Friday, July 25, 2008

We can deal with the real

Music is the freight train in which God travels
Bang! It does its thang and then my soul unravels
Heals like holy water and it fights all my battles
Music is the freight train in which God travels

Just replace "music" with "theatre" or moreso with "art," and I think that's what I feel towards it. It fights all my battles.



(I mean, I do feel that way about music anyway, but you know what I mean.)

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Random post

So...  ZODIAC is a fucking amazing movie.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

One of the very few things...

...that I am going to miss, and miss intensely, this summer in New York:



Article from today's Times:


Really, I'm not kidding, I'm fucking pissed.

Saturday, May 31, 2008

Passing Strange

Today paradise was the enemy
Today the real become routine
Today my edges dulled together
And there's no point left to dream


Mama!
Marianna and Moroccan hash have got me stoned
And I can't find my way home


Mama!
She's serving every one of my desires on a platter
But it doesn't even matter anymore


Oh


Paradise is a bore
It doesn't even matter anymore

Monday, May 19, 2008

What I want to do onstage

I think I've finally put it into words.

I would like to rescue and revive plays, which have been either forgotten or deemed far-gone, by dramatizing their inherent stageworthiness and by exposing their absolute immediacy, of both structure and content.  I want to accomplish this by imposing horridly on the author's perhaps "original" intent with all sorts of theatre magic that the play itself struggles to rise above, and emerges triumphantly as more contemporary and immediate than anything that I might throw at it.

In other words, I like to be an asshole to plays, because I love them.  Like I do to people.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Countdown with Keith Olbermann

President Bush has resorted anew to the sleaziest fear-mongering and mass manipulation of an administration and public life dedicated to realizing the lowest of our expectations. And he has now applied these poisons to the 2008 presidential election, on behalf of the party at whose center he and John McCain lurk.

Mr. Bush has predicted that the election of a Democratic president could "eventually lead to another attack on the United States." This ludicrous, infuriating, holier-than-thou and most importantly bone-headedly wrong statement came during a May 13 interview with Politico.com and online users of Yahoo.

The question was phrased as follows: "If we were to pull out of Iraq next year, what's the worst that could happen, what's the doomsday scenario?"

The president replied: "Doomsday scenario of course is that extremists throughout the Middle East would be emboldened, which would eventually lead to another attack on the United States. The biggest issue we face is, it's bigger than Iraq, it's this ideological struggle against cold-blooded killers who will kill people to achieve their political objectives."

Mr. Bush, at long last, has it not dawned on you that the America you have now created, includes "cold-blooded killers who will kill people to achieve their political objectives?" They are those in — or formerly in — your employ, who may yet be charged some day with war crimes.

Through your haze of self-congratulation and self-pity, do you still have no earthly clue that this nation has laid waste to Iraq to achieve your political objectives? "This ideological struggle," Mr. Bush, is taking place within this country.

It is a struggle between Americans who cherish freedom, ours and everybody else's, and Americans like you, sir, to whom freedom is just a brand name, just like "Patriot Act" is a brand name or "Protect America" is a brand name.

But wait, there's more: You also said "Iraq is the place where al-Qaida and other extremists have made their stand and they will be defeated." They made no "stand" in Iraq, sir, you allowed them to assemble there!

As certainly as if that were the plan, the borders were left wide open by your government's farcical post-invasion strategy of "they'll greet us as liberators." And as certainly as if that were the plan, the inspiration for another generation of terrorists in another country was provided by your government's farcical post-invasion strategy of letting the societal infra-structure of Iraq dissolve, to be replaced by an American viceroy, enforced by merciless mercenaries who shoot unarmed Iraqis and then evade prosecution in any country by hiding behind your skirts, sir.

Terrorism inside Iraq is your creation, Mr. Bush!

***

It was a Yahoo user who brought up the second topic upon whose introduction Mr. Bush should have passed, or punted, or gotten up and left the room claiming he heard Dick Cheney calling him.

"Do you feel," asked an ordinary American, "that you were misled on Iraq?"

"I feel like — I felt like, there were weapons of mass destruction," the president said. "You know, 'mislead' is a strong word, it almost connotes some kind of intentional — I don't think so, I think there was a — not only our intelligence community, but intelligence communities all across the world shared the same assessment. And so I was disappointed to see how flawed our intelligence was."

