Alli Cruz – The Stanford Daily https://stanforddaily.com Breaking news from the Farm since 1892 Fri, 28 Dec 2018 20:54:53 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.4.3 https://stanforddaily.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/03/cropped-DailyIcon-CardinalRed.png?w=32 Alli Cruz – The Stanford Daily https://stanforddaily.com 32 32 204779320 New York Minute: Exploring love, memory and loss in ‘The Things That Were There’ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/10/17/new-york-minute-exploring-love-memory-and-loss-in-the-things-that-were-there/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/10/17/new-york-minute-exploring-love-memory-and-loss-in-the-things-that-were-there/#respond Wed, 17 Oct 2018 12:00:26 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1144998 This is the second installment in Alli Cruz’s new Arts & Life column, New York Minute, discussing her experiences with theater and art while studying with the Stanford in New York program. You can read last week’s column here. I find it incredibly compelling when a work of art attempts to explain loss because it […]

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This is the second installment in Alli Cruz’s new Arts & Life column, New York Minute, discussing her experiences with theater and art while studying with the Stanford in New York program. You can read last week’s column here.

I find it incredibly compelling when a work of art attempts to explain loss because it begs the questions — how can we communicate absence? How do we describe something that is not physically there? I think about this particularly in remembrance, in attempting to explain the life and legacy of a person whom we’ve lost: Is it even possible to describe a human being to another person without turning them into a character, into a sort of mythological presence?

“The Things That Were There” by David Greenspan, which had its world premiere at The Bushwick Starr in Brooklyn on October 10, investigates this almost inexplicable relationship between presence and absence — between having and losing — in a single family dinner party. Except it’s no ordinary dinner party. The play actually occurs in several different points in time — simultaneously.

As we sit down with the married couple Mario and Emily, Emily’s parents May and Calvin, and Mario’s father Lenny, we quickly come to realize how cognizant each character is of their existence, of their ephemerality, within the scope of the show. For instance, throughout the play, each character describes past events in their lives — the things and the people that were there — as well as the events to come: the passing of their loved ones, of major life events and even of their own deaths. These narrations, these realizations, are delivered as direct addresses to the audience, making us all at once aware of the characters’ omniscience and yet their lack of power to determine their exact fate.

Several times within the show, the characters even directly reference the play and the fact that they are written into it. Emily’s character, at one point, reminds us that “one day everyone will be gone, and no one will remember this moment except that someone wrote it down.” This poignancy revolving around the inevitability of loss — that of ourselves and those around us — is incredibly powerful and almost incomprehensible in a way. There are several one-liners like this in the show, one-liners that I personally wanted to scribble down in my notepad so that I wouldn’t forget them.

It is sort of funny, actually, that I so badly wanted to remember these lines about remembrance and the process of forgetting because maybe this speaks to an obvious fact of the human experience: We are so deeply afraid of forgetting and being forgotten. And perhaps the fear of forgetting has more to do with the desire for meaning than the recognition of mortality, which is another interesting concept that Greenspan explores in this play. Greenspan’s characters specifically grapple with the meaning or lack thereof of time and of their own actions. Calvin, at one point, says something to the effect of, “Time means nothing, but what it means I don’t know,” which at first seems altogether confusing, yet perhaps this mirrors the disillusionment and perplexity one experiences throughout the course of their lifetime. As time passes, Calvin and those around him imbue the space with meaning, but in a sense, that meaning means nothing in particular — in the way that all meaning and purpose is self-created and subjective.

I keep using the collective “we” and “our” when describing this play because of the immersive quality of the show. The direct addresses to the audience members, the straightforward recognition of collective humanity in the space, is at times palpable. I would say though that my only issue with the play itself is that it may not be as fully developed as I would like it to be — an issue that has a little more to do with the content (that I felt was missing) than the length of the show (50-ish minutes).

This is not to say that the shows lacks meaningful content, but it is to recognize that the show is in an earlier stage and could perhaps still benefit from additional adjustments. Personally, I would’ve liked to have seen a singular moment in which the ensemble of characters come together with each other and the audience. I felt so enthralled throughout the show, and when it ended, I felt as though I really wanted more in a way that seemed a little unsatisfying. But perhaps the absence of a moment of complete unity was intentional, as life itself may be brief or without absolute closure.

There are certainly moments for each character in which they individually connect to the audience. For example, in one of the most harrowing monologues of the show, Mario, following a point in time after which Emily has died, recounts to his son Dylan in his imaginary crib the time when he grew a lime mandarin orange tree, commenting that “it grew somehow” and “maybe you will taste the fruit too, and if not you, someone. Someone. Someone.”

To me, this repetition of “someone” assigns both anonymity and collective unity among the audience and the actors, and it does so in a way that had me in tears. During this monologue, Cesar J. Rosado, the actor who plays Mario, sits in a chair at the edge of the stage and looks out, his eyes fixed and his eyebrows furrowed in painful remembrance. His performance is haunting in such a visceral manner. The weight of his loss fills the room with a kind of heaviness. The idea of “tasting the fruit” relates directly back to Emily’s absence, the fact that she could not taste the fruit of her own labor, could not see her son grow up. Yet, somehow, both Mario and his son grow and will grow.

Other lines which stood out to me greatly were that of Lenny’s: “I know my son, don’t I?” and “The play changed” (in reference to altered memories/events in the show, i.e. Lenny no longer having had a history with prostitutes because the play decided to change itself). I find these lines particularly interesting for the ways in which they, respectively, emphasize how difficult it is to know and understand another person and how fate, like the hand of a playwright, has the full yet arbitrary capacity to change. It is also worth mentioning that David Greenspan himself plays the character of Lenny, demonstrating his versatility and captivating range of talent.

This play perhaps echoes similar existential sentiments from Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town” and “The Skin of Our Teeth,” as well as the absurdity of Kaufman and Hart’s “The Man Who Came to Dinner,” although I find it to be a very unique and standalone piece in its stylistic delivery, nontraditional nonlinear arrangement and incredibly intimate voice.

In a short interview with dramaturg Jesse Alick of The Public Theater, as shown on The Bushwick Starr’s website, Greenspan cites Wilder as a great influencer, even going so far as to recite Wilder from memory:

“We ourselves shall be loved for awhile and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them … There is a land of the living and a land of the dead, and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.”

 

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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New York Minute: CRASH Theater Co.’s ‘TaRaRaBOOM’ explodes with absurdity and modernity https://stanforddaily.com/2018/10/12/new-york-minute-crash-theater-co-s-tararaboom-explodes-with-absurdity-and-modernity/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/10/12/new-york-minute-crash-theater-co-s-tararaboom-explodes-with-absurdity-and-modernity/#respond Fri, 12 Oct 2018 12:00:07 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1144735 This is the first installment in Alli Cruz’s new Arts & Life column, New York Minute, discussing her experiences with theater and art while studying with the Stanford in New York program. This play starts with a boom. You could call it a big bang. It’s a recreation, a rebirth of the modern classic: Chekhov’s […]

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This is the first installment in Alli Cruz’s new Arts & Life column, New York Minute, discussing her experiences with theater and art while studying with the Stanford in New York program.

This play starts with a boom. You could call it a big bang. It’s a recreation, a rebirth of the modern classic: Chekhov’s “The Three Sisters.” And while some adapted plays can be reductive or trifling, “TaRaRaBOOM” is anything but. Performed by CRASH Theater Co., a small theater collective in NYC focused on moving beyond the parameters of traditionalism, this adaptation is refreshing and remarkably accessible in terms of modern language usage and contemporary political relevance.

CRASH Theater Co.’s “TaRaRaBOOM: A Three Sisters MishMash” follows Chekhov’s story of “The Three Sisters” – Olga, Masha and Irina – in the aftermath of their father’s death, searching for meaning, connection and, perhaps most of all, happiness. The play begins on Irina’s 20th birthday (which is also the one-year anniversary of their father’s death), wherein each sister speculates on the cause of their unhappiness – life without a father, an unhappy marriage, lack of work and therefore of purpose.

It becomes increasingly clear that each character in the show, from the sisters to their brother to the army officials filtering in and out of the house, is dealing with their own personal discontent; and yet, they have one thing in common – their desire to return to, to find fulfillment in, their almost-dreamlike symbol of happiness: Moscow. Left to grieve and cope in their small provincial town, the three sisters and company search for the lofty ideal of happiness through physical means – an affair, work life, murder, etc.

I feel as though the strength of this adaptation lies in the ways in which it underscores perceived happiness and unhappiness in adult life. I’ve only recently read Chekhov’s original “The Three Sisters” script, but I am struck by how well-attuned CRASH Theater Co.’s production is to the ways in which adulthood renders the characters bereft of – or at the very least, struggling for – profound meaning. I find this search for meaning especially poignant after such profound loss; specifically, in this case, the sisters’ loss of their father.

To me, these ideas of searching and losing and finding oneself comes across especially well through the ensemble work and stage pictures of the show. In one of Masha’s lover Vershinin’s many monologues, in which he philosophizes about human happiness and the unknowability of future progress, the bluish-white lights dim as the cast moves about him in droves, waving their arms as if demonstrating the fluidity of time and knowledge – specifically the ways in which knowledge is shaped by time, and the ways in which knowledge seems to change over time. What people know to be true now may be accepted as incorrect or incredibly problematic in a few decades time, and this notion can fill the mind with a sort of existential dread — What, if anything, is truly knowable? Perhaps this idea of overwhelming and dread is also laden within that variable, movement-heavy scene.

