Lightbulb Over Head Blog

On Sunday evening I had the opportunity to see the Euripides’ The Bacchae at Shakespeare in the Park. As I entered the open-air theater, I was reminded of the amphitheaters of ancient Greece. The air was sweet and warm and the play-space vast and mysterious, a single plume of mist sprouting from a large crack in the stage, leaving me with a sense of foreboding and mystery.

As I took my seat, I recognized a familiar face. Jonathan Groff (familiar to musical theater fans for his turn in Spring Awakening) was roaming the stage and ritualistically preparing it in the role of Dionysus. He pulled various articles from a large case and placed them about the stage. He also washed an animal’s severed head and mucked about in the shallow pool of water that ringed the front of the stage. Lastly, he dressed himself in jeans, a white shirt and a leather jacket, taking on a sort of a James Dean quality, simultaneously winning and dangerous. His portrayal successfully evoked those facets of the god and was only set off course at times by Philip Glass’ disjointed vocal compositions.

James Conklin’s set was both abstract and reminiscent of ancient Greek theatrical architecture. I felt the history behind his choices, while at the same time the streamlined modern lines of the silver play-space gave the impression that I would see something fresh. I loved the fact that the whole production was set on the top of Semele’s grave, placing importance on the fact that the very godhead of Dionysus was at stake in the telling of this story. There was also a fantastic visual moment where the grave burst into flames at the back of the stage. I wondered if this was necessary, but it did make for a very unusual stage picture.

The most exciting part of the piece for me was David Neumann’s choreography as executed by the chorus of Bacchan women. They traversed the stage in rhythmic punctuation that had the curious ability to seem organic while invoking the original performances of ancient plays wherein the chorus stomped across the stage in large shoes to emphasize the rhythm of the verse lines. Conversely, Neumann punctuated the rhythm of the verse with shapes and changes in tempo of movement rather than relying on the drudgery of stomping. Neumann’s choreography was the heart and soul of this piece and was no less than magical when it came together seamlessly with the design and the text, as in the moment where the women washed themselves in the pool, lit only by dim lights shown through the shallow water.

The costumes, by Kaye Voyce, were at times unexpected, as in the choice of glittering pants for the prophet Teiresias, but always worked with the style of the piece. Her color choices brightened the stage and brought a wild vivacity to the chorus that is not always present in Greek drama.

JoAnne Akalaitis’ direction was hit or miss for me. There were moments where I wasn’t exactly sure what I should be looking at which can be a challenge when it comes to shows with a lot of ensemble members in a large space. Rocco Sisto’s turn as the Messenger at the climax of the production was heart rending and dynamic, but I felt the presence of the women on stage almost overshadowed his brilliant performance. In addition, there were some strange homo-erotic moments framed very prominently between Jonathan Groff as Dionysus and Pentheus, played by Anthony Mackie. I wasn’t sure that these were supported by the script which is why they stuck out to me as an imposed choice made by the director. Perhaps it was an attempt at showing that Dionysus’ enchantment was taking hold of the King of Thebes? In any case, I wasn’t clear as to the purpose of these moments.

This brings me to a problem I have always had with this play. How are the Bacchan women both there in the palace of Thebes and out in the hills with Dionysus simultaneously? It just doesn’t make sense, especially when used so loosely in the case of this production. Akalaitis often placed them in beautiful shapes around the stage, but I sometimes wished that the principle actors could have had more focus. I admit that some of these issues stem from the script itself rather than the direction of the piece, but I almost felt that the director ignored them rather than contending with them, leaving her audience at a loss.

People don’t go to a Greek drama for a wild ride, so to complain about the pace of the show would be poor form. However, I felt that the end of the show was a bit lackluster. I enjoyed the performance of George Bartenieff as Cadmus in his charmingly befuddled scene with Teiresias, played expressively by Andre de Shields, but the end of the play took a leaden pace and dragged his work down. Joan Macintosh’s Agave was a bit wooden for my tastes. Agave is a character that has to win over the audience in seconds with the tragedy of her mad plight. Not a moment can be spared with a lack of specificity. With this portrayal of Agave, I found I didn’t feel anything, despite the fact that she was dripping with gore and holding a semi-life like rendition of her son’s severed head.