Flawed.

You, Mr. Bush, and your tragically know-it-all minions, threw out every piece of intelligence that suggested there were no such weapons.

You, Mr. Bush, threw out every person who suggested that the sober, contradictory, reality-based intelligence needed to be listened to, and fast.

You, Mr. Bush, are responsible for how "intelligence communities all across the world shared the same assessment."

You and the sycophants you dredged up and put behind the most important steering wheel in the world propagated palpable nonsense and shoved it down the throat of every intelligence community across the world and punished anybody who didn't agree it was really chicken salad.

And you, Mr. Bush, threw under the bus, all of the subsequent critics who bravely stepped forward later to point out just how much of a self-fulfilling prophecy you had embraced, and adopted as this country's policy in lieu of, say, common sense.

The fiasco of pre-war intelligence, sir, is your fiasco.

You should build a great statue of yourself turning a deaf ear to the warnings of realists, while you are shown embracing the three-card monte dealers like Richard Perle and Donald Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney.

That would be a far more fitting tribute to your legacy, Mr. Bush, than this presidential library you are constructing as a giant fable about your presidency, an edifice you might as well claim was built from "Iraqi weapons of mass destruction" because there will be just as many of those inside your presidential library as there were inside Saddam Hussein's Iraq.

***

Of course if there is one overriding theme to this president's administration it is the utter, always-failing, inability to know when to quit when it is behind. And so Mr. Bush answered yet another question about this layered, nuanced, wheels-within-wheels garbage heap that constituted his excuse for war.

"And so you feel that you didn't have all the information you should have or the right spin on that information?"

"No, no," replied the President. "I was told by people, that they had weapons of mass destruction …"

People? What people? The insane informant "Curveball?" The Iraqi snake-oil salesman Ahmed Chalabi? The American snake-oil salesman Dick Cheney?

"I was told by people that they had weapons of mass destruction, as were members of Congress, who voted for the resolution to get rid of Saddam Hussein.

"And of course, the political heat gets on and they start to run and try to hide from their votes."

Mr. Bush, you destroyed the evidence that contradicted the resolution you jammed down the Congress's throat, the way you jammed it down the nation's throat. When required by law to verify that your evidence was accurate, you simply resubmitted it, with phrases amounting to "See, I done proved it" virtually written in the margins in crayon.

You defied patriotic Americans to say "The Emperor Has No Clothes," only with the stakes — as you and the mental dwarves in your employ put it — being a "mushroom cloud over an American city."

And as a final crash of self-indulgent nonsense, when the incontrovertible truth of your panoramic and murderous deceit has even begun to cost your political party seemingly perpetual congressional seats in places like North Carolina and Mississippi, you can actually say with a straight face, sir, that for members of Congress "the political heat gets on and they start to run and try to hide from their votes" — while you greet the political heat and try to run and hide from your presidency, and your legacy — 4,000 of the Americans you were supposed to protect — dead in Iraq, with your only feeble, pathetic answer being, "I was told by people that they had weapons of mass destruction."

***

Then came Mr. Bush's final blow to our nation's solar plexus, his last reopening of our common wounds, his last remark that makes the rest of us question not merely his leadership or his judgment but his very suitably to remain in office.

"Mr. President," he was asked, "you haven't been golfing in recent years. Is that related to Iraq?"

"Yes," began perhaps the most startling reply of this nightmarish blight on our lives as Americans on our history. "It really is. I don't want some mom whose son may have recently died to see the Commander in Chief playing golf. I feel I owe it to the families to be as — to be in solidarity as best as I can with them. And I think playing golf during a war just sends the wrong signal."

Golf, sir? Golf sends the wrong signal to the grieving families of our men and women butchered in Iraq? Do you think these families, Mr. Bush, their lives blighted forever, care about you playing golf? Do you think, sir, they care about you?

You, Mr. Bush, let their sons and daughters be killed. Sir, to show your solidarity with them you gave up golf? Sir, to show your solidarity with them you didn't give up your pursuit of this insurance-scam, profiteering, morally and financially bankrupting war.

Sir, to show your solidarity with them you didn't even give up talking about Iraq, a subject about which you have incessantly proved without pause or backwards glance, that you may literally be the least informed person in the world?

