|
Is theater still --could it still be, today -- a catalyst for social change? To consider this question, indulge, if you will, in the following idyll ... Suppose Karl Rove was in our fair city, the city of New York, on business, and had a couple of hours to kill between meetings on the New World Order. Suppose he was seduced by the beauty of the day -- a peerless day in late September, a day just like September 11 -- clear blue skies, bright clear sunshine. Suppose he found himself teased by an unusual desire: to walk the streets of the great Empire city as an anonymous citizen-free and independent. Suppose he told his bodyguards to take a hike, put on a pair of dark sunglasses and . . . found himself strolling in Washington Square park on a Sunday afternoon, amidst the students and skateboarders, parents and children, neighborhood people and tourists. Strolling in this way, he might have stopped to observe . . . a troupe of actors setting up. A stage has been built -- a raised platform with a makeshift backdrop -- and actors are getting into their costumes and preparing props behind the stage. Rove might have paused for a moment to watch, as the company, a varied group of young and old, black, white, Latino, Asian, gathered at the foot of the makeshift steps leading up to the stage. A powerful-looking yet lithe African-American actor mounts the steps and then turns to his fellow actors. In a booming voice, he addresses them affectionately, refers to the all the hard work they have put in over the long, hot summer months, performing in neighborhoods all over the city. He exhorts them to gather their energy together one last time to perform with vigor and conviction. Perhaps it was just weariness creeping in from his demanding schedule, or the bright sun reflected off his dark glasses, or children's cries of delight as they played in the open air. In any case, Karl Rove might have found himself slightly . . . touched by the . . . naiveté of the scene. He thinks -- this might actually be entertaining --and decides to stay on and watch the show. He moves to the front of the stage where the public is now gathered. Directly in front, people are sitting on the ground. To one side, a five-piece band has set up. Other members of the public stand to the rear. Rove would have taken up a spot towards the rear, among the standing public, where he could at once observe and remain anonymous. Undoubtedly, and out of habit, he would have cast a practiced eye over the crowd of about 100 people (nothing to worry about here). The band begins to play, a jazzy introduction. The actors spring onto the stage and break into a spirited choreographed dance. And the play begins. It's a fairly innocuous story, at least in the beginning.
oh
oh oh if I could tell you what I feel inside Normal life, normal growing up, normal "neighborhood values" all cheerfully recorded by a character who introduces himself to the audience as the local videographer. ******* Then events suddenly take a different turn. A recruiting officer shows up in the neighborhood and accosts one of the boys. As the boy explains, his whole family is army -- father, uncle, brother -- of which fact he is quite proud. So, having nothing else particular in mind to do, he signs up. Another kid gets hit with a bum rap: the neighborhood junkie throws his stash at the boy's feet during a shakedown on the street, and the boy appears before the judge. He is given a choice: serving time, or serving his country. The third kid signs up because he wants to go to college and his family can't afford it. The makeshift backdrop -- or crankie -- rolls behind them, and the scenery shifts from a neighborhood in urban America to a street in Iraq. The three boys are now soldiers in khaki carrying submachine guns, on patrol. By now, Rove's antenna is picking up strong signals. He's watching very keenly now, as a professional. Nothing sentimental about it. And, in spite of himself (as if he can't see exactly where this is going), he is possessed of a strange desire to see just where this is going. And how the crowd reacts. He watches further. The backdrop keeps unwinding behind the boys as they traverse the stage in cardboard humvee. A crowd of women in headscarves and a man in Arab dress run out and beseech them to stop in Arabic, but the boys understand only English and call soldiers to drag the people out of the convoy's way. Center stage, an explosion -- smoke pours out of the humvee, now broken in two, and a dummy is thrown to the ground. The two young men rush to the body, only to see the ghost of their friend rise up. "What
should we do?" Two young men --and the ghost of the third -- return from the war in Iraq, only to find all is not well in the "homeland" either. Social insecurity is rampant. The population is stressed and distressed. Prices are spiraling out of control. People are squeezed. The Rent Board sympathizes with the landlords (well, they have their own rising costs, and you can't expect them to maintain their buildings for nothing) -- and turn deaf ears to the people's cries for relief. They must simply work harder and longer to cover the cost of a roof over their heads, or move somewhere else. Health care is increasingly beyond their grasp. Students cannot afford even a public higher education. And the veterans themselves begin to suffer the effects of the depleted uranium that they belatedly understand they have been exposed to -- toting it around in the bullets they loaded their guns with, riding in it in their tanks. Everyone winds up together on a packed subway car that passes all stops at full speed precipitating a panicked cry from the crowd: Where
