Tag: theatre

A Reminder

Mallory 2 Comments

 

On Friday evening I had the pleasure of seeing Teac Damsa’s Production of  Loch Na Heala (Swan Lake). If you haven’t heard of it, it is and Irish take on the tale of swan lake, with an Irish myth and a true story also mixed into the plot. It was presented by UMS in the Power Center for two nights only, this past Friday and Saturday.

I was encouraged to go see it for one of my classes and I am so glad I did. I managed to get one of only 2 student tickets left for Friday night, which was exciting. Going into the theatre I only knew that it was a take on swan lake and that it had good reviews. But what I actually saw was much different than expected.

For probably the first half of the 75 minute show, I thought I was going to leave the theatre with a sense of disappointment in not liking it. It started in such a strange way, that I’m still not sure what it was supposed to mean. But perhaps that was point.

But as the show continued, things began to click. It turns out that the show deals greatly with themes of abuse and mental illness, and is very raw in its portrayal of each. The sparse set and small cast, many playing multiple personas, was to the shows advantage. It allowed you to hone in on those themes, and to truly see the beautiful dances performed by the cast.

Though the themes were quite dark, it managed to end with an incredible scene of catharsis. At the end of the show, the audience immediately stood up without a pause for a standing ovation, and clapped for so long that the cast had to come back out on stage three times to bow before it died down and people started to leave.

As I left, I couldn’t stop thinking about the show. It was beautiful, haunting, at times disturbing, but mainly it was something different and unique. It wasn’t some American tour of a famous broadway show. It was a work of passion for these dancers and choreographers and they were able to create something that people of all ages and backgrounds seemed to love, despite the themes that are still hardly talked about in today’s society.

That is what this is a reminder of. If you have a story, you can tell it your own way. People will listen. People will care.

Theatre can do this for some people.

And this is the kind of theatre I want to create as a theatre artist.

Chasing Starkid

Jeannie Marie Leave a comment

Ah. The sweet smell of disappointment.

On the morning of October 8th, I woke up, bound and determined to meet Starkid. My plan was this: get up, eat (since I probably wouldn’t get another chance for a while), get dressed, put on make-up/straighten my hair if I so desired (this dependent on the whole waking up thing), and go to class. After class, I’d book it to my apartment, maybe apply more make-up, then take the first bus to the Walgreen Drama Center. Starkid was holding a panel from 2-3, and I had to be there. I even emailed my professor ahead of time; I’d be missing class for this; this is important, duh.

My plan went flawlessly. I wanted to leave my apartment around 1:30, and that I did, right on the nose. On the bus to North, I pulled up the event on my phone to double check the location.

12:30-1:30, the website proclaimed. I could almost read the Ha! You fool! underneath it.

Whether it was a change in time or I had read it wrong (thought my mind rebels against this idea; I couldn’t be wrong, how could I?), as I walked towards the Walgreen Drama Center I saw Starkid shimmer before me, going up into smoke before my very eyes.

I wondered to myself if this was fate putting pieces together. Hearing no word back after getting a polite “We’ll see” about an interview, I’d been stressing, almost panicking about when and where I needed to be to get a golden 30 minutes to conduct my interview. Maybe this would be serendipity, and Darren Criss would walk out, laughing at something incredibly funny, then stop, pointing me out.

“You’re that girl, right? Who wants to interview Starkid, yeah?”

I’d bat my eyes coquettishly.

“What gave me away?” I wouldn’t be hyperventilating; cool as a cucumber.

“I just knew. Hey, come to rehearsal with us – we’ll be done in 30. Then we can chat.” (I’m not sure what my fascination with 30 is; just a solid number I guess).

A younger me would have been mad crying screaming – whatever made me feel slightly vindicated for being stupid and missing this. But senior year Jeannie decided to just sit and write. So I did.

I continued my day waiting for the email that never came. I think some small part of me is still waiting, like I’ll get the email tomorrow or Saturday and I’ll leave the football game to interview Starkid.