Sir, to show your solidarity with them, you didn't give up your presidency? In your own words "solidarity as best as I can" is to stop a game? That is the "best" you can do?

Four thousand Americans give up their lives and your sacrifice was to give up golf! Golf. Not "Gulf" — golf.

And still it gets worse. Because it proves that the president's unendurable sacrifice, his unbearable pain, the suspension of getting to hit a ball with a stick, was not even his own damned idea.

"Mr. President, was there a particular moment or incident that brought you to that decision, or how did you come to that?"

"I remember when [diplomat Sergio Vieira] de Mello, who was at the U.N., got killed in Baghdad as a result of these murderers taking this good man's life. And I was playing golf, I think I was in central Texas, and they pulled me off the golf course and I said, it's just not worth it any more to do."

Your one, tone-deaf, arrogant, pathetic, embarrassing gesture, and you didn't even think of it yourself? The great Bushian sacrifice — an Army private loses a leg, a Marine loses half his skull, 4,000 of their brothers and sisters lose their lives — and you lose golf, and they have to pull you off the golf course to get you to just do that?

If it's even true.

Apart from your medical files, which dutifully record your torn calf muscle and the knee pain which forced you to give up running at the same time — coincidence, no doubt — the bombing in Baghdad which killed Sergio Vieira de Mello of the U.N. and interrupted your round of golf was on Aug. 19, 2003.

Yet CBS News has records of you playing golf as late as Oct. 13 of that year, nearly two months later.

Mr. Bush, I hate to break it to you 6 1/2 years after you yoked this nation and your place in history to the wrong war, in the wrong place, against the wrong people, but the war in Iraq is not about you.

It is not, Mr. Bush, about your grief when American after American comes home in a box.

It is not, Mr. Bush, about what your addled brain has produced in the way of paranoid delusions of risks that do not exist, ready to be activated if some Democrat, and not your twin Mr. McCain, succeeds you.

The war in Iraq, your war, Mr. Bush, is about how you accomplished the derangement of two nations, and how you helped funnel billions of taxpayer dollars to lascivious and perennially thirsty corporations like Halliburton and Blackwater, and how you sent 4,000 Americans to their deaths for nothing.

It is not, Mr. Bush, about your golf game! And, sir, if you have any hopes that next Jan. 20 will not be celebrated as a day of soul-wrenching, heart-felt thanksgiving, because your faithless stewardship of this presidency will have finally come to a merciful end, this last piece of advice:

When somebody asks you, sir, about Democrats who must now pull this country back from the abyss you have placed us at ...

When somebody asks you, sir, about the cooked books and faked threats you foisted on a sincere and frightened nation …

When somebody asks you, sir, about your gallant, noble, self-abnegating sacrifice of your golf game so as to soothe the families of the war dead.

This advice, Mr. Bush: Shut the hell up!

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Upcoming projects

Here's my to-do list currently:

(while in Lyon)

1) untitled Jacques-Yves Cousteau piece (in collaboration with Julie-Elise Olinde)























2) dérangement/ouragan (hurricane piece I let fall by the wayside)






















(upon my return to the States)

3) Untitled Record Album No. 1 (music tbd -- Mark, I want to talk to you about this)
















4) assistant director gigs pronto

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

This is fucking hot:


This is even hotter:



This is the hottest fucking photo I've ever seen:



Mmmmm.........Annie Leibowitz.



Fallout

After all, tomorrow is another day.


I now leave for Lyon in 4 and a half weeks, or 34 days. I will be gone June 2 through July 30. Wow. That's a long time. I haven't been that far "from home" for that long since I moved to NYC from Baton Rouge. I am so entirely excited.


In the meantime: fallout. That horrible sinking non-feeling state of uselessness and empty immediacy after the end of a major project, which strikes no later than two or three hours after the show. Literally, hours. A slow withdrawal from those around you. An incapacity to partake in celebration, save for your small internal celebration, which mainly is a stepping back to look at friends and events that are not, could not have been, and will not be, and finding oneself mildly content to have that knowledge, if not with the knowledge itself. And a thankfulness for that which actually is -- a thankfulness that that "is" is enough, that that "is" is all there is, and what a joy.


A deep and personal exhaustion lacking clean clothes and cash, and it raining all day.


