The Conduct Of Life

Oh boy, all kindsa random tangents to talk about!

I was pointed to an "Indie culture roundtable" at TO:C last week, although eulogy might be a better word than roundtable. Indie culture is apparently on the skids and TimeOut rounded up the most morose bunch of motherfuckers they could to mourn it.

Far as I'm concerned, it's a pile of crap: as has been pointed out elsewhere, the mean age of this roundtable is 38. The representation of indie culture is an average of 38 and certainly no younger than 33. With that knowledge in hand, it's not as surprising that the roundtable sounds a bit weathered around the edges and entirely unexcited about the prospect of indie culture, but is this really what we're going to roll out as a feature on the subject, TO:C?

Let's break it down:

The panel starts out with both feet on the brakes by refusing to even fall under the heading 'indie'. Three of the five panelists flat out refuse to use the word in their organizations and a fourth makes a very strong distinction against it, all touting the horrors of 'indie' becoming a marketing term/genre/style as opposed to the politically engaged 'independent' (though I would argue against the idea of crowing about oneself as an "economically independent, noncorporate venture" as being tremendously political anymore, but that's an argument to be taken up in a few minutes). The point of the roundtable is set-up quite soundly in this first question: Indie is a dead, corporate-riddled corpse, let's bemoan the fact we are still associated with its name. It's a sad, tired argument that any minority cultural movement either dies by or slogs through at some point.

There's an underlying case of refusal to adapt in this discussion. J.C. Gabel, the youngest and thus most disappointing of the snarkers, in between quips about Urban Outfitters, makes a comment about the discussion really being 20th century vs. 21st century. I agree, but what we have here is a panel of 20th century representatives, with perhaps the exception of Shawn Campbell, who seems less jaded but doesn't get a substantial word in edgewise. When a question on whether it's possible to be 100% independent anymore gets raised to this group of people, I would expect a resounding yes and a discussion about the drastic drop in production and distribution costs in the internet age, that anyone can make their own music, film, etc. and provide it to a potential audience of millions at the drop of a hat. And that they can pull a Thom Yorke or a Trent Reznor and do it with what I'm convinced will be the starting point of a new 21st century business model: free at the baseline. Instead, what I got was hemming and hawing that boils down to one bitchy complaint: "People don't give away free money anymore." Are you fucking kidding me? This is our indie... excuse me, independent culture? We're so goddamn independent that we won't even use the word indie and our primary complaint is that corporations are no longer giving us free money? If that's the case, I'll welcome the death of indie culture and we can find something new to call what's happening now.

For real though, read the responses to the last question in the article -- can anyone make heads or tails of what exactly is going on? On the one hand we have (Pitchfork.com's!) Scott Plagenhoef saying that there is no nationwide delivery system, one of which -- and it isn't drastically far from being an independent version of the dreaded Clear Channel -- many would argue he heads. Of course, I understand that he's more concerned that there's not a single delivery system that hits every household. What I don't understand is why he has a problem with this. The entire panel seems to be ruing the (possible) loss of a monoculture, sorrowful that there is an arrival of more diversity through more outlets, which I read as less of a solidified 'mainstream'. Is our indie culture really mourning the cracks in the walls of mainstream distribution, or are they attempting to speak towards the loss of some sort of independent monoculture? Has there ever been an independent monoculture? Did they just drop all pretenses by the last question, throw up their hands and admit that the darn internets provide too many options (most of them tres independent)? How does one justify saying that the world is no longer wired to have a shared reaction the likes of the one caused by Michael Jackson's death mere weeks after the world had that exact shared fucking reaction? What the hell does Michael Jackson have to do with indie culture anyway? It makes me really fucking upset, it does, because it's a wasted opportunity to explore the new independent on TO:C's part. If anyone from TimeOut happens across this, I sincerely ask you to do a follow-up comprised of twentysomethings. See if you don't get more conversation, more ideas, and more ingenuity. And a lot less pissing and moaning.

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Of course, my follow-up to this is the fact that there was no theatre representation on the panel. For that, I don't blame TO:C, I blame us. Theatre doesn't really fit the indie culture bill. I don't know that theatre even has a subset that fits the indie culture bill. Which is ironic because there's a ton of 100% independent theatre work being done in the city, primarily because no corporation in their right mind is going to fund a venture with such little commercial potential. Some of the problem as I see it is we ain't moving much in either direction. We aren't finding ways to make ourselves prone to more commercial potential, but we also aren't saying 'fuck it, we're not a commercial venture' and letting that free our work up. It's this midpoint limbo that's killing us, this sense of following the right way of doing things to be financially successful without any actual promise or payoff of the financial success.