I also find it particularly interesting that, towards the beginning of the show, every time a character mentions even Moscow, the cast collectively turns to the audience and shouts “Moscow!” while varicolored lights brighten around the stage. This aside underscores the happiness and hope that these characters thrust upon a singular place, or at least the idea of a place, and the absurdism inherent within this immense and generally unfounded excitement is all at once comical and lighthearted.

This play is fun because it is absurd, because it picks apart the ways in which we are absurd. One character, Chebutykin, asks repeatedly, “What difference does it make anyway?” – a question that the audience must grapple with throughout the show as tragedy and triviality unfold.

I particularly enjoy the actors’ engagement with the audience during darker moments of the play, as it encourages us as spectators to contemplate the absurdity and meaning (or the lack thereof) in our own lives; for instance, the actors choose an audience member to deliver the news of Tuzenbach’s death via cue cards. In another scene, Masha’s husband pleads and cries to a different audience member, asking if anyone, anyone at all, knows where his wife is.

Other comedic moments, such as the scene wherein Tuzenbach attempts to create a new song (one that just ends up sounding like a vast array of other pop songs), highlight the seeming futility of human creation, posing the questions: What is originality? What is individualism? How does the individual carve their own original sense of happiness via the work they do and the space they inhabit? This perhaps has a sort of meta-feel to it, as this work itself is not entirely “original,” but rather an adaptation of a classic.

Other notable scenes include Vershinin’s final exit, which leaves Masha heartbroken, as he walks out the wooden frame door and runs his hands slowly across a black wall, which is chalked with information, just off stage right. As he slowly and methodically blurs the words, the information, we understand the ways in which loss blurs meaning, how it clouds the information we think we know. His exit is slow and mesmerizing – perhaps also capturing the ways in which we can sometimes romanticize the people who leave us.

Overall, I find this production to be witty, engaging and most importantly, enjoyable. This show is weird and wacky in the most thought-provoking of ways.

 

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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SF Playhouse’s ‘In Braunau’ is frighteningly underdeveloped https://stanforddaily.com/2018/07/18/sf-playhouses-in-braunau-is-frighteningly-underdeveloped/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/07/18/sf-playhouses-in-braunau-is-frighteningly-underdeveloped/#respond Wed, 18 Jul 2018 09:00:20 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1142952 The key to a good thriller is suspense. There’s nothing I love more than waiting for that surprise — the name of that mysterious figure in the corridor, the source of that uncanny music, the reason behind that locked door. The only thing is: a story has to make you want the answer to these […]

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The key to a good thriller is suspense. There’s nothing I love more than waiting for that surprise — the name of that mysterious figure in the corridor, the source of that uncanny music, the reason behind that locked door. The only thing is: a story has to make you want the answer to these mysteries. More importantly, it has to make the answer seem unknowable — at least, for a time.

And perhaps this is the issue with Dipika Guha’s “In Braunau,” a story which seems all too knowable. The story follows an interracial couple — a white American man named Justin (Josh Schell) and an Asian American woman Sarah (Sango Tajima) — in the wake of the 2016 presidential election, trying to find a way to create meaningful change in the world. And what better way to do that, they decide, than to move across the world to Braunau, Austria, purchase the childhood home of Adolf Hitler and transform the whole lot of land into — not a bed and breakfast — but a B&D, a breakfast and dinner (as dinner brings about more fruitful discussion). I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

Unsurprisingly, the answer is: just about everything.

The entire premise of “In Braunau,” while original, doesn’t exactly lay the groundwork for surprise or suspense. It has the elements of what could be a good horror piece: the chilling melodies of an unseen children’s chorus, a nearby graveyard, inexplicable dropped calls, and perhaps most chillingly, white supremacists. However, these horrific elements, introduced so early on in conjunction with Justin and Sarah’s over-eager and enthusiastic devotion to the project — Sarah, at one point, even reveals that she used the entirety of her inheritance buying and renovating the property — seem foreseeable, and perhaps worse, uninteresting.

Which is not to say that the plot itself is uninteresting — the idea of a liberal American couple converting a “birthplace of evil” into a birthplace for fruitful dialogue regarding good, positive and meaningful reform is not only refreshing and original — it is captivating. My issue is not with the storyline, but with the execution. Justin and Sarah’s plan is already inane, albeit surreal, but I would love to see it told in a way that either leans fully into this absurdity or pushes the notion that this could, in fact, happen in real life.

Because, as it stands, I found the tone of this piece to lie somewhere in between absurd and realistic, which made the play just a couple of naive, wacky characters operating in a perfectly rational, yet haunting, world. Perhaps if Justin and Sarah’s confidence in their ambitious project wasn’t so unwavering, or if it was clear that the world in which they acted in was somehow a caricature of reality it wouldn’t seem like so much of a nothing-could-go-wrong — oh-wait, just-kidding! — type of story.

A central question that underlies this plot is, simply, whether or not evil is a real force at work in the world, and whether this force can be altered like Justin and Sarah’s B&D — or if it is fixed, alive and immortal, like an evil spirit that haunts unholy ground. I find this question particularly interesting, especially as it dives into discussions regarding white nationalists: Are people inherently evil or can “good” people become evil by virtue of their evil actions? Can we measure a person’s true nature by the net worth of their actions, or is there something greater at play?

These seem like incredibly relevant questions, especially today, as “evil” continuously pervades this country and the world in terms of race riots and hate crimes. Guha’s play seems to argue that, yes, evil is  very real — and sometimes, you can stare it right in the face and not even know it until it’s too late. Sometimes, evil takes the form of a friend, or a lover, or even, yourself. These ideas alone are frightening, and with some fine tuning, this play has the power to shake audiences everywhere with unrelenting, persistent, unpleasant truths in Braunau and in the world at large.

 

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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A BottleRockin’ hit: A convergence of music, food and art https://stanforddaily.com/2018/06/07/a-bottlerockin-hit-a-convergence-of-music-food-and-art/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/06/07/a-bottlerockin-hit-a-convergence-of-music-food-and-art/#respond Thu, 07 Jun 2018 12:00:56 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1142037 Halsey and Giada De Laurentiis hardly seem as though they belong in the same sentence, let alone on the same stage. Yet, at BottleRock 2018 on Sunday, May 27, on the Williams Sonoma Culinary Stage they stood, drinking prosecco and cooking pasta in the sizzling 80 degree weather. This is the peculiarity and excitement of […]

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Halsey and Giada De Laurentiis hardly seem as though they belong in the same sentence, let alone on the same stage. Yet, at BottleRock 2018 on Sunday, May 27, on the Williams Sonoma Culinary Stage they stood, drinking prosecco and cooking pasta in the sizzling 80 degree weather.

This is the peculiarity and excitement of Bottle Rock, a music and food-infused festival which began in 2013 in Napa, California — a fitting location, as Napa, in the heart of California wine country, is nearly synonymous with plentiful food and drink.

The mere spectacle of that Halsey and Giada De Laurentiis collaboration is, perhaps, emblematic of BottleRock’s established fusion of music and art. When I first saw their names, in the BottleRock program, lined up next to each other, I knew I had to witness this fascinating artistic crossover. BottleRock is, put simply, as full of food as it is of artistic value — which is to say that there is a high degree of both elements. BottleRock, perhaps in line with its distinctive name, undoubtedly unique in its staging of events such as this.

During the Halsey/De Laurentiis event — which was essentially a collaborative cooking session plus Q & A — Halsey, true to her well-known edgy-pop image, donned cutoff jean shorts, with her hair thrown half up-half down, in a green Oakland Athletics t-shirt and cat-eye sunglasses. De Laurentiis, on the other hand, as a revered chef and TV personality, wore a red and white polka dot, collared maxi dress and old-style Hollywood sunglasses. The outfits of these powerful women drew precise attention to the marked difference, the peculiar yet fascinating juxtaposition, of their specific personalities.

Halsey brought a more playful note to the stage, spending most of the pasta-making process cracking rather unexpected jokes that seemed to shake — not stir — up De Laurentiis’ focused culinary process. At the start of the show, Halsey cracked a half-smile and asked De Laurentiis, “Are you gonna sing while I cook?”, engendering little chuckles from the audience members who, I am sure, like me, were at first unsure of what exactly the event was going to entail. In other words, Halsey, right from the beginning, brought a sense of youthful ease, which made the already-unusual collaboration all the more comical and entertaining.

De Laurentiis, in contrast, brought a poised sort of energy, moving about the kitchen with precision and grace. She was not, however, without her own palpable sense of humor and ease, smiling wide as Halsey joked, “I know how to drink,” as they sipped prosecco or laughing as Halsey told her, “I’m gonna tell my boyfriend that you taught me how to use a knife,” as they cut up some vegetables. The differences in their demeanors allowed for an exciting show on a small, intimate stage that felt rather like a live Food Network special — featuring special musical guest Halsey.

Halsey’s humor also translated to the main stage later on in the day before she sang “Bad at Love,” wherein she asked all the couples in the audience to give their adult, consenting partners a big kiss. As my photographer, Devon Zander, and I stood in the crowd, watching the people around us start embracing, I started laughing at how visible the single men and women were in the crowd. We all started making eye contact, even shrugging at one another. Then, Halsey boldly declared that the next song, “Bad at Love,” were for those of us in the audience without significant others.