is this train taking us? The set explodes again but this time we have arrived at the Bling Bling Bros. Circus and it's in full swing. George W. in a lion suit jumps through hoops at the firm commands from a very poised Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice in a tiger bodysuit, while Dick Cheney is the ringmaster who cracks the whip and exhorts the crowd. Karl Rove is probably looking at his watch by now and thinking he should be getting back. His people are probably wondering where he is. Rove is gratified to see that the denouement is short and harmless: the final scene has a distressed and overwhelmed George W. taking refuge from the confusing complexities of the world and all the trouble he has caused, doing penance and actually enjoying himself as a helper in a community garden ... ... and the ghost of the fallen soldier is appeased ... ... and the band plays a last snappy number. The actors invite the audience to come up on stage and dance. People applaud and some start to drift away. Others hang around talking to each other, or waiting to congratulate actors they know. The tech people come out and start deconstructing the set and hauling it into a nearby truck. The show is over, and Karl Rove might permit himself a small silent laugh (no major threat here). All
the same (out of habit) he'd probably mentally run the stats on this
kind of operation: calculate how many people had attended, wonder how
many times the show was performed and in what neighborhoods (well
that wasn't hard to guess), wonder out of professional curiosity
-- who's funding this shit??? Then, perhaps, an idle, slightly entertaining idea occurs to him: why couldn't we do something like this? Get together a group -- hell, several groups, have one of the creative boys come up with a script, teach 'em all the same show -- and send em out around the country. Might be cost-effective: they could play not just in cities but in shopping malls, school auditoriums, at company picnics and in mess halls all throughout the "heartland. " Bright, attractive young people -- strong, square-jawed young men with their muscles rippling beneath their "casual" t-shirts, pretty, hot girls (in a Christian way, of course) with their chests discreetly covered -- singing and dancing, with a clean, wholesome, upbeat message. Makes people feel good, theater does, gives them a break in their weary lives, makes them perform better when they go back to their jobs, their duties, their otherwise culturally-starved lives. ******* But what would your play be about, Mr. Rove? Would you show the happy Christian boys and girls of the culturally-starved homeland passionately giving their all for Christ and country? Would you give us the confused dead-end kids given high-tech, old-time snake oil pitches to join the National Guard and get the chance of a lifetime to play "heroes" just like in the movies they've been raised on? How different is that really from the terrorists' pitch to potential suicide bombers: 199 virgins after death, honor, and a modest payment to your family. Talk about cost-effective: Mr. Rove, you've got to give the other side credit for that!) Of course you do know very well the cost-effectiveness of guerilla theater, the absolutely extraordinary returns you can get for an operation with a very low overhead. Like paying for the plane tickets for a crowd of the most reliable aides of the most reliable right-wing Congressmen. Fly 'em down to Florida to play a righteous crowd of outraged citizens demanding an end to the "unreasonable" recount of the highly-contested 2000 Presidential election inside the Miami Dade County building. And in that crowd, caught on video footage, will later be found none other than that hack actor-team player-Republican-synchopant-smart-ass-lawyer John Roberts, who, thanks to that bit of theater in Florida five years ago, now wears the mantle of the Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court. Guerrilla theater-cost effective? Kudos to that brilliant director -- Karl Rove. *******
Field, TNC's co-founder and Artistic Director, began writing street theater pieces in 1968, and the years of experience in the trenches shine through in this summer's production. Not only can she artfully lead a crowd to theater and make them think, she also does what it takes --day in and day out -- to keep a community theater alive in an age of dwindling support for the arts. Field does a turn onstage herself, in the role of a gadfly reporter who wants her questions answered, and winds up in a cage in the Rovian circus. The rollicking ensemble is led by TNC top actors Craig Meade, Alex Bartenieff, and Primy Rivera, but it is the cast of young actors who steal the show. This is largely a tribute to many of TNC's resident actors and directors, who spend weeks in rehearsal, giving the volunteers professional actors' training. The set (Mary Blanchard and Walter Gurbo) -- with TNC's trademark inventive primitive technology -- gives the audience the delight of appreciating simple stagecraft. Composer Joseph Vernon Banks has written a score that alternately accompanies, drives, and comments on the action. Musicians Gary Newton on guitar, Phil Smith on bass, Satish on trumpet, Michael Grayson on drums and Banks himself on piano, carry it off with wit and verve. A particularly disarming moment in the play occurs when the videographer (Mark Marcante, Production Director and critical member of TNC's critical mass) does a softshoe song and dance with Michael David Gordon. In a number reminiscent of Cole Porter's duet for two gangsters ("Brush up Your Shakespeare"), the two hoofers recommend the audience to "trust your artists-only they will tell you the truth." Is theater still -- could it still be, today -- a catalyst for social change? This is surely the only issue Rove and TNC could agree on wholeheartedly. To check out images of John Roberts performing in the mob scene in Dade County, Florida 2000, go to What Did Roberts Do in Florida? You decide. "Social
Insecurity" Copyright © 2005 by theater2k.com. All rights reserved. |