My unfortunate example is the last show I saw: Tooth & Nail's The Conduct Of Life. (The link is to a review; as far as I can tell, Tooth & Nail doesn't have a website.) It seems as though director Marti Lyons has plenty of ideas about this script: from the omnipresent live band to the accompaniment Butoh usage, Lyons is attacking this beast (and thematically, it is a beast) from a number of angles. But the whole thing still ends up as a very presentational, very just outta the gates, very we got the Viaduct now how do we use it, very serious play that our friends and family can still appreciate product. I don't think I particularly liked it. But I also don't know, because I don't get the sense that anyone bringing innovative ideas to the table ever really cut loose with them. In the long run, I'm not really sure what was a choice and why or what wasn't and why not.

There was some of the most stilted acting I've ever seen on the part of Elizabeth Olson that I like to think, for her sake, had to be intentional. Couldn't tell you for certain, or the reasoning behind it. There were some sections of stage combat that were so horrendously slapdash that I would love to hope might have been a choice, either in comment towards the violence of the script or as a counterpoint to the use of Butoh. I'm doubtful, but again couldn't tell you for sure. Even the obvious choices didn't seem fully fleshed. For me, a big part of the intrigue of the production was the use of Butoh, which ending up being a sidebar accompaniment to monologues rather than actually incorporated into the show -- honest work, it seemed, but tremendously limited and happily so.

And then there's always the 'why?', because I think Marti had one. It seems like there was a reason behind this show, an intended message. But I'm mixed on what it might have been. When the script and imagery were allowed to speak for themselves, it becomes an exploration of the power and appeal within violence. When onstage violence is used, it becomes an exploration on what begets violence. And the final song choice shifts it all into anti-violence gear. Maybe all of these were choices, maybe none of them. But as it is, all my messages got mixed.

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A certain Mr. Ed Rutherford has brought up an interesting marketing quandary this week that I'd be curious to hear some further opinions on. Hubris Productions' Bent is running right now, and the show trailer they've created for it mixes production and backstage footage with actual Holocaust footage. (You can see it here, but be warned, it's not for kids... or work.) Where does the ethical line fall on this one?

I personally don't take a lot of umbrage with the use of the footage, but that the footage was used in such a trite manner. There are a number of ways to use this imagery in an effective marketing campaign. Hubris took it and inserted it into a paint-by-numbers "serious" trailer. They could have replaced the footage in question with happy bunny rabbits and still offended my sensibilities as an audience member. Instead they've both offended my sensibilities with an unimaginative campaign and tried to play the "how can you not respect this and therefore our work?" card. It's a guilt trip trailer and that is probably what I take issue with the most.

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So, I found that elusive great modernist playwright I was looking for a few weeks back in Michel Vinaver. I just got done with the shortened version of his Overboard. Shortened is a very relative word, because this thing is still a monster, but what a monster it is. You'd still be looking at something nearing a 3 1/2 hour run time with this version, but the world Vinaver creates is so instantly solidified and manages this among such a varied set of characters and situations that it truly flies. He's one of my new favorites, especially in his use of interweaving scenes. I'm trying to hunt down a copy of the full 7 hour version; does anyone have any info? Could point me to someone with some info?

As much as I love you, Chicago Public Library System, I would appreciate a little more interest in my tastes...

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There was more stuff. But it's late and my brain has forgotten it. It'll have to wait for the sequel. Or for you to remind me.

P.Rekk
2009

...

How many posts in the last month have I left abandoned by my own little good intentions-paved garden path? I don't rightly know, but it's more than two, I'll tell you that much.

It's summer and I'm smack dab in the midst of rehearsals (as the infamous 'Crazy' Merlie Ryan) for The Ballad Of The Sad Cafe with Signal; it also happens to be my first production as an offical ensemble member over at Signal(!). So, y'know, busy times have struck. Appy-polly-logies, darlings.

But stay tuned for a shortly forthcoming annoucement about The Nine -- and by announcement I mean dates, location, and audition/collaborator call for Part One: SubUrbia. Here's a hint: at this time six months from now, we will be rehearsing this bad boy. Rawk.

And hey, maybe I'll write about the few things I'm managing to still see as well. Wouldn't that be novel?