This brings me to another pet peeve of mine. When you cannot actually show something on stage in an extremely realistic light, as in sex, murder, or death, it is best to abstract it. I found myself assessing the poorly rendered dead body of Pentheus instead of paying attention to the acting. If it had been abstracted, I would have at least been thinking about the artistry of the actor’s relationship to a choreographed and designed moment rather than the fact that I didn’t believe the realism of the fake body on stage.

As for Phillip Glass’ score and vocal compositions, I found them well performed with little substance. The performers blended well and shifted dynamically as one but to what purpose? I found it strange to be at such odds with Glass’ music because I love his movie scores. The Hours and The Truman Show would not be the same without his pulsing, persistent musical scores. Here, Glass was so amelodic that I sometimes lost the direction of the spoken lines and became a bit confused as to what was being said by the chorus. If it hadn’t been for Neumann’s choreography, I might have been lost altogether.

Although it had it’s problems, Shakespeare in the Park’s The Bacchae was a very visually gripping rendition of a difficult Greek drama. The show runs until August 30th. For more information on this production see: http://www.publictheater.org/

It has been a long time since I last felt patriotic. The sound of “Proud to be an American” makes my skin crawl and decidedly ashamed to be an American.

That feeling of my stomach turning is so far from the joy I got from marching in the Memorial Day Parade in Chicago as a child. I would innocently dress up my pink, purple, and white tricycle with red, white, and blue streamers. I remember my mom and dad twisting the small silver wires to make a white dove with real feathers bought from some arts and craft store roost beneath my seat. It was truly a glorious vehicle to behold.

We would march, ride, rollerblade, and walk through the city with drums rat-a-tat-tatting all the way the way to the park. They thundered so loudly in your heart and when you closed your mouth, you could feel the sonic vibrations in your teeth. Additionally, I remember these colorful packs of jelly candies that they gave out every year when we got to our final destination in the park. They did acrobatics and someone important gave a speech. That was always the boring bit as a child, but I was way too busy eating my jelly candy and giggling with my friends from the neighborhood to care much.

I also have fond memories of going to Connecticut in the summertime to celebrate 4th of July with my father’s side of the family. Our current patriarch, my dad’s oldest brother Jack, invited every member of our clan to his house for the weekend and we would set up a volley ball net and I would swing on the swing that hung from the massive branch of the  giant oak tree out front. There was also a fish pond in the backyard and a big log that I would climb across and pretend that it was the gateway to another world. We would cook burgers and laugh and when the evening settled down, we would all watch a classic movie like Sunset Boulevard or Psycho. It was a time to feel the love of family and reunite and refresh. It almost felt like New Year’s Eve in the sense that I sort of measured my childhood years by the arrival of the 4th of July.

As I grew older, these small acts of patriotism faded. I grew out of my tricycle. The Connecticut house burned down. I began going to summer camp in North Carolina and I simply began to loath family dinner parties and the baggage of having that one evening to give people information and updates on my life by which they could measure my progress from the previous Thanksgiving or whenever we had spoken last. I enjoyed seeing people of course, but I always felt tremendous pressure. As an actress, I wanted to make my parents proud of what I was doing or I wanted to be seen as successful in an industry that is “hard” if not impossible.

My innocent idolatry of the red, white, and blue became like some distant memory.

The closest I came to patriotism was watching Independence Day when Bill Pullman gave the big speech before the epic battle with the Alien race that wants to take over Earth.

In that movie as a whole and especially during that speech, there is a collective sense of community and duty in the face of death. It connects American independence with the rest of the globe. I think I was attracted to it because as I was growing up, I really felt like America was an island. I was very blessed to be able to travel around the world to Italy, France, the United Kingdom, Ecuador, Turkey, and Greece. I was exposed to other views of America from outside of our borders. I remember that I was roaming the streets of Paris as a child and looking into the glass window of a Patisserie. The owner of the shop rushed out and ushered me away to my American parents who were just down the block finishing their French morning coffee and croissants. The shopowner was not happy to have some American child poking around his window and pushed me towards my father before stomping back up the street and into his store.