Then a slow return. A slow, hard slog of self- and general acquittal that makes new work possible, then new day inevitable, and the new moment excruciating and beautiful and really, awfully new. Did I earn it? Does it matter? It doesn't stop. Time may stop for no man, but time does stop for art. But not for long.


This infuriates me: Dumb As We Wanna Be.


It isn't earned. It is deserved, but we continue to aspire toward earning.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

just confused

I have so much going on in my life. I've been trying to sit back and sort of work some sort of life plan, or at least some sort of in-the-near-future-of-my-life plan. Things are lining up, just hopefully the dominoes will all fall into place. It's a lot to think about while being so crazy busy.

One forgets how exhausting and only mildly fulfilling food service can be. I don't like my new job but I think that's mostly because I don't like working in general. That sounds ridiculous.

I am so incredibly tired of this political "season." Is it a season? Should it be? If it's a season, like a TV season or a sports season, why is it about three times as long by now?

I am tired of everything being so expensive. I am tired of not being able to find a plane ticket to Paris for less than $1000. Used to be you could find an el cheapo one for at least $800. But with oil at $115 a barrel...

I can only wait in restless anticipation for what is promised to be a life-changing summer. And two whole months with my Jules. If only we could schedule a good two months to commit to one friend all the time, that would be lovely. When is my heart moving here?

I leave at the beginning of June. Maybe you'll see me again in the states, maybe not. Depends on who wins this election...

Please come see my play, and say real and true things about it to me.


The young poet Evmenis
complained one day to Theocritos:
"I've been writing for two years now
and I've composed only one idyll.
It's my single completed work.
I see, sadly, that the ladder
of Poetry is tall, extremely tall;
and from this first step I'm standing on now
I'll never climb any higher."
Theocritos retorted: "Words like that
are improper, blasphemous.
Just to be on the first step
should make you happy and proud.
To have reached this point is no small achievement:
what you've done already is a wonderful thing.
Even this first step
is a long way above the ordinary world.
To stand on this step
you must be in your own right
a member of the city of ideas.
And it's a hard, unusual thing
to be enrolled as a citizen of that city.
Its councils are full of Legislators
no charlatan can fool.
To have reached this point is no small achievement:
what you've done already is a wonderful thing."

("The First Step," by C. P. Cavafy)

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Yay!




TO ONE AND TO ALL:

YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO MY VERY FIRST PRODUCTION IN NYC!

This promises to be a truly unique event, and I and my collaborators really hope you can attend. Drinks will be prepared and served onstage -- so there's at least some entertainment value guaranteed!

I HOPE TO SEE YOU THERE!

Thanks and all best,

Gordon Walker


MacB@McK

a Macbeth event

after Shakespeare's Scottish play

with Alex Beck, Chris Cornwell, Justin Goodemoot,

Laura Harrison, Zach Harvey, Mark Jaynes,

Tom Kelly, Daniel LeBlanc, and Seth Miller

fights by Alex Sovronsky

directed by Gordon Walker

produced by Mia Katigbak

255 McKIBBIN STREET #202

BROOKLYN

Brooklyn-bound L to Montrose Ave


FRIDAY, APRIL 25 and SATURDAY, APRIL 26

8:00 PM (Drinks @ 7:30)

Drinks prepared and served ONSTAGE!

Party to follow!


Admission:

A bottle of something,

a six-pack of something,

or $5

(or all of the above)


For more info:

gordonewalker@gmail.com

or (225) 571-9179



WE BETTER SEE YOU THERE!



Friday, March 28, 2008

Directing, or I feel like I don't know how to

Refer to title of post.

Also, in desperate need of some kind of stage manager. I can't deal with myriad scheduling issues all on my own, I'm already nuts.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Back to New York

And thank God. I really enjoyed seeing great friends in/and good theatre, but Chi-town is not the town for me.

TONIGHT

commence rehearsals for Macbeth.

Starring:

Well, we're not entirely sure yet, are we? Stay posted.

But the important part is:




FRIDAY AND SATURDAY, APRIL 25 AND 26
10:00 PM
255 McKIBBIN ST in BROOKLYN










Please come!

Friday, March 14, 2008

I don't know what this means, but fuck

25% of Hillary supporters would vote for McCain if Obama gets the nomination. Way to go, Hillary.