Halsey is certainly a performer — in all senses of the word. During her show, she urged fans to sing louder and louder, taunting with phrases like, “Come on, BottleRock, I thought you were a fun festival!”, which truly brought upon wider participation from the audience. She began her set with lesser known songs, such as “Gasoline” and “Colors” from her first album, “Badlands,” which came out in 2015, and finished with her more recent hits like “Now or Never.” At times, Halsey sat on the edge of the stage, feet dangling above the audience. For context, all the stages at BottleRock are outdoors, which allowed moments, such as this, to feel all the more free, intimate, and uncontained, allowing for a certain sense of excitement to pervade the audience.

The entire setup of BottleRock — with outdoor booths and food stands — feels like a clean and bourgeois version of a county fair. Instead of extra large chicken legs and bacon-wrapped ice cream, there were Kind Bar booths and cute, quaint places like Bulldog Burgery and Home Slice Wood Fired Pizza. I myself was impressed by the wide variety of food at the festival, and I found myself thinking a lot about the experiential qualities of food and music, especially because food, unlike music, is generally overlooked as an art form. Sure, we have words for “culinary arts,” but we don’t generally seem to categorize food as artistic in the same way we do music.

And yet, as the scent of burgers, sandwiches, fries and more wafted around me, I began thinking more about how beautiful a festival like BottleRock truly is. In its hodgepodge of artistic elements, it truly draws in its own artistic community. As we eat our food, we are also savoring the sounds of wonderful live artists. The result is beautiful. I can honestly say I’ve never experienced anything like BottleRock — in the best of ways.

The festival grounds themselves were brimming with artistry. As you enter the festival, you come across a giant wooden sculpture of a hot air balloon. Near it, four giant lollipops stand playfully tilted in a line. Near that, there are giant bronze letters which spell the word “LOVE.” Even some of the photo areas, which feature some distinctly Instagrammable, painted backgrounds, were being retouched by artists — yet another live aspect of artmaking.

While Halsey was among one of the most prolific headliners, I would like to take the time to note some very notable performers, one of them being the band The Wrecks. I hadn’t heard of them nor their music before the festival, but I found their angsty, alternative style very reminiscent of the type of music I listened to about five years ago. This is not to diminish the validity of their music, but to say that their sounds definitely brought me back to a more youthful time, and thereby, a more emotionally powerful time. It certainly made for a fun dancing/fist-pumping session, especially with lines like “Someone’s gotta tell me how to figure this out.”

In contrast, Mount Joy — one of the performing bands — provided the festival with more relaxed, chill vibes on the Miner Family Winery Stage, which was a small and intimate space with a decorative banner comprised of tiny squares following various faded color gradients: pink, blue, orange and red. The small space really lent itself well to their indie sounds, complete with electric guitar, ukulele and drums. Most audience members, like me, found themselves lying down on the ground, some with sunhats propped on their stomachs, just soaking in the sun and the music. The lyrics, with images like angels smoking cigarettes on rooftops, were intensely poetic and very fitting for the calm atmosphere.

Overall, BottleRock was an intensely unique and relaxed experience. The festival goers, much like the types of art, were certainly an interesting hodgepodge mix — some looked as though they were dressed for StageCoach with their cowboy hats and boots, while others looked ready for Coachella with their long skirts and flower crowns, while some others looked as though they were ready for a day at the beach. I myself didn’t know how to dress for the occasion, and I love that. I think that’s telling of the fact that BottleRock cannot be contained into one single stereotyped category of performers or of audience members. BottleRock is certainly a one-of-a-kind experience.

 

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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‘Gruesome Playground Injuries’ is a grossly entertaining production https://stanforddaily.com/2018/05/15/gruesome-playground-injuries-is-a-grossly-entertaining-production/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/05/15/gruesome-playground-injuries-is-a-grossly-entertaining-production/#respond Tue, 15 May 2018 09:00:41 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1141020 I often wonder about the peculiar connections we make between love and pain: love as an agonizing sickness, love as an arrow-shaped wound, love as a torture of sorts. These two forces, though seemingly antithetical, feel inextricably linked. Stanford Theater Lab ties this link, between love and pain, together through an intimate and confrontational production […]

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I often wonder about the peculiar connections we make between love and pain: love as an agonizing sickness, love as an arrow-shaped wound, love as a torture of sorts. These two forces, though seemingly antithetical, feel inextricably linked.

Stanford Theater Lab ties this link, between love and pain, together through an intimate and confrontational production of “Gruesome Playground Injuries” by Rajiv Joseph. Told through a series of scene-specific time jumps, the show follows the story of two childhood-friends-turned-lovers as they find each other, both literally and figuratively, broken, bruised and beaten.

Joseph’s script — which is as emotionally gruesome as the title suggests in its exploration of illness, sexual assault and self-harm — lends itself easily to an investigation of human suffering and dejection. But this production refuses to lean into a simplistic interpretation of the narrative; what underlies Stanford Theater Lab’s “Gruesome” is a sense of love, of compassion, of support, in the face of the most dark, gruesome, painful realities of the human experience.

This palpable sense of heart arises from the intensely intimate nature of the production. In my experience, two-person shows, like this, often engender a unique sort of closeness from character to character, and character to audience. I understand this connection especially during the transitional scenes, in which Doug (Gracie Goheen ‘20) and Kayleen (Lillian Bornstein ‘18) smile and laugh together — adding a sense of ease and lightness to this rather heavy show — all while making costume changes and splattering paint, in the shape of wounds, on each other. There is a certain messiness to the show, surely, but it is from this hurried and quickened pace, this paint-strewn chaos, that a sense of reality comes to the forefront. The message is clear: life is messy, but we, like Doug and Kayleen, are somehow connected by this sticky, paint-like, amorphous mess.

I am particularly interested in the production’s unique use of color. Stanford Theater Lab could have easily, in my opinion, overemphasized the evocative image of blood-red stains, but instead, chose a more colorful palette. To represent physical wounds, Goheen and Bornstein coat each other in the blue, yellow and red paint. I find it especially resonant that Goheen and Bornstein paint each other, instead of performing this action on their own, as it suggests a shared sense of pain between the characters, perhaps as if their injuries — and subsequently, the ways in which they must heal — are somehow linked. I also wonder at the idea of wounds taking on a certain brightness of color — not as a beautified romanticization of pain, but as a suggestion that not all wounds look the same, and maybe more importantly, not all wounds look like wounds.

The actors themselves, Goheen and Bornstein, only wear black clothing, which nicely paints them as a sort of representation of the everyman. Their characters’ stories, though emotionally specific, feel, in a sense, general and very much human.

The balance between darkness and light manifests itself not only in the physical color patterns, but also, grippingly, through the actors. In the first scene, in which the characters appear as young children, Goheen utilizes her body to act like a boisterous young child. She heightens her voice to create a sense of lightness and naivety; her movements become quick and broad, too, like a child’s, and this is particularly exciting as she pantomimes riding a bicycle across the stage, whirring as she goes. Her character, in this scene, recovers from injuries sustained after biking off of the school’s roof.

Bornstein, on the other hand, in the first scene, adopts a shy, childlike demeanor, at times slouching her body into herself. By the end of the scene, she stands firmer, with a curious look in her eye as she reaches towards Doug’s wound, asking if she can touch it.

The subject of healing is, perhaps ironically, a painful aspect in the show, particularly in its conclusion that we, much like Doug and Kayleen, can do little to heal the trauma inflicted on our loved ones. In one scene, Doug lets out a shrill scream, her eyes widening and hands grabbing fistfuls of her own hair as she finds out about Kayleen’s assault. In another scene, Bornstein as Kayleen vacillates between pleading, crying, laughing and reminiscing as she paces around a hospital room where Doug lies, nearly brain-dead after another life-threatening accident.

In perhaps one of the most gripping scenes, Doug drops her pants and pleads for Kayleen to gash a wound on her upper thigh, an injury which would mirror the ways in which Kayleen herself practices self-harm. It is difficult to watch — after Bornstein mimics slicing into Goheen’s leg — as Goheen cries out, looks up and stares at Bornstein, her eyes wide and mouth agape in horror, pain and disbelief. This attempt to take on another’s pain, to try to understand how they hurt, is futile. The scene ends with Goheen shaking in place, her character unable to find the words to describe this private, brutal injury.

Overall, this production, from with its pre-show music (which showcased songs like “Kiss with a Fist” by Florence + the Machine) to its wound-heavy imagery, plays up that aforementioned link between love and pain. For me, watching Bornstein, in particular, touch Doug’s wounds in different scenes suggests a sense of tenderness in the confrontation of pain. This act of touching the source of another person’s trauma is brutally vulnerable, and it leads me to wonder if perhaps love and pain are not so much synonymous as they are co-existent, in a way. It’s not so much that love is pain, but that love cannot be love unless it accepts, confronts and deals with pain.

In this painstakingly thoughtful production, Stanford Theater Lab creates a beautifully stitched narrative of hope, love and resilience. I like to think of this type of experimental, confrontational art as transformative. I like to think of “Gruesome Playground Injuries” as having been a healing experience in and of itself.

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Q&A: Hasan Minhaj talks activist art, comedy and getting the audience to listen https://stanforddaily.com/2018/04/23/qa-hasan-minhaj-talks-activist-art-comedy-and-getting-the-audience-to-listen/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/04/23/qa-hasan-minhaj-talks-activist-art-comedy-and-getting-the-audience-to-listen/#respond Mon, 23 Apr 2018 08:00:10 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1139837 The Daily got to talk with comedian Minhaj, who will soon depart “The Daily Show” to helm his own weekly Netflix talk show.