When I was doing a theater exchange with some students from England, they were very welcoming but wouldn’t stop pestering us about how in God’s green earth President George Bush had been re-elected. I had to remind them that none of us, who were in our junior and senior years of high school, were old enough to vote. However, nothing I said could assail them. They wanted to know how our country could have been so dumb.

As a liberally minded young American, I became increasingly upset at many of the topics brought into the spotlight during the Bush Administration. In my mind, so many of them were connected to religion. Many of the protests against gay marriage focused on the fact that the Bible “tells us” that marriage is specifically for a man and a woman. Whatever happened to the separation of church and state? Why should the Christian God dictate what our citizens of varying religions should do? So many Bible Thumpers were in arms over A Woman’s Right to choose. I agree that this is a sensative subject, but I just don’t think that anyone should be able to dictate what I can and can’t do with my body. The rate of teen pregnancy is increasing in our country and more and more and our young men and women are starting families before they are ready. On top of this, the administration wanted to stop stem cell research, research that could help to find a cure any number of diseases that our world faces. In a way, stem cell research gives new life to these “pre” humans by using them to advance our knowledge and understanding of the human body and the development of new medicines and treatments to help us thrive and save lives.

After 9/11, I was devastated just like everyone else. It was just such a horrible tragedy. I could try to quantify my emotions and the events that followed it, but that is not really the subject of this article. However I will say that somewhere inside of myself, there was a tug on the string of my patriotism. I think it would have blossomed if I hadn’t been overwhelmed by the mass marketing of everything blindly patriotic that poured from middle America. Perhaps I shouldn’t have looked down on it all, but honestly, as I said at the outset of this peice, the song “Proud to be An American” makes my stomach turn because it is so mind-numbingly broad. Words like freedom and liberty are so much a part of our collective conciousness that they begin to loose meaning with every use. I think we take them for granted as does that song. It employs almost every one and manages to fill up verses and choruses while actually not saying much of anything at all. America as a whole became so inarticulate after 9/11 that I became desensitized to the American flag. It was on bookbags, pins, T-shirts, miniflags, keychains- EVERYWHERE. The flag itself became a pop sensation. No wonder no one took us seriously. No one takes Britney Spears seriously.

Near the end of Sherman Edwards and Peter Stone’s musical, 1776, John Addams wonders on the eve of the signing of the Declaration of Independence if anyone sees America the way he does. I am including the lyrics here for anyone who has not seen the show. I am including the sequence here for your viewing pleasure.

I began to feel a bit like Addams in this number. “Is Anybody There? Does Anybody Care? Does Anyboy See What I See?” I saw the lifeblood of true America dying a little each day.  I saw our liberties being questioned and taken from us one by one.

This year, everything changed for me. Barack Obama was elected our 44th President of the United States of America. As a Chicagoan, I knew he was the man for the job almost immediately after I heard he was running. I knew it would be a hard road, but for the first time in a long time, I hung on to a hope for this country. I invested in current events and our national progress. Instead of writing off this war as an egregious nightmare created by the Bush Administration, I saw a man capable of ending our part in the turmoil and I what’s more, I listened and I felt connected to those lost, and those still fighting.

I know that in recent articles I have been disparaging about the spirit I sometimes feel while living in New York City. However, I haven’t mentioned that the true strength of our community sometimes shines so brightly that I am left gaping in awe. I have felt it several times, but I will tell you that on Election Night 2008, New York City came alive. Cars zipped through Bushwick in Brooklyn with loudspeakers chanting Obama’s name. People smiled at each other in the East Village and waved American flags not because thats what they were obligated to do to support our country but because they were moved to raise our country’s iconic colors. In Time’s Square, the lights shown with hope and triumph, and not with amusement park neon.

In his iconic speech from Election night 2008, Barck Obama reminded me that we are not a collection of red and blue states, but that we are forevermore the United States. I realize that I am capable of prejudice, that in this post I have called middle America uncultured, and called recent national patriotism into question. I have pointed many fingers. I know have a lot to learn and I am not saying that I don’t believe it can come from being exposed to opinions from other parts of our great Nation. But today.

Today we stand United. Today, I am proud to be an American. Today somebody is there. Today is our Independence Day.