venezuelan tonada is that it follows a common pattern of melody and rhythm, but it is up to the farmer singing it to create his own lyrics. However, as most forms of art, the tonada is also subject to the constant change of the environment and the society around it. Venezuelan singer Simón Díaz remarks in his album Cuenta y Canta Volumen I, that the tonada is in danger of disappearing due to the mechanization of the milk industry (Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmdUHFvAviA). It is for that reason that “el tío Simón” dedicated a considerable part of his musical works to preserving the tonada. Still, what I find most interesting about the Venezuelan tonada is how intrinsically it is linked to the culture of my country; how after four years of living abroad it managed to evoke a deep feeling of nostalgia in my mother and me one simple afternoon on the car. This type of song, along with the inclusion of Venezuelan traditional elements such as the cuatro, manages to capture something that we perceived as intrinsically “Venezuelan.”