Musical America Blogs

by Cathy Barbash

I had coffee recently with a new acquaintance, Linda Lee. A Hong Kong native and former Director at Burson Marsteller and Shanghai correspondent for CNBC Asia, Lee now hosts a weekly informal professional workshop in Chinese improv in Beijing as an adjunct to her professional training consultancy. Traditionally, verbal communication, both business and personal, is highly premeditated and structured. “Chinese people doesn’t open their mouths, even to speak to family members, unless they have mentally played out the ramifications of their statements several moves out, like a chess game,” explained one of my closest Chinese friends in my early days working in China. (This was the Chinese way of telling me to keep my big mouth shut…) At conferences, Chinese speakers invariably read from prepared remarks that participants will find already included in their folders. Chinese comedy still tends to the structured; the cross-talk routines remind me of Abbott and Costello’s “Who’s on First?”

The Monday evening classes are strictly Chinese language, and aimed at both human resource professionals and low and mid-level employees wishing to improve their self-confidence. Participants now include bank and government employees and others attracted through postings on Chinese social networking websites. They aim to hold their first workshop performance this fall to coincide with the 60th anniversary of the foundation of the People’s Republic of China, and hope eventually to expand the program into Chinese schools.

“People’s initial reaction was “What is improv?” explained Lee. “The Chinese mind is indirect, so this is an education in stretching them. Improv is direct, you must learn to be confident with each other, and this provides a safe and spontaneous way to learn.”

Thus another art form very foreign, even anathema to the Chinese ethos, seeps in. Will aspiring Chinese professionals take to improv as ambitious Chinese youth first took to piano lessons? Last year’s first annual Improv Festival at the Penghao Theatre (see July 7 post) attracted 300 people with little publicity. Look for the second installment in Spring 2010. However, in a society that prefers predictability and control, I wouldn’t bet that we’ll enjoy Second City-style improv on the CCTV Chinese New Year’s Show in our lifetime.

By Andy Hertz
   
Saturday night, as I was music directing the opening night production of The Fully Monty for ReVision Theater in Asbury Park, I (along with everyone in the theater) was reminded about the dangers of live performance: not a flubbed line, not a missed lyric, not a wrong note.  The power went out.
   
It occurred in the midst of a song. The band has two guitars, one keyboard, a drummer, two horns and two reeds. Naturally, when we lost power, the non-electric instruments kept playing. And they, in fact, finished the song quite well despite losing the bottom half of the orchestra and nearly all of the rhythm section.
   
At first it seemed like it was just the band that lost power. Then the stage microphones went out and the lights went last (theater lights contain residual power that can keep them going for a little longer before they shut off). After emergency crews tried unsuccessfully to remedy the situation, we assumed the show was done for the evening.  Fortunately, someone ultimately found a box with a switch (yes, one switch) that restored all power to the theater.

A remarkable thing occurred as the show continued: It was better than it ever had been.
   
Why? I believe that everyone realized that the worst thing that could possibly happen in live theater (save injury) had happened and that somehow we all lived through it. So it took the pressure off all of us, including myself, to move forward with a freedom and confidence we hadn’t had before.

So, what could have been a financial and artistic disaster—the need to refund thousands of dollars, to sooth bruised egos, apologize to patrons, etc.—turned into a positive and artistically affirming experience for all.  

Janice L. Mayer

Over the weekend I visited my elderly uncle in his nursing home in Massachusetts. It’s a pleasant place – as these facilities go – in Duxbury. Uncle Dick is Red Sox baseball fanatic who was recruited by the minor league in his day. I purchase a Baseball Hall of Fame Inductee T-shirt for him every year when I visit Glimmerglass Opera in Cooperstown and the presentation of the shirt with the new autographs, along with a review of ‘the greats,’ has become a family tradition. Uncle Dick has advanced Alzheimer’s disease now and his days of reciting the scores of legendary ballgames is behind him. He often asks, “What happened?” That question can baffle a visitor. Does it refer to the wide-ranging question of how did he land in this predicament, or more simply what happened to breakfast? Either is possible.

