Mike Daisey's "Journalism"

Ladies and gentlemen, Mike Daisey!

Last year I missed Mike Daisey’s The Agony and Ecstasy of Steve Jobs when it was playing at the Public. Being a storyteller myself, I was excited to see a master at work, but at the last moment I decided to skip the two hour train ride into Manhattan and instead work on my M.F.A. thesis, which was due in a month.

And then I lost track of him until a week ago when a friend posted on Facebook “Hey, who wants to go see Mike Daisey’s new show Journalism!” I practically leaped out of my chair, right arm thrust in the air with my left arm contorted over my head to support it and squealed “Me me me!”

Ladies and gentlemen, Waylon Lenk!

The next day I read an interview with Daisey in the  Willamette Week, from which I gleaned two important observations. First, he had been mired in scandal since it came out quite publicly that he had fabricated several events in his Agony/Ecstasy, a piece that had lit a fire under Apple’s belly concerning working conditions in a subcontractor’sChinese factories. Second, I observed that Daisey must have tremendous balls. He quite belligerently tried to focus the interview on how journalists (like the ones who had shamed him) are not objective, even as interviewer Rebecca Jacobson tried to strong-arm him into admitting that fabrication is bad. He got into a flame war in the comments section of a fairly blasé Portland Mercury press release about his new show, which seemed like it was going to stick it to those mean ol’ journalists.

But luck wasn’t on my side Tuesday evening, the night of Journalism’s premiere. I got lost twice on my way to the theater, and arrived late. I snuck into the balcony, and looked down upon Daisey sitting behind a wooden table talking about the Willamette Week interview, trying to set the record straight. It was a bad sign. Or rather two bad signs. First, sitting behind a table for the whole show is a terrible staging choice, especially when that show is based in direct address. It establishes a barrier between you and the audience. Second, it felt lazy, like his battle cry against the journalists who raked him over the coals was written the week before.

That sense of laziness pervaded the entire dramaturgy of the piece. Besides hiding behind a table, Daisey allowed himself to ramble through subjects related to and not related to the field of journalism. I was disappointed. Here’s one of the biggest names in American storytelling with an incredible opportunity to use theater to deconstruct a field and viewpoint that has humiliated him, and all he can bring himself to is rant and ramble. But moments of honesty did manage to slip through, like sunlight through the clouds of insecurity. The most compelling moments in the show were when he allowed himself to show the audience his hurt. But those moments were few and far between. In general, he succumbed to the bravado of “I don’t give a shit what you think of me,” which of course means “I desperately give a shit.” Unfortunately I don’t. I've seen my fair share of storytelling, but I've never seen something this lazy and insincere. I had such high hopes, and I was willing to forgive anything as long as he committed to a choice. But he couldn't seem to decide between battle cry and confession. The result of his indecision was just one big hot mess.

There is a Place in the Throat that Has No Voice 8:0:8

In his new science fiction/fantasy novel, There is a Place in the Throat that Has No Voice 8:0:8, Jacob Young creates a compelling world, but struggles with giving his characters depth. As such, 8:0:8 starts slow and is hard to get into, but once Young settles upon a protagonist, it becomes a real page turner. Following the Compass family through a series of apocalypses, 8:0:8 (and the “puppet” show that Young performed at his book reading at Backspace in Portland) shows a fascination with reaching the spiritual through science. In this way he blends sci-fi and fantasy: the book begins with a Kunstmärchen before becoming sci-fi with (SPOILER ALERT) gladiator robots that run amuck and destroy the world. From there the two genres blend in ways that give the story a fascinating unpredictability that makes up for Young’s thin grasp on character. The mystery of the new species born of science and destruction was enough to keep me plowing through till the end. However, Young doesn’t spend enough time with his first three protagonists to flesh them out and explore what makes them tick beyond telling us point-blank: “Jackal doesn’t like books” or “Nell is a nature writer.” When he does settle upon a protagonist, Young ignores his motivations and the reasons behind the decisions he makes in the interest of fleshing out the world of the story. The world works, but I would like Young to take as much an interest in his characters as he does in his exploration of how spirituality can manifest in our world through science and destruction.

The Big Oh!

Who knew choral music could be sexy? I sure didn’t, and I’m not entirely sure that the Resonance Ensemble, who explores sexuality in classical choral music with their current program The Big Oh!, are convinced that it can be.