P.Rekk
2009

Art Brut x3

Excuse me while I beat this dead horse:

Why is live music so regularly more engaging and more honest than live theatre? I understand that there's a level of pretend in theatre that doesn't exist to the same degree in most other performance arts, but we're supposed to be able to pretend better than everybody else. We're supposed to be able to pretend at a level that makes people want to pay to watch us do it.

Can you phsyically move someone with your theatre? Can you engage someone so fully that they instinctually mimic your onstage actions? Can you make people cheer while they applaud? Can you make people wish they could do what you are doing, trade places with you, be in your shoes for just one hour, despite the fact that the only true benefit is the release of the thing? Can you make people forget themselves?

Will you please do it, then?

P.Rekk
2009

Xenakis

Regarding last week's one night only ICE performance of Iannis Xenakis' work at the MCA:

"Well, hello there! I would like to, on behalf of the neighborhood association, welcome you to the World of Sound, subdivision The Farther Reaches. Here, have a complimentary map. Oops, that one is now outdated. Here, have the latest version. Oh crap, now THAT one is outdated. Here, have the... you know, it actually might be best to skip the map all together. You'll find your way around alright. Besides, there's nothing here you haven't seen before and nothing the likes of which you'll find anywhere else. What's that? It's looks a little like Wonderland? Well, yes, but without the pesky metaphors, of course. Wackyland? A little bit, but even the dodos don't stay dodos for long here. No, we're talking about some real Norman McLaren shit in this stretch. You see, this here is Sound. Every structure here is built upon waves. Every surface here is mutable. We here at the neighborhood association recommend standing still for as long as possible. Allow us to explore around you -- that's where the real tour is. Here, you see the big black 'X' on the ground? That's for you. You are here. We promise. Everything else? Well, that's the real question, isn't it? Hang on, here we go! And don't worry, you'll be here when we get back. We promise."

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Best performance of the year thus far. Fucking A, ICE. Fucking A, Xenakis. Fucking A. MCA for the win yet again. That's the season announcement I'm waiting for. And, as a side note, we need more people to start marketing with free/cheap pins. Not only will I back that whole heartedly, but there's a startling overlap in shows I love and shows which I leave with pins in hand. And, following that line, shows which I end up losing the pins for in a few months. Speaking of which, anybody got a Pavement Group Lipstick Traces pin they wouldn't mind parting with? I used to wear the shit outta that thing!

P.Rekk
2009

Hedwig And The Angry Inch, pt. 1

There's a post about Rock 'N' Roll brewin' and a brewin', but while I try and sort those thoughts out, a quick sidetrack on ATC's Hedwig And The Angry Inch (more thoughts on which will join Rock 'N' Roll).

ATC's production of Hedwig ends with Nick Garrison, who has been slowly self-destructing in the lead role all evening, stage-cutting his chest with a broken bottle. The effect isn't achieved terribly well, but even so, I couldn't help thinking how unusually distracting it was. Unless it plays a vital part in the show, poorly done stage violence usually gets little more than a shrug from me, but this couple of seconds continued to stand out long after the show was over.

It got to rolling around in my head and I came to realize that one difference between this and typical stage violence is that this is an act that is familiar purely because it is performative -- because other artists, musicians in this case, actually have mutilated their bodies on stage. Rather than a stage fight, in which performers attempt to provide a realistic representation of an act uncreatable on stage, what we have here is a performer, on stage, attempting to provide a realistic representation of an act that dozens of performers have actually created on stage.

And it's not that I want to say I felt cheated, or that I think the only way this moment could work is with actual self-mutilation, or that actual violence on stage is at any point in time necessary. And yet, those of you who know me quite well know that I firmly believe that actual violence on stage can be used to great effect, that it's not a taboo, that there is at certain times and in certain performers a level of necessity so driven that the corporeal bounds are no more off limit than any others. And that I am fascinated by these performers, from the theatrics of Marilyn Manson and the disregard of G.G. Allin to the more intellectually and spiritually driven work of the Vienna Aktionists and Marina Abramovic.