Artists historically have challenged us to make sense of ‘what happened?’ Think of folk singer Pete Seeger, now celebrating his 90^th year, challenging us all to deal with ‘what happened’ to the Hudson River and how to revitalize the environment in his folk songs aboard the The Clearwater. Think of Joan Baez reacting to ‘what happened’ in Vietnam and fueling the peace movement of the 1960s with Cambodia and her other heartfelt anti-war songs. And who can forget the late, soulful singer Odetta whose rendition of I’m On My Way moved the crowd to action at the 1963 Civil Rights March on Washington? We know ‘what happened’ in our Nation’s capital, and across the South, as a result. Recently I saw two productions whose creators were trying to make sense of ‘what happened’ in Louisiana in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.

Jacob’s Pillow in Becket, Massachusetts is sacred ground to dancers in the modern dance tradition. Male modern dance originated there under choreographer Ted Shawn, and Ruth St. Denis, Agnes DeMille, Martha Graham, Twyla Tharp and almost any important female modern dancer one can think of had her creative spirit nurtured on the rambling grounds of what was originally a farm in the 1700s.  Interestingly, Jacob’s Pillow was recently designated a historical landmark for its life-saving role as a sanctuary for the Underground Railroad. David Roussève and his diverse dance company, Reality, explored the effect of Katrina in his moving multi-dimensional, evening-length work Saudade. Violent movement subjugating the slighter more fragile dancers alternated with strapping company members heroically lifting up their partners in other sections of the piece. Movement was interspersed with spoken dialogue recited by the triple threat choreographer/ writer/performer, Mr. Roussève. A native son of Louisiana, he connected the dots beginning with the slave movement from Africa to the degradation of the inhabitants of 9^th Ward in New Orleans  post-Katrina – literally punctuating his progression with markers at each stopping point. This was not a linear story; rather one with advances and retreats in which he personified the see-saw of progress as he haltingly traveled a diagonal path across the stage. There was no clear, straight path to understanding here. Was it tough to watch? At some points, yes. Was the verbal and movement language rough? Yes, in that it reflected the brutality he was exposing. Clearly a gifted artist who is close to the subject, Roussève was grappling with major issues and might have been served by a second eye on the project. But then again, with the world’s eye on Katrina, the country sat bewildered and dazed in the aftermath of the storm. Should, we expect more of Roussève?

The Consul, courtesy of Glimmerglass Opera

At Glimmerglass Opera in Cooperstown, I attended the dress rehearsal and opening performance of Gian Carlo Menotti’s The Consul. It is a story teaming with despair as dejected characters face bureaucraticinsensitivity as they plead for asylum. American director Sam Helfrich chose to set the action in Louisiana post-Katrina. While the set was non-site-specific in its industrial tone, Sam envisioned the movement of the characters into the consulate as like the relocation of the Katrina survivors into the Astrodome. By Act II they were carrying their personal effects – here symbolized by unlit lamps – and literally moving into the consulate. With little hope of escaping their miserable circumstances, the lights symbolically never illuminated their path to freedom.

It was interesting to me that in 2009 we have two creators working in different mediums trying to make sense of ‘what happened’ in 2005. Do we need to reflect on the actions, or perhaps inaction at that time? I would suggest that we do, in order to prevent this dehumanizing treatment leveled upon human beings from occurring again. Is it truly as Magda sings in The Consul (Nonesuch recording: NPD85645/2) ?

“To this we’ve come:
That men withhold the world from men.
No ship no shore for him who drowns at sea,
no grave for him who dies on land…”

I came away from both performances appreciating the motivation of the directors, but wishing for more clarity in the telling of ‘what happened’. Although perhaps it was their intention to overwhelm their audiences in the same way that the 14-foot waters inundated the community of New Orleans.