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Best known for his role as a Senior Correspondent on “The Daily Show,” comedian and performer Hasan Minhaj spoke on Friday at Dinkelspiel Auditorium. Amongst many endeavors, including hosting the 2017 White House Correspondents’ Dinner, his critically acclaimed comedy special “Hasan Minhaj: Homecoming King” and guest starring roles on television, Minhaj will soon depart “The Daily Show” to helm his own weekly Netflix talk show, including some content he previewed at his appearance on Friday. The Stanford Daily had the opportunity to talk with Minhaj about the nature of activist art, connecting to everyone through comedy and hoping that audiences will listen.

The Stanford Daily (TSD): What would you consider activist art in arts and entertainment? Do you consider art, especially in the realm of identity and community-specific issues, as activist work?

Hasan Minhaj (HM): I think it depends on the artist’s intent. If their intent is to raise awareness on certain issues, whether that’s knowingly or unknowingly, it would be activist art.

TSD: Do you consider your work and art to be activist?

HM: Yeah, so it’s interesting because my intent usually comes from a place of curiosity, as you saw during the show. There is a central question that I’m trying to answer. You saw the preview of the big refugees headline, like “Should we let them in?” I’m coming at it from a place of curiosity, and some people are like “Oh! That’s a form of activism!” especially for this headline in particular. I think it walks this fine line. It’s sometimes not up to me to decide; it’s up to the audience to decide.

TSD: Asian American representation in media has reached a certain turning point today, and as three Asian American women in journalism, we’re proud to see people like us excelling and voicing themselves in the industry. “Homecoming King” was so special to us because of its specificity and focused on your experience. At the same time, do you ever feel like your identity constrains you to certain topics or that the public expects certain things from you?

HM: There is an incredible universality to specificity, but I think sometimes there is a slight disadvantage because they see me and go, “Oh, he has this specific agenda. I don’t want to hear this.” To me, one of the biggest things that I take inspiration from, and I think comedy takes a lot of inspiration from, is music. Great songs are able to just communicate to everybody. Music is sort of like the universal language in connecting everybody, and comedy is similar to music in some ways. My goal is to overcome any sort of preexisting notions the audience has of me through jokes and laughter. I can sort of sneak my way into maybe you hearing my side in some way. Now whether I do that effectively or not is a whole other question! (laughs) There are some YouTube comments that are like “Nah! Thumbs down!” Like all right! BallDrake79, you win!

TSD: When you’re doing stand-up, how much does the site of the performance affect how you deliver your work or your interactions with the audience? Who would you consider to be your target audience and what do you want them to take away from your work?

HM: My target audience is anyone who’s willing to listen. (laughs) Yeah! Anyone who’s willing to sit down and pay attention. I just hope that again, the biggest thing that they take away is that they can listen with an open mind. As performers, we’re just pouring our hearts out onstage. These are our thoughts, and these are our feelings, and hopefully you guys give it a shot.

Contact Samantha Wong at slwong ‘at’ stanford.edu, Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu. and Olivia Popp at oliviapopp ‘at’ stanford.edu.

Read the Daily’s first opportunity to hear from Minhaj in a joint conversation with Roy Wood, Jr.

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Who am I, really? Mixed race identities in television and media https://stanforddaily.com/2018/02/05/mixed-race-identities-in-television-and-media/ Mon, 05 Feb 2018 12:08:19 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?post_type=tsd_magazine_post&p=1136035 In a dimly lit office space, two white women huddle by a laptop screen littered with pictures of rotund, wide-eyed infant children, all of whom are filed under the hashtag: #mixedbabies. One child stares out from the computer screen with mouth agape, another rolls on their side, while another peeks out from under a white […]

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In a dimly lit office space, two white women huddle by a laptop screen littered with pictures of rotund, wide-eyed infant children, all of whom are filed under the hashtag: #mixedbabies. One child stares out from the computer screen with mouth agape, another rolls on their side, while another peeks out from under a white sheet with their young, impressionable eyes. “Oh, I just love mixed race babies!” one of the white women exclaims emphatically.

This simple scene, which comes from The CW network’s romantic musical-comedy drama “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend,” focuses “crazy ex” Rebecca Bunch’s (Rachel Bloom) asinine obsession of having children with her high school sweetheart, Josh Chan (Vincent Rodriguez III) — specifically, mixed race children. As individuals who both identify as mixed race or multiracial, we were struck by the potency of this scene to act as a metonym for a larger issue at hand.

After both independently watching the show and noticing this biting critique, we decided to come together to discuss an issue that we had noticed but never directly discussed with each other, recognizing our differences in experiences and lenses through which we view television.

 

Alli Cruz (AC): All in all, I appreciate the show’s conscious decision to include interracial relationships, but I’m very aware of the fact that “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend” has yet to take the opportunity to elaborate more comprehensively on its presentation of mixed race identities.

Olivia Popp (OP): It’s tough to talk about so much, especially when “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend” has already tried to cover so much — same-sex relationships, female empowerment — and a special emphasis on mental health. But yes, with such an incredibly diverse cast already, I agree that some emphasis could be placed on this.

AC: I’d say that, overall, the show’s racially diverse cast is fairly adequately utilized as a gateway to salient discussions regarding race. For instance, in one episode, the Filipino male lead and love interest, Josh, refutes the term “oriental” as inherently racist and insensitive. But the show falls a bit flat in its dimensional scope of other various multifaceted identities. The show’s only mixed race character, Heather, played by the ever-charming Vella Lovell — opens up little dialogue about her racial identity.

AC: Although this is not to say that all multiracial characters need to talk about their respective identities — about how they think of and carry themselves in the world. But for a show like “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend,” which spends most of its airtime deconstructing social norms, stigmas and stereotypes — one such stereotype, of course, being the rather oversimplified, sexist titular term “crazy ex-girlfriend” — there is certainly room for more engaging and fruitful identity-based conversations. I will say, however, the mere fact that “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend” even showcases a person of mixed descent is a small, progressive step in the right direction.

OP: To the show’s credit I really value the show’s recognition of Lovell’s true racial background, which is black and white — despite her ethnicity, Lovell is often mistaken for being South Asian.

AC: You’ve seen Kumail Nanjiani’s “The Big Sick, right?” If you’ve seen that film, you might recognize her as Khadija, one of protagonist Kumail’s potential Pakistani brides.

OP: That does raise the larger question of POCs (people of color) playing other POCs. Think “Aladdin” on Broadway — many times, Aladdin is played by any such POC, sometimes not anyone who identifies as Middle Eastern or South Asian. But in this case, it isn’t really an intraracial substitution, Asian-identifying for Asian-identifying — it’s something entirely larger. In an interview with Rodriguez at CAAMFest 2017, Lovell stated that she tends to identify as mixed race or ambiguous, especially in the entertainment community. I can’t blame her for wanting to use that to her advantage, but the fact that performers have to resort to that is just indicative of the industry’s problems as a whole.

AC: I agree. I would certainly take issue with whitewashing POC roles — with one of the most egregious recent examples, of course, being Emma Stone’s portrayal of a white and Hawaiian mixed race individual in “Aloha” named Allison Ng. But in terms of POCs playing other POCs — well, that gets pretty complicated. In Lovell’s case, I would say that her decision to use her racial ambiguity as an advantage — especially in an industry which systematically underrepresents POCs — is understandable, although I still find the idea a bit disconcerting. I want to say that I totally support any and all visibility for POCs, but this definitely runs into the issue of race-based generalizations. If we openly support mixed race POCs, like Lovell, playing other POCs across racial lines, can we do so without considering it as a sort of infringement of identity?

OP: It does open so many more questions than answers, but it’s important for us to think about — even Darryl Whitefeather, an openly bisexual character on “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend” who identifies as one-eighth Chippewa, even though Pete Gardner is white. Darryl’s identity is treated as a running gag — he has all sorts of Native American art pieces in his office and proudly announces his last name everywhere he goes. While his character comes out as bisexual, this is treated as much more of a core identity than his self-identified racial background. Characters point out that he really has no true ties to his Native American heritage and simply parades it around as a sort of “exotic” identity — so is it appropriation? Does having this heritage and personal identity entitle one to use it in certain ways? It’s a hard question.

AC: Darryl is just one example of this complex, ambiguous and oft unaddressed issue. Overall, there’s such a lack of multiracial identities across mass media — think about multiracial Native American portrayals, let alone Native American portrayals as a whole. Where are they? Is a character like Darryl a step in the right direction?  And, as in the case of Darryl, even when these mixed race identities are present, they often fail to engender the complex and productive discussions that surround their very existence. For me, the issue here is that representation of mixed-identities alone is hardly enough to ameliorate the difficult and distinctive discriminatory practices and experiences thrusted upon mixed-race communities. I say “difficult and distinctive” because these experiences, much like the identities themselves, are not one-dimensional. We have to ask ourselves: What is representation, really? Can it exist beyond the mere display of identities? How can our media open dialogue regarding multiracialism and multiculturalism without oversimplifying and overlooking the nuances of identity?

OP: On that note — is a display of identity just simply the presence of an identity or more so, the purposeful incorporation of this into a narrative? I think television is a great medium to do that in, especially with large audiences and the ability to capture the attention of viewers for long spans of time over a period of seasons. Studios and producers are so hesitant to do so, though, because there’s no precedent. In order for this to happen, there have to be mixed-race creators actually creating this content — otherwise it’ll never start.

AC: The fact of the matter is that now, in either repressing discussions surrounding mixed race communities, as in the case of Lovell’s character, or exoticizing them, as with the multiracial babies in “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend,” the media we consume may be complicit in perpetuating a social structure that categorically exploits racial ambiguity without considering its societal implications, a trend that then permeates into popular culture.