(Can't get the link to work, go here:)
http://www.americablog.com/2008/03/25-of-hillary-supporters-would-vote-for.html

excerpt:

A recent PEW poll shows that 10% of Democrats who support Obama would defect and vote for McCain should Hillary become the candidate. But, a whopping 25% of Democrats who support Hillary would defect and vote for McCain should Obama become the candidate.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Just do it

Why is the default mechanism simply to resign?

Now Governor Spitzer is indeed under criminal investigation, so that's appropriate ultimately.

But Geraldine Ferraro? Because she made some ur-racist comments that "may" "inject" race into the Presidential campaign?

And even back to Don Imus, with his "slur" against the Rutgers (right?) women basketball players and Isaiah Washington's "faggot" blech on Grey's Anatomy.

Does it not occur to anyone that there are indeed people out there who feel hatefully toward others? What, precisely, does resigning accomplish?

This whole witch hunt mindset started with Clinton's stupendously, sublimely ridiculous almost-impeachment over a technicality surrounding an embarrassing discussion about Monica Lewinsky -- a highly private indiscretion that did not hamper his ability to govern (except to further enrage his opponents) but provided fodder for people to demand super-morals from their elected officials.

This is identity politics smearing and fear and loathing of non-Christian sexuality.

WHAT??

This is people (mostly) butting into to other people's business. Get the fuck out of my life, wiretapping and 24 hour cable news networks.


Ugh, none of that probably makes entire sense. Does anybody else feel me on this? Discuss. Maybe I'll articulate myself better in discussion.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Things I find interesting today

This: Fake Memoirs via Parabasis (a very enjoyable blog)

Are fake memoirs the literary equivalent of reality TV? Why are we upset to find a memoir has been fictionalized, to whatever degree, while editing to create drama on otherwise "reality" shows is par for the course? Is it the more select, dare I say rarefied, circle of serious readers in this country? But people only seem to get upset when it's something huge and nasty a la Oprah + James Frey's Reese pieces. I mean, A Thousand Little Pieces. Of crap.

This: Florida's "Theory of..." via the New York Times

Are we seriously still having this "debate?"

"...last year when a committee appointed by the State Department of Education drafted a new set of science standards that, for the first time, actually used the word evolution and called it a fundamental concept underlying all of biology." How does one begin to teach biology without evolution? How does one teach how things are interrelated? If everything on this earth were equally and separately (and "intelligently") "designed", then what is the study of biology? Just looking at shit? That'd be like teaching numbers in math class but never getting around to actual algebra. Or teaching nouns without verbs. Jesus H. Christ. This is why all of Western Europe and most of the rest of the First World laugh at us. Out loud.

Ugh, I searched for a while for this perceptive letter written to the Times a few months ago about Western Europe felt toward the U.S., but I can't find it. The gist was...well, you probably get the gist.

I am so proud sometimes to speak English. English is the language of perhaps the greatest poet in post-classical history, Mr. Shakespeare. However, English has also given us "nucular." There's a large part of me that longs for a space that utilizes language not only correctly but with a certain verve and confidence that only a deep love for one's native speech allows. And, for the most part, we don't have that here in America. At least, it seems to me.

In French, when you refer to your "native language," the phrase is actually langue maternelle. Ie: your mother language. That's beautiful.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Today has been fun/but they don't want you to have any real fun, bitches!

I have been enjoying myself today at the Public. I feel helpful. I am the only person so far who has reported on Macbeth (the Goold). I kind of hate being that person; it feels like, Who am I to deliver such an aria about this acclaimed production? I'm 23 and an asshole. (And I'm directing the play right now anyway.)

Boy, is Hillary a comeback kid? Or pathetic? I'm all for her, but I can't decide. Frankly, the only truly, undeniably good thing to come out of yesterday's victories for her was the continuation of this excruciatingly prolonged decision process for the Democratic nominee to allow even more voters a say in said process. It's nice for the Dems at least to stay involved and have opinions on one or the other, versus the Reps who are now stuck with McCain, whether they like it or not. I am secretly hoping that James Dobson et al in Colorado attempt to run a third party ticket for the evangelical freak show. And you know, the only reason they have made such a goddamn fuss half time is that they actually bought the whole sham that they are the base of the Republican party, and the brass at the top actually care. They don't. The evangelicals running a third party candidate has nothing to do with the supposed deficiencies of John McCain (in their eyes) so much as it is a pathetic attempt to assert a central role in the sociopolitical life of this country, which they believe they occupy. They don't, not entirely; the American people as a whole, I believe (and desperately hope), have too much common sense, compassion, and frank suspicion to endure any too-prolonged wrath. Plus the evangelicals ban a lot of the shit that we love so much: booze, porn, a lot of music, dancing, gays, pot, porn, sex of any kind really (they're obsessed with regulating your orgasm), and booze. And if there's anything I need in my life, it's a pair of fingernail clippers.