But finally, the time came – showtime. I had my ticket in hand, and me and my friend dressed to the nines. I felt good. Maybe not amazing – I didn’t get that interview, but good.

I won’t spoil the concert (review forthcoming by yours truly), but I had a blast – we went back to Hogwarts, but more importantly I went back to Starkid. Nostalgia had a big part of it, but in reality my memory had failed me – I had forgotten how fun Starkid was. The concert ended, and my friends begged me to try and get an interview somehow, someway with the Theatre 100 press pass I had.

Tyler Brunsman, bless his heart, was in the reception room talking to his parents. I waited a good distance away; I wanted to talk to him but I wasn’t about to be so pushy that I interrupt.

After he finished, I stopped him, introduced myself. I was slightly shaking – I’d only ever seen him on screens and now here he was in front of me. Maybe he noticed, but hopefully he didn’t.

The conversation? Well….

Me: *oh gosh oh gosh be cool* How was it to come back to Michigan? *good job Jeannie you got this*

Tyler: It was, like, out of this world…everywhere you walk on campus is, there’s so many memories associated with this campus, so coming back here, it’s really been a magical couple of days. It was like second nature, just being back home.

hoMe. I know the feeling. We kept talking, I asked about his favorite memories, and got an amazing anecdote involving ranch, Pizza House, and a late night mix up (moral of the story – always buy Pizza House. Always.).

For a moment, I slipped back into my old days – I used to be big in the Starkid fandom, talking to girls thousands of miles away from me who bonded over this silly, fantastic group of people. Embarrassingly, I told Tyler that he responded to a Facebook post of mine one time, and little high-school Jeannie died. High School Jeannie died again, shaking hands with Tyler, hearing him say he would stop and talk to me when I thought the closest I’d get to Starkid was the view from Row K in the Power Center.

Even though it was embarrassing, even though it was super unprofessional, in that moment, it was okay. Everything was okay. I left the show, two friends beside me, one freaking out over taking a picture with Eric Kahn Gale, the other begging to stalk Darren Criss (sorry Darren – I tried to curb them as much as possible).

All that mattered right then was I was fresh off the high of an amazing concert, and I had my friends beside me. And I’m sure, walking off the Power Center stage tonight, Starkid felt the exact same way.

Thoughts From Places: Passions, January Edition

Jeannie Marie Leave a comment

So lately I’ve been thinking.

Now, I know as well as anyone how dangerous that can be, so just stay with me here.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my future (like, with jetpacks), and what I want that to look like. Now, I haven’t come up with any definite conclusions, but I do have a few basic requirements:

  1. I have a job. It sucks, but I can’t do anything in this world (like, say, live in an apartment) without money, so I have to have a job.

  2. This job has to be something I enjoy. I can’t be waking up every day, hating my own guts because I have to drag myself to the same old crummy job every week.

That’s it. Since practically my kindergarten days, these two things are all I’ve wanted for my life. But the funny thing about life is that it changes…like, a lot.

I used to think that if I ended up working in an office it would be the death of me and all I consider fun and exciting, but now I’m (slowly) acclimating to the idea of working in an office…as long as it’s an office working on something I enjoy as well.

I also used to think that I’d become an actress, but that dream is almost all but gone. Would I go back to the stage if offered? In a heartbeat. But am I at college just waiting for my big break on Broadway? Not so much.

But recently, I’ve been coming to a different conclusion. I love to write, in case you haven’t noticed the weeks and weeks and weeks of columns I’ve written, and I decided to become an English major so that I can get a degree in something I love so I can get a job in something I love. That fulfills both of my above requirements. I thought becoming an author would make me just as happy as if I were acting on stage.

But I love writing for this blog too. I love writing about art, something that I’m really passionate about (see above potential jobs), and I love getting to have deep, meaningful conversations with other people who love art just as much as I do. And although they don’t make much, being a cultural/pop culture journalist is sounding really, really cool to me as a junior looking at a job market I’ll soon be entering.