OP: I know a lot about this specific example because of my own multiracial identification, but many actresses who identify as multiracial white and Asian individuals are so often placed into that “badass” role of secret agent, police officer or assassin. Asian women as a whole are placed into this “dragon lady” role, but multiracial Asian actresses are pushed even more to the forefront. Take Maggie Q, for example. I’m a huge fan of her as an actress and artist, but of her three major television roles out of six to date, all three of them have been of this designation, and her starring role in The CW’s “Nikita” as the titular spy and assassin is a perfect example. She starred in the short-lived “Stalker” as a police officer, and now she’s part of “Designated Survivor” as a hardened FBI agent.

AC: Stereotypical oversimplifications of multiracial identities like this, as constructed by the media, ultimately do commodify the mixed race experience as some sort of token item, allowing for the continued marginalization of minority communities within an existing racial hierarchy. Put simply, we need more than diversity for the sake of diversity; we need diversified, variable content/backstories/plotlines for mixed race people of color. As an Asian/Latinx identifying individual, my first conscious experience with mixed race identity in media came from Alex Russo of Disney Channel’s “Wizards of Waverly Place,” played by Selena Gomez. Gomez’s character, as an Italian- and Mexican-American, was the first mixed race person in my life — that I can remember, at least — who presented herself as a real, tangible role model in the predominantly white world of television. I feel as though media visibility for Latinx characters, such as Alex, is crucial, especially for adolescent children who are still in their formative years of development, searching for a strong sense of both identity and community, wanting to find themselves in the characters they watch. What’s more, keeping in mind the fact that, according to a 2015 study by the Pew Research Center, one third of people just within Latinx community identify itself as mixed-race — largely due to the historical intermixing of European and indigenous cultures — it is important to recognize and subsequently legitimize the expansive definition of Latinx identities. Personally, as an adolescent, I didn’t even perceive Alex to be a Latinx person of color, as the show paid little attention to that aspect of her biracial identity until placing her in a short-lived quinceañera episode. My inability to recognize and appreciate her identity is perhaps a testament to the show’s lack of meaningful investigation of multiracialism.

OP: That’s a great example of how these specific identities in television and media are so important. I also watched “Wizards of Waverly Place” when I was younger, but I didn’t have this reaction, even as a mixed race individual. On the other hand, I had a similar reaction when I saw mixed race actresses of Asian descent on other shows with whom I could identify, and this still happens today. A recent example is Chloe Bennet, now well-known for her role as Daisy Johnson on “Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.” — her legal last name at birth was Wang, but after a short stint of trying to be a pop star in China, she came back to the U.S. to become an actress. She became frustrated after being unable to secure any acting gigs, so she changed her last name to Bennet — which is actually her father’s first name — and the first audition after her name change, she secured her role as Hailey on “Nashville.” She’s been very outspoken about Asian American representation but suddenly started receiving flack after she spoke openly about changing her name because of racism in Hollywood — some people even began to tell her to change her name back to Wang. Bennet is arguably white-passing — so even with a last name such as Wang and the state of the industry as it is, I’m not entirely surprised that she couldn’t secure any roles. Many viewers were happy to note that the show didn’t engage in erasure of her ethnic background — rather, they cast Nepalese-born, Asian Australian actress Dichen Lachman as her mother, Jiaying, who happens to also be mixed-race. Nevertheless, Lachman isn’t white-passing and is of German and Tibetan ancestry, while Bennet is of Chinese descent.

AC: I have to wonder, like you said — where are the other mixed-race role models and examples? What happens when multiracial children attempt to search for a character like them through media formats that are bereft of such inclusive representation?

OP: Where are the Latinx/Asian, Black/Latinx or Afro-Latinx, Asian/Black and other identities in media? Why are so few biracial characters of dual POC descent? Moreover, people who are not just biracial, but multiracial. I think about YouTuber and actress Anna Akana as a prime example — she even did a video on this. People often ask her the intruding question that every multiracial person dreads — “What are you?” Her response is that her ethnic background is incredibly diverse, but most people identify her as Asian, which she also identifies as. Nevertheless, people are just genuinely confused because of her complex, unique multiracial background. Will there ever be a place for multiracial identities in television or in media as a whole?

AC: Does media visibility for multiracial people reflect what we experience in everyday life, or does the antiquated notion that white-passing, or at least, light-skinned, multiracial people are more deserving of representation still dominate popular opinion? I believe that, more often than it should, the latter option filters through the public conscious.

OP: The white-passing argument is something I think about all the time. As a non-white-passing multiracial individual, I often felt so confused and even ashamed when people asked, “Oh, you’re white?” I only really knew my father’s side of my family growing up, and that side of my family is of Polish descent — so I was always felt like there was something. People saw me as Asian and therefore had certain expectations of me — which is wrong in and of itself, but I felt dually confused and shut out of communities with which I wanted to identify with because of that. I couldn’t coexist in multiple communities or even exist as myself because people couldn’t come to terms with me. But going back to Bennet, even if she didn’t necessarily look like me, a similar identity crisis can happen — if you identify as Asian, and people only perceive you as white or otherwise, there’s erasure that occurs. In the entertainment industry especially, there are so many set molds of who can “look Asian” or “look Black.” It puts multiracial individuals in a tough place — if a character identifies only as Asian, and they don’t fit that mold, they either can’t play the role or face clapback from viewers stating that it’s erasure of multiracial identity, or they just “don’t look Asian enough.” Is it necessarily “wrong” to have someone who racially identifies half-white and half-Asian play a character who identifies as 100 percent Asian — or vice versa? Or does it create a deeper problem of distorting expectations of what people look like? Roles designated as “ethnically ambiguous” are also hard to come by, and even then, studios find it a burden to have to address anything remotely more complicated than, say, “this person is Asian.”

AC: We have to ask ourselves these questions as we continue to navigate popular media culture. Maybe if we all keep asking, keep searching, keep demanding, for the underrepresented identities that deserve to be heard, we can channel their narratives into our media and society at large. I want to see and participate in a world where being mixed race means something very specific — something more than just vague, indiscernible racially gray areas.

 

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu and Olivia Popp at oliviapopp ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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It’s all aliebn to me https://stanforddaily.com/2017/10/21/its-all-aliebn-to-me/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/10/21/its-all-aliebn-to-me/#respond Sat, 21 Oct 2017 23:18:02 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1130222 This past June, when I went to Barnes & Noble to pick up Jonny Sun’s new book, ‘everyone’s a aliebn when ur a aliebn too,’ my interaction with the book clerk went a little something like this: “Hi, do you happen to carry the book, ‘everyone’s a aliebn when ur a aliebn too?’” “Sorry, could […]

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It's all aliebn to me
A page from Jonny Sun’s new book, ‘everyone’s a aliebn when ur a aliebn too’ (Courtesy of Jonny Sun).

This past June, when I went to Barnes & Noble to pick up Jonny Sun’s new book, ‘everyone’s a aliebn when ur a aliebn too, my interaction with the book clerk went a little something like this:

“Hi, do you happen to carry the book, ‘everyone’s a aliebn when ur a aliebn too?’”

“Sorry, could you repeat that?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. It’s ‘everyone’s a aliebn when ur a aliebn too.’

“Oh, uh, sure.”

“Except everything is misspelled.”

“Pardon?”

“So it’s alien. But with a b. And you’re, except spelled U-R. Oh, and the author’s name is Jonny Sun, but he goes by jomny sun. You know, like Jonny, but instead of a two ‘n’s,’ it’s an ‘m’ followed by an ‘n.’”

And the book clerk, well, she looked at me as if I were “a aliebn.”

For most of us, it’s not an altogether unfamiliar experience to feel like an alien, to feel a sense of, well, ‘unbelonging’ — a lack of togetherness. As a mental health awareness advocate who in the past has grappled with depression and anxiety, author Jonny Sun no stranger to feelings of loneliness and alienation. These feelings are, after all, what prompted him to write this book in the first place.

Sun’s debut novel explores the world through the eyes of a young alien named jomny, who has been sent by his alien colleagues to research humans on earth. But instead of finding humans, jomny discovers some unlikely friends: an egg with a deep-seated fear of hatching, a dog incapable of communicating his innermost thoughts and an elusive, shapeless character named Nothing. Through this strange amalgamation of characters, Sun uncovers universal truths about happiness, sorrow and the vagaries of the human experience, helping everyone — jomny, his friends, and even the readers themselves — feel a little less alien.

The principal metaphor of the book — the alien as a literal manifestation of alienation — is simple, perhaps overt, but this is where the book succeeds. It is through Sun’s simplistic world-building that we begin to understand the complexities of our own world. For instance, Sun’s inclusion of the character, Nothing, is incredibly simple: an entity which embodies silence or fear of the unknown. Yet, Sun utilizes this rather elementary character in an accessible and thought-provoking way. For me, Nothing’s most memorable line is when the character talks about how “being afraid of death is the same as being afraid of nothing.” It is such a simple phrase, but it illuminates our fear of the deep, dark “unknown” in a straightforward, yet powerful manner.

Sun encourages us to consider our greatest fears in the same way a child would and rationalizing them in the same way a child would in order to break these anxieties, as if helping us to dismantle our “adult” fears in a very forgiving and encouraging manner. Wherever there is a moment of poignancy or contemplation such as Nothing’s line regarding the fear of mortality, it is either preceded or undercut by Sun’s witty humor. For example, Nothing’s aforementioned mortality line comes after his first humorous meeting with jomny. Nothing, who at first takes the form of a ghost, brings forth jomny’s fear of dying and of being haunted. Jomny then shrieks upon seeing the ghost-Nothing, to which Nothing replies with “umm i literally experienced the horors of death so maybe this isnt abot you.” Sun’s adroit layering of hilarity and honesty allows him to explore darker themes of death and depression in a way that is somehow light, palatable and refreshing.