It's half a fascination in what drives these artists and how far they can be driven, but it's also half a recognition that there are certain synapses that I share with them. Anyone who has had a chance to meet DADA [g]nimbus has seen those synapses firing on a very innocent level. I was discussing acting technique with a friend the other day, very intently discussing actually, and every point I made either came back to instinct and physicality or saw me contorting my body in an attempt to get the proper words out. I'm an actor that is familiar with that fucked up state of performance where character and performer are indiscernable from the inside as well as the out. And so, to a degree, I do understand what drives these artists. Would I cut myself with a broken bottle on stage? Well, umm.... no. (After all, my mom reads this blog, and she has a hard enough time seeing me on the receiving end of stage violence.) But the knowledge that certain artists would and not think twice about it makes me cringe horrendously at an obviously false portrayal. You can argue art imitating life and life imitating art all you want, but I'll tell you one thing: when art imitates art, all you get is a second-hand copy.

P.Rekk
2009

Lots of things of less importance

The best laid plans tonight was a post on how much fun Red Noses was and why, and how Enemy Of The People reconfigures the idea of audience participation in both a positive and a negative way, and how Star Trek was amazing (even for a non-Trekkie), Terminator was passable (at best), and Wolverine was disappointing (especially for a man jonesing for some Gambit). Mice and men, y'all.

A few hours ago while at a Memorial Day party, I learned of Chicago character actor extraordinaire -- and I don't use that phrase lightly -- Will Schutz's death at the hands of pancreatic cancer. There was a long moment of silence, primarily because fuck, how else do you respond to news like that, and a cheers in Will's honor. There was sadness. Lots of sadness. There was also laughter. Laughter and memory.

As I'm getting ready to go to bed, I'm browsing Facebook and seeing update after update mourning the tremendous loss that hit the Chicago theatre community today. There is sadness. Lots of sadness. But I know the laughter and memory will follow. That was the side that Will brought out of people.

I never had the pleasure of working on a show with Will, but I did have the pleasure of befriending him, both through my work with the side project and his work with Signal. The loss of talent alone is reason enough for the city to mourn, but it is the loss of personality and humor and, above all, humanity that makes the theatre community bow its head en masse tonight. The man embodied kindness unparalleled. We miss him, and we know we will never meet another like him.

Yeah, Red Noses was fun. Yeah, Enemy Of The People is doing some interesting things. Yeah, I saw a bunch of fucking movies. That's all superfluous tonight. Tonight the core was shaken. Tonight we lost a friend.

Will Schutz is dead. Long live Will Schutz.

P.Rekk
2009

The Lieutenant Of Inishmore, ya feck.

Sure, I'll admit that I know very little about the logistics of blood effects. So tell me this: is it possible that the blood splatter that drenches Mairead after she shoots Padraic in Northlight's The Lieutenant Of Inishmore looking vaguely like a heart could be intentional? If so, special effect artist Steve Tolin is a freaking genius and I bow to him.

Alright, anyone familiar with the production (or even the play): is the grounding X factor I'm still looking for something that's missing from this particular production or is it a missing element in McDonagh's work? I quite enjoyed the entire show, but had one of those didn't know you what you had been missing moments towards the end. The ridiculousness of the IRA/INLA mentality and drive came through loud and clear, but there's a part of me that's picking apart the front end of the script in hindsight trying to find a humanizing factor, a glimpse of an idea that there is a very sensical entry point for us as to why these groups form and continue as well. But I can't quite figure if it's lurking uncovered in there or not. The moment it hit me was Mairead sorrowfully singing the rebel songs after shooting Padraic, creating a perfect balance on stage between the romanticism of The Cause (maintained in the nostalgia of the old songs and so strong that Mairead's list of victims -- starting with those who carelessly brain cats -- takes priority over even her future husband) and the stunning absurdity of the carnage that results in practice. This leads me to believe that the prior uses of the rebel songs may contain more layered discoveries than director BJ Jones and Kelly O'Sullivan as Mairead were able to bring out. What seems at Northlight to be a minor character nuance might just hold the key to our, as an audience, understanding of the appeal behind the violence in these characters. The happier medium of interplay between farcical and bloody short-sightedness and aching necessity in the IRA/INLA portrayal. Or might I be looking for something that McDonagh simply didn't write? Thoughts?

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I just finished reading Living by Henry Green. It's a good read, and though it takes a chapter or three to get used to the style and voice, it's worth the effort come the end. It also got me thinking about my taste in the narrative arts. Such is my brain. And as a disclaimer for my brain, I feel the need to point out that I have no formal training in any sort of literary criticism or theory and that when I go off into pontifications about movements and trends in art history, as I am wont and about to do, it is a combination of snippets of info that my sponge of a mind picked up on some random street corner and heretofore crackpot ideas that sprang from my headpan. So grab a couple of grains of salt.