They began the evening with an arrangement juxtaposing choral music with 20^th century pop songs, and their third number was Yngve Gamlin’s The Paper Bag Cantata was a heavy handed demonstration of finger-banging and premature ejaculation. By not embracing classical music’s strength in subtlety, the Ensemble belied a sense of inadequacy in their ability to communicate sexuality. While this tendency towards the literal and demonstrative pervaded the program, moments of passion and sensuality did manage to rise to the surface.

A good part of the first half of the evening was devoted to nineteenth century climactic musical structure and how it mimics the male sexual experience. At first it was exciting, but when I realized that’s all there was to it – the music swelled in intensity only to fall off into release, I didn’t need to hear any more. Not that the music itself wasn’t beautiful, but calling my attention to one specific element limited my experience.

After intermission, the program was better for me. Natalie Gunn and Maria Karlin’s duet from Léo Delibes Lakmé felt like sitting in a jasmine scented garden enjoying a lover’s body – never mind that’s what the words said, that’s what the music felt like. Artistic Director Katherine FitzGibbon could stand to learn from this. Sexy doesn’t come from saying “this is sexy” or “these two notes grind together” or from singers making cutesy faces of what they thing sexy looks like. No, sexy is a feeling, and it’s a feeling that works on everyone differently. And that, again may be a weakness of the program. Since a major strength of classical music is its subtlety and its power of suggestion, and everyone finds different things to be sexy, all this program could aspire to be is a selection of music that FitzGibbon finds sexy. Not to say that I couldn’t feel a sense of elation surrounded by the rich harmonies of Edwin London’s Bach Again or appreciate the passionate abandon of Orff’s Carmina Burana, but those were only moments that worked. Unfortunately, the evening as a whole doesn’t.

But if you’re feeling experimental, The Big Oh! is playing again tonight at The Alberta Rose Theatre at 7:00.

The Eternally Present Past

For two nights (last night and tonight) Melanya Helene and Marc Otto are performing their therapeutic play The Eternally Present Past at The Brooklyn Bay on SE Franklin.

This has to be the best play I've seen since I returned to Portland this winter. Most of the plays I've seen, while fun, are ultimately forgettable. They may scratch the surface of profundity, but shy away from something that plumbs the core of the audience’s being in favor of pop culture homage. Helene and Otto are performance-psychologists who use performance to help people heal in the way they relate to others. Eternally Present Past is one step away from a workshop where the participants explore their own explicit and implicit memories. They began evening by inviting us to access a memory of feeling connected and to take note of how that memory effected our bodies. This helped me to reflect on myself and my own memories and state of being throughout the performance, trying to find parallels between myself and the stories they demonstrated on stage with language, music and movement. In fact, my only criticism is that they didn't go far enough in including the audience in their performance. 

People's Republic of Portland

Last night I watched a comedian from a major American metropolis tell amusing anecdotes about our Cascadian paradise. Was I sucking back PBR with my Umpqua ice-cream in a dimly-lit room going on a Portlandia marathon? Of course not! Everyone who’s anyone knows to pair an Old Rasputin with dairy desserts. And I wasn’t watching Portlandia anyways. I put on my second favorite black tie and headed downtown to Lauren Weedman’s People’s Republic of Portland at Portland Center Stage. And no, it wasn’t just a theatrical staging of Fred and Carrie’s TV hit. Those New Yorkers go for sketch comedy, but L.A. Lauren’s show is stand-up/storytelling. And that gal can spin a yarn! She regaled us with her misadventures visiting Portland for the first time. A seasoned solo performer, she kept the audience entranced with her vivid depictions Portland types that we all know and love, or at least know and tolerate. Whereas Fred and Carrie have the luxury of costumes and actual locations, Lauren didn’t need any of those. For the most part, in fact, whenever she tried to stray away from telling the story with just her voice and body and tried to bring in lights and music, the choice felt forced. It disrupted the flow of her narrative and didn’t contribute anything. But the standing ovation she got at the end excuses any misguided theatricality. All told, People’s Republic panders to Portandian egos in the same way as the TV show: we love it when representatives from our big city sisters New York and L.A. come here and tell us how quirky and awesome we are.

Beer McMennamin’s Ruby Ale. It’s a fun Portland beer, and People’s Republic is a fun Portland play.

Tomorrow

Yesterday I went to Tomorrow. But I didn’t drive a DeLorean. No, my Ford Taurus and I went to Action/Adventure’s new play, where we were informed before the show started that we would be seeing Tomorrow today. I might go back and see it later, maybe next week, but I don’t think it will be finished (bet you thought I was going to make the “tomorrow” pun again, didn’t you? No, I know when to stop.) It wasn’t yesterday, that’s for sure. 