It's all aliebn to me
Jonny Sun is a scientist, artist and social media sensation (CHRISTOPHER SUN/University of Toronto).

‘everyone’s a aliebn when ur a aliebn too’ is full of poignant one-liners from Nothing, jomny and the other creatures of Earth. However, the true power of Sun’s work originates not only from the lines themselves, but also from the way in which they are told. Fraught with calculated misspellings that often involve the insertion of the letter “b” — such as the titular use of “aliebn” — Sun’s book radiates childlike innocence and curiosity. At first glance, it almost seems as though a child has written and illustrated this book, what with the aforementioned misspellings and the rather rudimentary, almost crude, images — jomny himself constitutes a mere bean-shaped head and a tiny, rounded belly connected directly to his oval-shaped feet. But again, the genius is in Sun’s deceptive simplicity.

‘everyone’s a aliebn when ur a aliebn too’ is less of a graphic novel and more of an adult-length children’s book, and this format lends itself well to a unique storytelling experience — one which allows us as readers to reexamine our own lives through a childlike worldview in a way that is unabashedly candid, compassionate and downright adorable. Sun’s ability to properly simplify the complex is perhaps a true testament to his intellect. As a playwright, whose works have been produced at the Yale School of Drama and Factory Theatre; an artist and illustrator, whose pieces have been showcased at MIT and the University of Toronto; as well as a comedy writer, engineer, designer, architect and doctoral student at MIT, Sun is no stranger to the worlds of art and academia. In fact, Sun’s involvement in and understanding of these worlds is what makes him so incredibly relatable, especially to students at Stanford. This is not to say that all Stanford students share the same breadth of experience and talent as Sun; I think we can all agree here that he is more of a fascinating anomaly than a norm or even an attainable standard.

Sun’s relatable nature instead stems from his sensitivity to the academic and social pressures which pervade a great deal of youth culture today. The clever manner in which he is able to rationalize and at the same time poke fun at human fears and anxieties shared among youth is perhaps why Sun has amassed such a large audience on Twitter — now, at nearly half a million followers.

From a college student’s perspective, the most relatable and salient characters are Sun’s egg and owl. Sun’s egg, who is on the one hand afraid of never hatching and on the other fearful that hatching may, in fact, be the greatest and most impossible to replicate moment of his life, communicates the anxieties of many young people today, who find the future to be both a terrifying yet ‘egg-citing’ concept.

The owl, on the other hand, represents an illness which Stanford students know all too well: impostor syndrome. My favorite line of owl’s reads: “…i don’t feel owly enough to be an owl,” a sentiment which has undoubtedly plagued the minds of many students at Stanford and beyond. Sun’s specific use of an owl, the physical manifestation of wisdom, is again a bit of a hackneyed metaphor, but for the purposes of this childlike book, it works unexpectedly well. Additionally, the concept of hiding behind one’s feathers highlights the mask we as burgeoning adults tend to put on as we trudge forth into the workforce and the academic world.

In this unique and expertly crafted novel, Sun’s jomny explores an unfamiliar land, a land which eventually starts to feel like home. Similarly, Sun encourages us, through reading this book, to explore the unfamiliar parts of ourselves — the difficult parts that often go unnoticed, unspoken and unrealized — in order to feel less like aliens and more at home with ourselves.

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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‘No Hero’ at Roble Gym is ‘a multimedia masterwork’ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/25/no-hero-3/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/25/no-hero-3/#respond Fri, 26 May 2017 03:49:17 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1128078 The art of storytelling can take many forms, whether it be through dance, film or the written and spoken word. Stanford Theater and Performance Studies, in their multimedia production of “No Hero,” incorporates all of these art forms to develop a comprehensive, oft-unheard narrative about the meaning of dance in the rural west. The production […]

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The art of storytelling can take many forms, whether it be through dance, film or the written and spoken word. Stanford Theater and Performance Studies, in their multimedia production of “No Hero,” incorporates all of these art forms to develop a comprehensive, oft-unheard narrative about the meaning of dance in the rural west. The production showcases the talent and expertise of TAPS’ elite contemporary dancers alongside live footage, which details renowned choreographer and Stanford faculty member, Alex Ketley, and his tour of Western rural America in 2012.

The performance space, the Roble Arts Dance Studio, provides an intimate setting which is perfectly conducive for the intimate storytelling experience. The stage, a flat black square bordered by two benches on two sides, is rather simplistic — and rightfully so, as the stories themselves take precedence over the space.

It is ambitious, perhaps brave, to integrate such diverse artistic mediums in a single production, but the risk is well worth the result. “No Hero” is a bold production that investigates the lives of ordinary citizens in the Western states and translates their distinct stories into a cohesive, extraordinary work about love, loss, community and identity.

Combining live dance performance and documentary film, “No Hero” shares these Western narratives in a visceral, affecting manner. One documentary scene tells — via video, pictures and written words — the story of a man named Ara who began traveling with his dog, Spirit, after the loss of his son, Lance. At the same time, a live dancer emerges center stage under a bright yellow spotlight, falling to the ground in one moment and then rising again, much like a spirit. The rise and fall of her movements provides a visually powerful representation of Ara’s real-life emotional struggles — the ups and downs of his new life without a son. There is a sense of loneliness, of wandering, of searching for meaning as the projection shifts to Ara and his dog driving along an empty road; the live dancer, meanwhile, portrays this restlessness by angling her elbows and knees at 90 degree angles and mimicking a running motion of sorts. This moment is particularly moving, especially at the end of the story, when the stage goes completely dark.

In another scene, an interview with Warren and Linda — a rather honest and unassuming couple — of Lake Topaz details their experiences with the “uninhibited and fun” nature of dance among youth, particularly their grandchildren. As their dialogue cuts out, a video of a young woman in a desert-like landscape emerges. Sounds of rushing winds fill the performance space, and the film dancer appears to move against these winds. Just then, a live dancer appears before the screen, arms open in a sort of embrace of nature. As the projection shuts off, the live dancer moves with wide and sweeping gestures. She extends her arms and bends her knees in wild yet precise movements, echoing Warren and Linda’s earlier account of dancing as “uninhibited.”

In addition to the filmed and live-dance parts, the production is also joined by instances of verbal narratives. One such narrative resembles a spoken-word poetry piece with its commanding and rhythmic tonality. As the performer speaks, she dance, placing her hand over her chest, turning, kicking and pausing for a full-body narrative experience. The result is both visually stimulating and orally poetic.

In the final piece, black and white images of the rural interviewees inundate the screen as the live dancers freeze in stylized poses. The pictures — which display images of a lone man and a young couple, to highlight a few — transition faster and faster as the instrumental music crescendos. As the music reaches its peak, the screen shifts to an image of a rising yellow sun, shining above a mountainous horizon. The golden rays are reminiscent of the yellow lights used throughout the live show. This bright light engenders a rather hopeful tone, perhaps suggesting that art — in particular, dance — is a hopeful, unifying aspect within a community.

With a skillful conglomeration of live dance, dialogue and photo and video projections, TAPS’ “No Hero” renders itself a multimedia touchstone. The production stirs a deep appreciation for all art forms, both auditory and visual. In a way, the production itself is a dance, seamlessly weaving through live performance and recordings, much like carefully choreographed dance steps. The result is, in my opinion, deserving of a standing ovation. “No Hero” is unique, compelling and captivating.

Showtimes are May 25 – 27, at the Roble Gym dance studio, at 8:30 p.m.

 

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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BLACKstage’s ‘Ragtime’ reverberates with hope and strife https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/14/blackstages-ragtime-reverberates-with-hope-and-strife/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/14/blackstages-ragtime-reverberates-with-hope-and-strife/#respond Sun, 14 May 2017 18:37:22 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1127438 “Make Them Hear You,” sings the chorus of the newly-revived BLACKstage production of the musical “Ragtime.” In this musically rich, thought-provoking production, the voices of BLACKstage are heard loud and clear as their wonderfully melodic harmonies crescendo and sharpen to share the pain and strife inherent within the stories of desolate and disenfranchised Americans. These […]

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“Make Them Hear You,” sings the chorus of the newly-revived BLACKstage production of the musical “Ragtime.” In this musically rich, thought-provoking production, the voices of BLACKstage are heard loud and clear as their wonderfully melodic harmonies crescendo and sharpen to share the pain and strife inherent within the stories of desolate and disenfranchised Americans. These are not easy stories to tell, but the crossover narratives which make up this show — from that of a Jewish immigrant family to a wealthy white upper-class household to a young black couple from Harlem — reverberate powerfully throughout Dinkelspiel Auditorium, providing both a stark criticism of institutional racism and classism as well as a hope for a future of success.

Set in New York at the turn of the 20th century, “Ragtime” uncovers the heated tensions rising within the American melting pot through acts of racial violence and verbal assault. While the characters of this musical come from all walks of life, their stories unite — not unlike the syncopated or ‘ragged’ rhythms of ragtime music — through the obstacles they each face, forming a multidimensional perspective of what it means to be American.

The show itself certainly is a time-specific piece, deeply rooted in the volatile early 1900s. But I would be remiss in not addressing the musical’s timely value, given our contemporary political climate. Issues of discrimination and racial violence are not exclusive to the era of ragtime. As director Nicole Phillips (‘18) said about “Ragtime” in a previous interview with The Stanford Daily, “This could be right now.” The Black Lives Matter movement and the latest Trump-endorsed immigration ban prove that discrimination is very much an issue right now.