Green is touted as one of the early modernist masters in literature, and while Living is all about class difference, one of the most successful aspects of the book for me is the lack of a proper (i.e. traditional) narrative. A precursor to the jigsaw films so often crashing (pun partially intended) ashore these days, this is the type of modernist tale that springs unpredictably between a bookload of characters, each living their own day to day life in an environment that binds them all. Additionally in Green's novel, characters come and go as he pleases. There are naturally some that maintain prevalence, a semi-familial lower class quartet, for instance, but also some that are set up to be major players only to disappear rather suddenly (the young heir to the foundry setting) and some that simply pop in on and off for a couple of chapters mid-novel and that's it (the heir's love interest). The result is a world of depth and variety and primarily reality; we get to know certain people closely and dearly and only learn snippets -- sometimes only a passing glance -- of others.

The jigsaw film is a touch and go genre for me. I find Paul Thomas Anderson's Magnolia to be a magnum opus, one of my favorite films of all time, and yet have something more akin to disdain for Paul Haggis' Crash or Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu's Babel (his work in general for that matter). I believe it has something to do with the purpose towards which the device is put. Because that's merely what it is: a device. The idea that, Hey, we're all connected! is not a revelation. In splintering a narrative and exploring the pieces, an artist can certainly put them back together again, but if that's the only goal, something has been lost. What point is there in the splintering if the main focus is not the individual pieces, but the overall picture? If that's the case, leave the picture the fuck alone and explore it as a whole. If you're going to create slices of individuality, make those slices of individuality the focus (or, if you are putting them back in the process, the places that those slices meet). And woe be to you if, as in Crash, the focus is putting the picture back together again to show us the magical lesson that was there the whole time before you, the artist, obfuscated it for us. Congratulations, convolution wasn't enough, you had to go for condescension as well!

No, I think it is a structure that works best when used entirely without comment, as in Living, or to bring another contemporary film example, Harmony Korine's Gummo. Gummo is not about the interconnectedness of the residents of Xenia, Ohio, and while they are interwined and interactive, they aren't so in a happy wrapping and bow manner. There is incidental and coincidental meeting and there is continuation beyond the meeting and sometimes there is no meeting at all. And the result is a simple snapshot of a lump of people. Observation without moral. For some reason, that outcome has always appealed to me. It's the sort of art that I have always referred to as 'humanistic', not because it reveals any particular human truths, but because it revels in a lack thereof. We watch humans for a while and then, at some perhaps not particularly important point, we are done watching humans. Korine is one of the best at this technique -- this celebration of life.

Any suggestions on playwrights that might fit this bill -- the side of the Venn diagram that includes realists but not moralists? I haven't put much thought in it since writing the above and I'm sure I'm blanking on a ton because my mind instantly wants to weave towards the absurdists. Franz Xaver Kroetz comes to mind, though his work is less a celebration than a meditation and without the splintering, I suppose. Anybody got anything else?

Edit: I just realized this morning that I completely neglected to mention Robert Altman, the master of the modernist film and the missing link in my comparison of Henry Green to the contemporary jigsaw film. PT Anderson gets a lot of flak for cribbing Altman, and the comparison is more than fair, but I think that Korine has more of Altman's spirit, if less of his technique; a traditionalist approach to the style, in which the interconnectedness of the characters functions as a frame more than a character itself.

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Hey New Yorkers! I can't be a good friend and go see my once upon a roommate's show because I'm one of those halfway across the country types, but you can! Here's a quick plug for Wide Eyed Productions' One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, playing until May 24th at the Richmond Shepard Theater in NYC. I can't speak for the production, 'cause I haven't seen it, but I can tell you that the amount of talent in the roles of McMurphy and Cheswick is pretty extreme. So check it out and report back to me, 'cause I can't, boohiss.

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The latest addition to the "I might have to cross it off the To Use Artistically list, because there's no way I can top this" file: The American Dollar's Anything You Synthesize. The video already wins. Over everything. Check it, and make it full screen:



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Ohmigod, a five parter!

This weekend is all Brodie all the time. You know why? We're closing on Saturday! You know what that means? All you slackers better get your tickets now, because you've only got three more chances to see it before we tear this mother down! Go here. Get tickets. See the show. I'm working box on Thursday and will be there on Saturday, but I see that as no reason to discriminate against Friday, ya punks. See you there!

P.Rekk
2009