Action/Adventure structured their play like the Zager & Evans standard “In the Year 2525” by creating a trope where they would cite a pop culture reference from each decade, 60s through 90s, envisioning the future, and then explore other stories about what the future might be like. However, the drama in Zager & Evans’ story comes from humanity’s increasing depravity in each century. Tomorrow lacks such a build. However, they do touch upon and develop the theme of cultural pessimism about the future. At least, I think they did, but this could just be a narrative that I'm imposing: Tomorrow lacks a clear focus and instead draws together a potpourri of stories, dance and song without anything more precise than “the future” to hold it all together. But this is what I think they were driving at:

Our visions of the future are based in our visions of the past and present. They need to be: the future is unknown, so all we have to go on is what is already familiar. Action/Adventure develops this by citing (past) cultural edifices looking at the future: Zager & Evans, Mad Max, Terminator, Ray Bradbury. But these stories all describe a future where humans have lost control and the only law is violence. When you put two and two together, this shows us that, at least since the 60s, our vision of our past and present is also one in which humanity has no control over its own fate and in the absence of that control are reverting to our default position of rampant violence. The word “apocalypse,” originally the “revelation” to St. John about God’s coming kingdomon earth, now indicates hell on earth. Even positive futures are seen with little hope: “utopia” literally isn’t any place. In fact, the most compelling moment in Tomorrow was when the ensemble juxtaposed “the sun will come out tomorrow” with global warming.

But, just like Action/Adventure started in a good direction with the Zager & Evans structure but didn’t follow through, they hampered the impact of our culture pessimism by preaching (like in church) optimism. While I could have forgiven the structural corruption brought on by a light focus on that pessimism, the force optimism took me out of it. Because of that, I just didn’t buy the story they were telling. The promise without delivery makes this play feel unfinished.

And what beer goes best with Tomorrow?

Well, this one’s a little harder. The easy answer would be Lagunita’s Pale Ale, since that’s what they were selling and that’s what I drank. But what self-respecting dramaturg takes the easy route and shirks research? Not this one, that’s for sure. So, just like Action/Adventure goes back in time for their source material and finds hardly anything but devastation and hopelessness yet inexplicably tries to end on a high note, I’m going go back to vintage beer advertisements and recommend that you grab a couple buds and head on down to 1050 SE Clinton next weekend. Tomorrow is problematic but not without promise. Where there's life, there's hope Bud.

http://vintage-ads.dreamwidth.org/tag/budweiser

The Possessions of La Boîte

This weekend The Reformers open their flagship piece, The Possessions of La Boîte at Zoomtopia on SE Belmont. The only thing I knew about the piece when I parked down the street on a rainy Friday night is what I’d read on The Reformers’ website:

“The Possessions of la boîte is an ensemble devised work taken from actual family letters and group improvisation.”

If that description makes you think of something that would be performed off-off-Broadway by the New York Neo-Futurists or at the Incubator Arts Project then you are in the same boat I was. And you would be just as wrong. Possessions is less a play than it is an orchestral piece, where actors replace the violins, Richard E. Moore’s soundscapes stand the cellos, and the timpani is the click click click of a typewriter.

Conceived by Charmian Creagle and then created by an ensemble of defunkt Theatre alum, Possessions uses Creagle’s old family letters to create a theatrical poem. Everything is subsumed by the mellow, sleepy rhythm of cycling repetitions of tropes from the source material. This rhythm is augmented by the Moore’s tonal moodscape and the gray costumes designed by Kimberly Smay. These legato elements are punctuated by an staccato that threatens to intrude into the meditative qualities of the piece, only to once again be repressed by their twilight grays. They begin small: a sneeze, the snap of a sheet, the rattle of a typewriter. By the end, they have grown into Kubrickian projections by Ben Purdy and Carrie Solomon: rapid-fire montages of found video accompanied by a piercing industrial music. But even these more dramatic intrusions lack the potency to speed or permanently alter the driving legato.

These rhythmic tension provide a kind of drama, but not the kind I was expecting. Possessions works well as a piece of classical music, and I feel that if I’d gone expecting Dvorak instead of Neo-Futurism, I would have gotten a lot more out of the experience.

The Possessions of La Boîte plays Fridays through Sundays at 810 SE Belmont at 8PM. The price is $15.

And, just for fun, let’s try pairing plays with beer:

Black Butte Porter is the perfect beer for Possessions. The rich dark flavor interrupted but not overwhelmed by the prominent hops matches The Reformers’ legatos and staccatos.