With this in mind, BLACKstage’s efforts to bring these exigent social and political issues to the spotlight is not only commendable, it is necessary. In one scene, Coalhouse (Jelani Munroe, alum), a young African American ragtime musician, is cornered by three white supremacists who hurl the N-word epithet at him multiple times just before they trash his car and roll it into a nearby lake. To hear the N-word spoken with such hate — as if the syllables were spit one by one out of the actor’s mouth — is, as an audience member, incredibly jarring. But it is this sort of direct confrontation that challenges us as audience members to really see and really hear the horrifying realities of racism in America. The power of the scene lies in the historical weight of the word, the hateful history which it carries. Reenacting such heinous acts of racial violence stirs public conversation, makes the show realistic and compelling.

Equally jarring is Coalhouse’s transformation from the loving, doting would-be father to the vengeful, spiteful murderer. At the beginning of the show, Munroe performs adeptly as the caring young lover, presenting Sarah (Samantha Williams ‘17) with bright yellow flowers. In “Wheels of a Dream,” Munroe holds his baby close to his chest and looks longingly out to the audience as he recounts his dreams of a brighter future. However, after Coalhouse witnesses Sarah being brutally beaten to death during a campaign rally, he becomes cold and withdrawn, standing with his hands coolly behind his back as he orchestrates bomb threats and violent killings. In his chilling final scene, he surrenders himself to the police, unarmed, with his hands raised in the air. The mere image of Coalhouse’s “hands-up, don’t shoot” gesture is eerily reminiscent of the 2014 shooting of Michael Brown.

Tateh (Miles Petrie ‘19), on the other hand, as a Jewish immigrant, calls upon the audience to consider immigration issues of both past and present. In one scene, a man approaches Tateh and asks to purchase his daughter. In response, Petrie pushes the man to the ground, chases him away and subsequently promises his young daughter that they will have success one day. Tateh’s aspirations to the American dream are not unlike those of immigrants today, who seek both refuge and better opportunities for economic mobility in America.

Confronting us with pressing matters of racial violence, immigration and political suppression, “Ragtime” resounds with powerful social commentary and critique, allowing us to thoughtfully consider our position in the world today. BLACKstage’s production is controversial, but it is so for good reason. In these tumultuous times, theater cannot afford to remain silent or impartial. BLACKstage expertly handles this production with talent, vigor and enthusiasm. The production not only marks the recent revival of BLACKstage as a theater company, but also a revival of hope for a better future.

 

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Ram’s Head Theatrical Society’s ‘Wild Party’ brings out the party animal in us all https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/14/rams-head-theatrical-societys-wild-party-brings-out-the-party-animal-in-us-all/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/14/rams-head-theatrical-societys-wild-party-brings-out-the-party-animal-in-us-all/#respond Sat, 15 Apr 2017 02:16:43 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1125935 Reeling in last year’s success with the rock musical, “Rent,” Ram’s Head Theatrical Society took on yet another difficult and risqué production: “The Wild Party.” This year, exchanging rock ballads for ragtime show tunes, Ram’s Head proved once again the versatility of Stanford’s premier performers and technicians. Set in the concrete jungle of New York City, “The […]

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Reeling in last year’s success with the rock musical, “Rent,” Ram’s Head Theatrical Society took on yet another difficult and risqué production: “The Wild Party.” This year, exchanging rock ballads for ragtime show tunes, Ram’s Head proved once again the versatility of Stanford’s premier performers and technicians. Set in the concrete jungle of New York City, “The Wild Party” follows two vindictive lovers, dancer Queenie and vaudeville clown Burrs, as they throw a party that is grander and, well, frankly, wilder than anyone could imagine. As they open the bottles of bubbly, tensions rise to the surface, culminating in a life-or-death situation. While some, like Kate (Nicole Hardson-Hurley ‘17), are concerned with being “The Life of the Party,” others are just concerned with making it out alive.

“The Wild Party” is an extremely challenging show to undertake, not only because of its controversial subject matter — relationship violence, sexual abuse and murder — but also because of the somewhat distant and unrelatable 1920s setting. However, these elements, handled delicately and expertly by cast and crew as well as by director Nathan Large (‘18), make this show the wild success that it is.

Choosing to confront, rather than censor, difficult scenes involving rape or violence, Ram’s Head casts a spotlight on the darkest facets of the human experience. These are unpleasant truths, of course, but the emotional honesty, supplied by the actors (namely Brooke Hale ‘20, who plays the abused lover Queenie), transform this time-specific 1920s tale into a timeless narrative about the uncomfortable animalistic instincts which are buried within all “civilized” human beings.

Perhaps the most graphic scene involves the two main characters, Queenie and Burrs (James Seifert ‘17), as he yells obscenities, yanks her hair and forces her onto the bed. The entire exchange happens so quickly, so unexpectedly, so unseemingly provoked that it is hard, as an audience member, to grapple with what has transpired. Hale’s helpless expression, wide eyes, struggling fits of movement and eventually, even more chilling, her still submission as Seifert forces himself on her, is haunting. Hale’s rendition of “Out of the Blues” following the violent incident is equally haunting, as her raspy, powerful voice turns quiet and utterly rejected. She wanders about the stage, looking out into the audience and off to the side, as if looking for answers she cannot provide for herself, unable to reconcile with the abusive act. In this striking scene, Hale’s vulnerable and sympathetic portrayal coupled with Seifert’s contorted expressions of anger capture the rather blunt struggle between order and chaos prevalent throughout the show.

Hale sways and sashays across the stage with her Marilyn-esque short blonde hair and bold smile. Whether smoking a cigarette or dangling a glass of champagne, Hale retains her character’s sexuality, which is continually her source of power over both the men and women of the show. In emphasizing her sensuality, she captures the attention of one Mr. Black (Peter Kurzner ‘17). Kurzner’s interactions with Hale starkly contrast with those between her and Seifert. Seifert twists Hale’s arm, while Kurzner merely wishes to hold her hand. In “I’ll Be Here,” Kurzner inches toward Hale and softens his voice to a chilling vibrato. Hale evades his advances, but as the song concludes, he wraps her in a coat and she gives him a soft, loving kiss.

Seifert, on the other hand, is nothing short of brutish. He throws Kate to the ground and eyes Queenie with an intense and possessive stare. Even as he lays his hands on Hale’s shoulders, a seemingly loving gesture, his grip is rigid and controlling. In “Let me Drown,” he further emphasizes his character’s aggressiveness through strong belts and violent stomps across the ground. However, as he asks himself, “What is it about her?” — in reference to how she drives him crazy — Seifert displays the agony within this macho man. He cries out and widens his eyes, clearly unable to understand his own actions. Moments of clarity and active questioning, such as this, cast Burrs as a character to be pitied. He is unable to control nor understand himself, as shown clearly at the end of the show as he, unhinged, points a gun at Queenie and Black.

Burrs’s animalistic instincts call attention to unspeakable yet shared truths of humanity. These truths are exemplified metaphorically, through both Burrs and the ensemble, with a symbolic makeup design, which features all ensemble members, including Seifert himself, adorned with zombie-like clown eye circles. This uniformity in makeup design, as well the cast’s synchronized turns, kicks and lifts, add a sense of unity amidst the chaos — a unity formed through base human acts of greed and excess. In a surprising addition to the show, Seifert even wears a clown nose before scenes of violence or outbreak to emphasize basic human folly.

In the world of “The Wild Party,” order turns to chaos. In today’s world, the story is not so different. Bombings, abuses of power, genocide — these are all aspects included in a “civilized” society. “The Wild Party” acknowledges these unforgiving truths of humanity not for audiences to adopt a pessimistic world view, but rather, to ask themselves, as Queenie does in her final song, “How Did We Come to This?” There is something hopeful about this question. If we can recognize our propensity, our natural inclination for wrongdoing and self-deception, perhaps we can ameliorate our situation.

With powerful harmonies and a message that truly resonates with contemporary audiences, Ram’s Head undoubtedly succeeds in celebrating theater and humanity’s capacity to overcome and reevaluate hardships.

 

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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TAPS’s ‘The Tempest’ conjures a storm of originality and wit https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/03/theater-review-tapss-the-tempest-conjures-a-storm-of-originality-and-wit/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/03/theater-review-tapss-the-tempest-conjures-a-storm-of-originality-and-wit/#respond Fri, 03 Mar 2017 23:56:17 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1124343 A flash of lightning reveals a crew of sailors, frantically running across the stage. As thunder booms, these sailors fling themselves to the ground — right, then left — in a rhythmic yet unpredictable pattern. A lantern, barely lit, swings like a pendulum above their heads. Amidst the chaos, a woman stands on an unlit […]

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A flash of lightning reveals a crew of sailors, frantically running across the stage. As thunder booms, these sailors fling themselves to the ground — right, then left — in a rhythmic yet unpredictable pattern. A lantern, barely lit, swings like a pendulum above their heads. Amidst the chaos, a woman stands on an unlit balcony, singing an operatic tune as if putting forth a steady wave of calm. Thus begins the TAPS production of Shakespeare’s “The Tempest,” with — you guessed it — a tempest. But this performance is anything but chaotic. Directed by Pulitzer Prize Playwriting Finalist Amy Freed and assistant directed by Abby Brooke (‘17), TAPS’s production conjures up a storm of near-magical student performances filled with lighthearted comedy, wondrous musicality, and the vagaries of the human experience.