(Forgive the complete non sequitur nature of this post.)

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Passing Strange and Feeling Stupid

Salut tout le monde.

Thursday night I was able to attend the opening night of Passing Strange on Broadway.  I also got to bring Katie East and Zach Harvey (cue freak-out).

It was, in its way, practically a religious experience.  And I don't have those all too often.  It is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

-----


Monday night I attended a screening at Joe's Pub at the Public of a new documentary film called Theater of War about Brecht and the Public's production of Mother Courage and Her Children in 2006, translated by Tony Kushner and with new songs by Jeanine Tesori.  And Meryl, of course.

Now, one complaint:  Meryl wasn't there.  And she was supposed to be.

But, the film was very interesting, very compelling.  The archival material and research that this filmmaker accomplished was astonishing.

Which leads me to...

Feeling Stupid

More and more often these days, I feel stupid.  Uninformed.  Uneducated.  Uninterested?

I feel like I have a thin little layer of knowledge over a large breadth of the world, but hardly any depth.

All these discussions in the film of Brecht and Marx and whomever else, and I "only" "just" "kind of" know.


The fault lies mainly with me, but does anyone else feel fairly disabused by our education system?  I feel failed.

But, of course, why here in the states would we need to know about Marx?  It's not necessary in our paradise.

I feel more and more everyday that we live in a police state.

(Watching Dr. Strangelove doesn't help these sorts of feelings...)

I feel more and more everyday that we live in a police state, so I'm off to apply for my passport.  Lyon 08!  I think from then I will purchase a bicycle and start riding, and see y'all later.

-----

But before then, an exciting production of Macbeth.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Macbeth

So I'm trying to respond to Rupert Goold's Macbeth starring Patrick Stewart. I write that very purposefully, because I think in part some disappointment comes from the fact that it was Rupert Goold's Macbeth starring Patrick Stewart. When I think we were expecting (and had been told as much by the press and by BAM) Patrick Stewart's Macbeth directed by Rupert Goold. This production could have starred anyone. What's puzzling to me is why Mr. Goold chose Patrick Stewart to play Macbeth, and why Mr. Stewart accepted.

A lot has been said about Mr. Goold's "concepts." I, for one, don't mind concepts, director's theatre, what have you. The antipathy against it in this country is baffling to me. But my entire desire to direct is to avoid the stage -- I don't have to do it, only the actors do. In that vein, concepts are fine -- as long as they excite and engage the actor, because that has to happen before the actors can do as much for the audience.

In this case, I felt that some of the conceptual flourishes didn't exactly work (ie: the now-it's-here, now-it-isn't cabaret; the quasi-Eastern/Eurasian anthem). But I think overall the concept was, if not entirely novel or fulfilling, tremendously exciting. And I think, at a certain point, the actors were excited by it as well. But at some point, the air got let out of the bag.

All through the first act, I felt engaged -- but by potential, not by the real. By the second act, it was clear that potential was not to be realized that evening. Almost all of the cast, from Mr. Stewart down (as is often the danger of being "led" by a star) seemed exhausted.

But to whom can we attribute the "bloodless, lifeless, listless" nature (per Mia) of the performance? A clever director? A puzzled cast? A bad director? A bad cast? Did something suffer in the transfer from Britain, just in the lag of time?

To me there were three major issues that crippled this Macbeth, none of which can be easily parsed out to actor, director, designer, playwright (ha!), whomever:

1) Length and pacing

Macbeth is Shakespeare's shortest, and probably fastest, play. No one ever needs a three hour Macbeth -- at least not a relatively traditional presentation of the script. Cut that motherfucker up.