I’m not exactly sure what I’m trying to get at, and I know this only loosely coincides with my task of writing about art once a week, but I guess I’d say that finding passions is not something that automatically happens. I didn’t wake up one day knowing I was going to get a job at arts, ink and love it more than any other job I’ve ever had. Passion is a process, which is something I think most people don’t understand. Art is a passion, but it’s also a process.

So I guess I’m saying find your passion. But don’t give up if it takes longer than you expect it to, because all passions are different. And don’t reject something when you haven’t tried it. Did I want this job when I applied for it? Yes. Did I think I was going to like it so much that I’d want to turn it into a career goal? Not a chance. But am I glad I did it?

I think you can answer that for yourself.

When Actors Can’t Even Save The Play They’re In

Taylor Leave a comment

(Content Warning: brief discussion of trans*phobia, Nazism, sexual violence.)

I’m a huge fan of thee-aye-tah (theatre). I like venues, I like stages, I like audiences, I like lights, I like music, I like actors. Sometimes, however, a production cannot save a play from just tanking.

I’m also all for weird-ass-shit. I like performance art. I like Finnegans Wake. I’m queer and pretend to be hip. I can stare at upside down urinals for hours. All of these together morph my aesthetic tastes, which, at times, can be questioned (but I’ll never admit it).

Last weekend, I attended the second night of “Marisol” that was put on my the School of Music, Theatre, and Dance. I was SO EXCITED. Not only did I have a friend in the show (who performed AMAZINGLY) but I also haven’t been to a SMTD production in a while (I usually go to student group performances). I was anticipating the flawlessness of the performance, which is exactly what I got. The acting was amazing. There was so much passion present. I could feel their emotions emanating off of them and hitting me in the face. The energy never faltered and I was emotionally fatigued at intermission, at the end, and for days to come. The acting, for me, sold the entire performance and I think that I’m going to miss the amount of talent that is present on this campus when I move away.

The actual written play was horrendous. While I think Rivera’s post-apocalyptic landscape was admirable insofar as he tried building and executing many different themes, tropes, and imagery, and pull it off as cohesive, it just didn’t work. When I attend a play I can accept the fantastical, I can accept the absurd, I can even (sometimes) accept problematic bullshit. But all together and at once was traumatizing.

Why is the moon orbiting around Saturn? This never was explained fully besides God’s senileness. God “being old” (whatever this means) doesn’t destroy physics. And if age could destroy the world, why were all other laws of physics seemingly still in place? HOW COULD HUMANS FIGHT A COSMIC ANGELIC WAR BY THROWING STONES AT THE SKY? These questions remain unanswered.

Why do plays have to perpetuate gender norms and stereotypes and use pregnant men as jokes? Not only is this bordering on trans*phobic, but it isn’t ever explained. God is so out of it that everyone just gets a womb? But why? For why?

Why are there Nazi’s? Sure, there could be neo-Nazi’s but there’s a really important difference. Also (neo)Nazi’s don’t hate everyone (even though they do hate most people), and to have them as these mass serial killers made little sense? Why use a historically loaded term when you could just make something new up?

Why was a man burned by the nazi’s trying to jack off to the moon, which he was trying to pull back into orbit via a giant magnet from his wheelchair?  This scene, while, yes, the most poetic, was the biggest *facepalm* moment of my life.

Why does sexual violence have to be used as a plot device? And for a shitty plot? I’m tired of sexual violence being used in ways that either perpetuate rape culture, or used in ways to develop plot (and not characters), or used in ways that are just bad. Everything is the worst.

People have told me that my critique isn’t valid. The play is just “edgy.” But, to me, the term “edgy” doesn’t mean that you can have an incoherent plot with problematic details, angsty angels, dying god, New York City, and a fog machine that smells a little like tobacco and weed (that doesn’t give highs just headaches). Ugh.

The acting almost saved the play. And then the whole thing ended with a message of hope after a lengthy narrativizing soliloquy. AKA the students of SMTD shine even in the midst of the apocalypse. AKA (passibly) queer women of color ended the play hand in hand and that was enough for me to clap. And, perhaps, that is the point.