This Sunday I attended a rendition of the play The Violet Hour, written by Richard Greenberg, directed and performed by students at the University of Michigan school of Theater, Music, and Dance. The play is highly reflexive in nature, not only about itself, but also about the act of artistic creation itself, particularly in an increasingly technologically sophisticated world. Given the highly relevant and nuanced themes of the play, I imagine expressing these ideas through an authentic, relatable performance is a daring and difficult attempt. That being said, I was highly impressed by the performance, which has left me reflecting upon my own role as an artist ever since. I believe my highly personal reaction to the play is a testament to the strength not only in its writing, but in its live performance.
The Violet Hour is set in 1919, in the wake of a world forever changed by leaps forward in technology, in a country scarred by a world war of destructive proportions beyond any previous war in human history. Although technology is absent on stage, the play alludes to the grim specter of technological change which haunts modernity. The sound design on set perpetually reminds the audience of the marriage between human life and modernization—meaning the integration of machinery to enhance productivity. The clicking and whirring of this invisible, nameless machine resonates serves to comment on contemporary society just as much as it does on 1920’s America—I cannot think of a single day since returning to school during which I have not been surrounded by a background layer of mechanized sounds, be it the churning factories near the medical center, the buzzing of my laptop, or static from my television set. The events depicted in Violet Hour are not intended to portray an isolated incident, but rather an historical moment of societal evolution—the nondescript publishing room in the play can represent the very backdrop of any publishing room. As with all other aspects of life, creativity too has been integrated with technological production.
Violet Hour also delves into questions of artistic creativity and in particular, the question of originality. When independent publisher John Seavering, a man in the position to publish a single book, debates between publishing his college friend’s work and his artistic mistress’ book, he must determine what makes a work original, authentic, and resonant to its audience. The debates between Seavering and his prospective clients center around notions of timelessness and “classic”. This dilemma descends into a fundamental question every artist faces early on in their careers—how can they produce something original when they write about the same moral quandaries that have faced humanity since the beginning of civilization?
In the wake of this on-stage dilemma, the acting is particularly poignant. Seavering’s self-doubt and conflicted mind, his college friend McCleary’s self-confident drive for success, and his mistress Jessie’s assured sense of originality are striking embodiments of archetypal artistic sensibilities. Seavering represents the self-doubt which holds an artist from creating as they struggle to distinguish themselves from the hallowed greats enough to one day stand amongst them. McCleary’s tone is more cynical and practical, less interested in crafting a masterpiece than in utilizing art as a means to an end—to pay the bills and lead a materially fulfilling life. Jessie is the classic artist, ambitious, convinced she contains within herself a narrative so authentic it will forever change the literary landscape of America. So does this play about the timeless question of originality bring a unique perspective on the question?
I believe it does. The Violet Hour resonates with me because of the interaction between both themes. As the play progresses and the publishing dilemma escalates to a heated debate, the off-stage machine whirrs violently and spews out pages of literature—classic, modern, and current. Seavering is heavily discouraged, asking why anyone would ever read anything new when technology can already provide us with a lifetime of great reads and then some. This sobering thought resonates with current society even more than the setting of the play—why make anything when the ubiquitous internet provides us with millions of films, paintings, and songs with a click of a button? What can any artist today make which distinguishes itself from a staggering multitude of multi-faceted, easily accessible art across time and culture? Well, they could write a play about this very challenge.