I didn't mind some of the re-arranging. I didn't mind some of the little cuts here and there, except when they seemed made to "clarify" -- ie: the king Duncan says, "From hence to Inverness, and bind us further to you" before he accompanies Macbeth back to his home. In this production, Duncan says, "From hence to Glamis, and bind us further to you." Perhaps this underlines that Mackers is the thane of Glamis for the dim ones out there who didn't pick up on it.

But it doesn't work -- Macbeth has only been thane of Glamis for a few short hours, or days (since a comrade's death in battle) -- "By Sinel's [the previous thane of Glamis] death I know I am thane of Glamis/but how of Cawdor?" he asks the witches. He would not reside in Glamis either ever or at least not so soon after having such an honor conferred.

Don't underestimate your audience. But don't bore them either. Illuminate. Accomplish that and "clarification" won't be necessary.

The pacing of the second half was especially deadly -- and not in a good way. You could have commandeered the fucking Titanic through some of their pauses. Granted the last scene of the fourth act (Malcolm and Macduff) all the way through the end of the play is not easy to pace, especially those last battle scenes constantly cutting between the good guys and the bad guysssssssssss -- no, it should be guy. Only Mackers, we need to see his isolation. Even Seyton shouldn't be thrilled about this turn of events, but once Lady M is dead, needs to try and get the fuck out of there. But this Seyton, who also urinated (literally) all over the excruciating and excruciatingly unnecessary Porter scene, seemed straight from hell and more bent on victory than our tragic hero himself.

All told, the life was sucked out by strange (sometimes deliberately so) pacing and by complete allegiance to the mostly complete text. I don't know if it's the American in me, but I don't need (or want) all of it. Let's hit the highlights in the here and now, and parse out the text in class, thank you.

2) The concept as concept

I have no problems with concepts. To me, a concept is merely an attitude taken toward the play, extended however much one pleases. Talk of concepts/styles/whatever as "getting in the way of the play" infuriates me, as does talk of how a play works on its own, let it come from the script, etc. That's all well and good, but that's STILL a concept. Not to mention, for the overwhelming majority of plays, it leads to sucky theatre. Not sucky plays, but sucky fuck-ass theatre. The two are quite different.

In Macbeth, however, there seemed to be the idea of the concept...as concept. What was it particularly about Stalinist Russia and slasher films? I do hate hate hate moving things to different time periods and trying to draw complete and useless parallels; that to me is not particularly interesting, or "relevant." Whatever relevance occurs to an audience member happens because there are human beings onstage. I go much more for the expressionist, stripped down, essentials look -- in that kind of BAM Harvey Theater situation. In our current Mackers, it's about exploiting the space. I didn't feel their set exploited the space.

In this case, the Russian re-orientation was an interesting starting point that wasn't well-articulated. I thought it was going to sort of decorate an ultimately stripped-down point of view, but no universality shown through. To me the video was an obstacle, using photo and film footage to dictate absolutely the re-setting, instead of letting what was already onstage spin out into our imaginations.

I don't know if the actors didn't "get" the concept, if they didn't like it, if the director didn't communicate it well enough, but it seemed to me there was a real disconnect between the actors and their performances with the physicalized concept of the production. That disconnect was not interesting (as it can sometimes be). At any rate, the concept failed to engage the cast first, and if they're not engaged fully, we won't be. In this case, the concept was the "concept" -- it didn't mask the text, per se, but it led to this jarring discord between the actors, the text, the production, etc., that didn't coalesce into any sort of fulfilling event. It neither disappointed nor surprised my expectations: it underwhelmed.

3) Wrack

There was a lack of wrack in this production.

Blow, wind! Come, wrack!
At least we'll die with harness on our back!

There was no invitation to the sheer destructive force of specified theatre. There was no sense of "bring it on, motherfuckers!" There was no recognition of the insurmountability of the text, and the great disturbed heart at its center.

This Macbeth was accomplishable, scaleable, doable, and only marginally exciting. As Mia pointed out, Mr. Stewart was playing the ending from the beginning. There was no thrust, no jump off the cliff, no "we're all in this together, so 'come, wrack'!"

Mia: "The Emperor's New Clothes...I mean Macbeth, is moving to Broadway. So six weeks worth of Lyceum audiences can congratulate themselves for being so cultured." Exactly. The production lacked danger; did not strike; refused the audacity that the play itself offers to its cast and crew to ask its audience some inscrutable, nasty questions. It was one of the more scrutable, explainable, and polite Macbeths I've known.

And in the chance circumstances where one couldn't explain -- after the second time P-Stew crumpled a cigarette, the man behind me threw up his hands and said, rather loudly, "Well, I don't know what that's supposed to symbolize!" -- one really didn't care, because nothing offended or arrested you deeply enough to question it. And if there's any one play to question, it's the play that points a finger at the audience and says, watch what one man can do -- and for two hours (preferably), you are unable to stop him.

------

For an extraordinary giving and fulfilling alternative, please see Passing Strange at the Belasco Theater (believe it or not) on West 44 Street at 6 Avenue. And tell everyone you know to do so as well.

When I think of more, I'll try to re-phrase more clearly. All best --

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

..., or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bard

For everyone's benefit, from our producer Mia:

"The Emperor's New Clothes"...

...I mean Macbeth, is moving to Broadway. So six weeks worth of Lyceum audiences can congratulate themselves for being so cultured.
For all of Goold's referencing Stalin and horror movies, this was bloodless, lifeless, listless. Unfortunate in a play that is about high passion, a play usually associated with the destructive seductiveness of ambition and power. They had an opportunity for a plausible new take. An older Macbeth, whose ambition could be said to be in a state of constant languish because of: 1) an inability to put himself on the line, politically; 2) a resistance to intellectual strategy - he does better with strategic warfare; 3) provinciality; 4) lack of imagination; 5) childlessness - no heirs to bequeath a kingddom to and he's too old to make babies; 6) he's too old. Then Lady M has reasons: 1) she's bored; 2) many opportunities for greatness, all passed up, and she's not gonna let another one go to waste; 3) something's not adding up: hubby is heralded warrior, great in bed, but flaccid when it comes to self-advancement/self-improvement. OR he's a great warrior, a poor lover, and her saying he is manly in bed is just stroking -- she'll crown whichever of his heads she can; 4) she really cares for him and wants the best for him and she'll get it for him because he can't do it for himself because he's too old; 5) she can't cope with the age thing and she's off her meds.
I do think Stewart was having an off night, but man, this was how I was taught NOT to do Shakespeare. So internal with hyper-articulated, sung speech. Shakespeare's characters are smart, think fast on their feet, and have a facility with language. Even the not so smart ones are at least witty or funny in their slowness. All those elongated syllables made me think they didn't know what to say next. When every single word is special, none of them are. Key words, key words, key words, puh-leeeeze!
I couldn't decipher anything resembling the messy things that make human beings so interesting (especially as rendered so expertly by Shakespeare): conflict (internal and external, but always active), a range of emotion, contradiction, fallibility (moral and physical), to name a few.
Stewart played "I bear a charmed life, which must not yield,/To one of woman born" from the get-go. So nowhere to go. Anyway, he seemed to have just phoned it in.
So, all this rant (believe me, it is but a small percentage of my real rant and I'm not subjecting the rest of the Mackers who didn't see the show to it) because of the upcoming work on MacB@McK. The basement, that elevator, the projections, the scene with the intercom, the train, the torture scene -- all became just so many effects and gimmicks, finally tiresome at best and infuriating at worst, because no compelling, grounded thing held them together. Gordon, it's what I meant when I talked about having a really beautiful, but sturdy container for your ideas. The integrity of that container is key, because until you know what it is, you won't know what to put in it.
Over and out. For now.
Mia


---------------------------------------------

I'm still not sure how I feel about P-Stew. The main thing was, it was never mine. It was always theirs.

What's most upsetting is that, in ENgland, everyone goes, of even if I didn't love it, we'll have another major production probably next year, or the next. Whereas here there's always the drive to make things definitive. That's deadly. I don't want our Macbeth to be definitive. I want it to be specific. I want simultaneously for ours to stick with you, but always allow for room for any and other Macbeth ever you may ever see.

The actors weren't all behind Mr. Goold (the director). They let the air out of a lot of it, starting with Mr. Stewart. I don't know if that's anyone's fault. My theory is, here's my idea, but if it doesn't work for you the actor, let's find something that does. It has to be the actor's, ultimately, or it will never get to the audience.

I don't feel entirely as Mia did, but I'm still working that out. Will get back to y'all.