This production is outright hilarious, with impromptu dance numbers, unabashed exclamations of “Freedom!” and fast-acting sleep spells. However, it also presents moments of seriousness with a father weeping for his lost son and a woman lamenting her life of servitude. The show’s brilliance largely lies in its ability to adeptly master the balance between comedy and realism.

On the surface, “The Tempest” is a somewhat discombobulated amalgamation of screwball antics and magical interventions. However, TAPS unmasks the illusions of the show through powerful soliloquies and provides a narrative which, at its heart, is about love and forgiveness. While the show at times relies heavily on overdone theatrics, with modern dance beats or conga lines of island spirits, it is nevertheless charming and brilliantly entertaining.

Tim Schurz (‘17) gives a spell-binding performance as Prospero the wizard, careful not to reduce his role to that of a stock character as he realistically vacillates between nurturing father figure, all-powerful wizard and forgiving human being. Schurz kneels to his daughter and takes her hands with paternal care as he explains how they came to be exiled on an abandoned island, but when his servant Caliban (Hamzeh Daoud ‘20) threatens to defy him, Schurz clamps his magical staff to the ground in anger, forcing Daoud, trembling, to the ground. Schurz’s commanding presence is augmented by his stentorian voice in addition to his tall stature, upright posture, and slow, confident strides. In his final scene, once he forgives the people — namely, his own brother Antonio (Noah Bennett ‘19) — who put him in isolation, he decides to give up his magic. In a closing moment of surrender, Schurz uniquely ends the show by extending his arms to the audience, as if inviting them to be “set free” with him.

Despite her character’s life of servitude, Lea Zawada (‘20) as Ariel is unabashedly free as she leaps, sways, and runs about the stage. Zawada’s energy is boundless, her stamina phenomenal. In accordance with her spirit-like character, she seems to be everywhere: singing, peering out from balconies, climbing down ladders, playing musical instruments. In one scene, Zawada gracefully flows across the stage, arms stretched like a ballerina, with a sense of fluidity which again emphasizes her spirit-like qualities. However, Zawada still finds the humanity within her somewhat inhuman character, especially in Act IV Scene I, when she turns to Schurz, wide-eyed, and asks: “Do you love me, master?” Similarly, in her final moment, after Prospero releases her from imprisonment, she takes a decisive moment to look back at him, at once displaying her character’s capacity to feel loss.

At the heart of the show lies the romance between the lovers Miranda (Emma Rothenberg ‘19) and Ferdinand (Miles Petrie ‘19). In their whirlwind, Romeo-and-Juliet style fling, Rothenberg and Petrie forge youthful innocence and hope throughout the show. As the show progresses, so does their relationship and comfort with one another. Their distance onstage diminishes as they become like one entity, holding hands, united by a vow of marriage.

The technical elements of the show afforded its smooth sailing and seamless transitions. Created by scenic designer Erik Flatmo, the set’s understated nature provides a simple atmosphere which juxtaposes the foolery happening onstage. The set itself, complete with two balconies on either side, mirrors an abandoned Jacobean-esque theater and adds a traditional element to this show, underscoring Prospero’s long exile as well as the timeless nature of this forgiveness-centered show. Lighting and sound voard operators (Ashi Agarwal ‘19 and Susannah Meyer ‘19) work expertly during storm scenes, coordinating flashes of light and booms of thunder to create a sense of foreboding within the storyline.

With buoyant characters and underlying realism, TAPS’s production weathers the test of time. Though a difficult show to tackle, the cast and crew does so with vigor and enthusiasm. This story begins with a storm, but it ends on a sense of calm, with only Prospero standing center stage. The calm after the storm seems to be an inversion of the colloquial saying, but perhaps what the show is suggesting is a sense of hope. There is always forgiveness, always love, always patience — come hell or high water.  

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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StanShakes’ “Macbeth” is wickedly entertaining https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/23/macbeth-witchy/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/23/macbeth-witchy/#respond Fri, 24 Feb 2017 06:31:39 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1123667 Three hooded figures, all masked with gold, stand in a triangular formation. Their voices are eerily calm. Waves of distorted frequencies begin to permeate the theater. Suddenly, the figures drop to the ground, as if possessed by some demonic force, and contort their bodies in rhythmic disharmony. So begins Stanford Shakespeare’s (StanShakes’) haunting performance of […]

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Three hooded figures, all masked with gold, stand in a triangular formation. Their voices are eerily calm. Waves of distorted frequencies begin to permeate the theater. Suddenly, the figures drop to the ground, as if possessed by some demonic force, and contort their bodies in rhythmic disharmony. So begins Stanford Shakespeare’s (StanShakes’) haunting performance of Shakespeare’s “Macbeth,” a wickedly smart production which reimagines this classic Shakespearean tale with a focus on the nature of evil, using supernatural forces to uncover natural human tendencies.

StanShakes’ production highlights the internal human capacity for death and destruction through magical, external embodiments of evil — namely, the aforementioned hooded witches, whose masked ephemeral appearances suggest that evil is an anonymous force which can overtake anyone. StanShakes’ interpretation of this classic piece is haunting, but this is what makes the show both resounding and brilliant.

While “Macbeth” is certainly not a modern show, StanShakes’ production — smashingly directed by Matthew Libby ‘17 and produced by Sarah Burnett ‘19 — still finds new ways to make the show feel fresh and accessible to its modern audiences. The most striking original element of the production was the stage itself. Positioned at a slight diagonal, the straight-edged black stage stretches across the length of the performance space. The stage resembles a road, perhaps mirroring the fateful road which Macbeth must travel in order to fulfill the witches’ prophecies — and his own downfall.

Jake Goldstein ‘19 as Macbeth adroitly masters his character’s descent into madness. In his first scene, Goldstein struts confidently across the stage, having just won in battle. However, upon murdering his own cousin, the king, he quivers, furrows his brows in fear and cries out with guilt. When his character experiences guilt-ridden hallucinations, from the floating dagger and the ghost of Banquo, Goldstein widens his eyes, as if in a trance, and screams without abandon, much like a real madman. However, Goldstein is careful not to overdo his performance by slowly building up to his character’s fits of terror. He starts with quick, pacing movements and transitions his voice into louder and louder exclamations of fear. Goldstein’s balanced performance keeps Macbeth’s humanity intact, whether he writhes at the feet of the witches or he kneels in despondence upon recognizing his impending doom.

Throughout the course of the show, Gracie Goheen ‘20 as Lady Macbeth transforms from cutthroat to pleading and desperate. In Act I, she slinks to the ground and shouts at dark spirits, commanding them to “unsex her.” This speech is iconic, and Goheen adds her own twist to the performance by resting on her knees, as one would pray in church. However, her fervent yelling, clenched fists and consorting eyes betray the seemingly sacred position. Although Lady Macbeth is undoubtedly cold and ambitious, Goheen displays moments of fear to ground her character in reality, especially as she stands paralyzed during Macbeth’s proclamation to the “seeling night.” In her final scene, as she continuously scrubs the imagined blood off her hands, Goheen displays her ultimate transformation. Her hair transforms from a tight updo to down and unkempt, and her movements evolve from calculated steps to slow, unmethodical strides.

As for transitional cues, the lighting, designed by Garrick Fernandez ‘19, makes great use of red undertones to highlight the tension during pivotal scenes. These red lights, which noticeably shine on the faces of each character, highlight the violence, the guilt and the misplaced ambition gone awry. In the final scene, in which Macduff (Kaya McRuer ‘17) and Macbeth face off, swords in hand, the red lights begin to flash all over the room. At the same time, siren sounds began to blare, signifying the death and danger to come. This technological twist suggests urgency in a contemporary lens, pushing the audience to consider this age-old tale in modern application.

At the center of this show lies not the struggle between Macduff and Macbeth, but the one between morality and ambition. Certainly, political ambition is a powerful theme in the show; it drives Macbeth to murder his own cousin in cold blood and to plot the assassination of his close friend. In “Macbeth,” political ambitions come at the cost of order and morality. When avaricious political leaders take power, turmoil ensues. This message is eerily applicable to “today’s modern political climate,” as Libby states in his director’s note.

With superb technical elements and a strong cast of actors, StanShakes revitalizes the timeless tale of Macbeth into a relatable, timely story about the dangers of egocentric ambition, as well as the hopeful promise of restored social order. Although “Macbeth” has been performed time and time again, there is a sense of urgency and insight in this production that makes it unique.

 

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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“The Vagina Monologues” grabs back female empowerment https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/16/the-vagina-monologues-grabs-back-female-empowerment/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/16/the-vagina-monologues-grabs-back-female-empowerment/#respond Fri, 17 Feb 2017 07:12:04 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1123198 Call it pooki, dee dee, coochi snorcher, Mimi in Miami, or simply just a vagina. No matter how you say it, you are unearthing a very controversial, often unspoken subject. The alternative, euphemistic names used to describe female genitalia range from funny, to pejorative, to downright uncomfortable; the same can be said about the individual […]

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Call it pooki, dee dee, coochi snorcher, Mimi in Miami, or simply just a vagina. No matter how you say it, you are unearthing a very controversial, often unspoken subject. The alternative, euphemistic names used to describe female genitalia range from funny, to pejorative, to downright uncomfortable; the same can be said about the individual feminist stories which make up Eve Ensler’s “The Vagina Monologues,” presented by the Stanford Women’s Coalition, and playing tonight at 8 p.m. in Paul Brest Hall.

Despite its peculiar name, “The Vagina Monologues” is very raw, very real — and it speaks more about female empowerment than about the vaginas themselves. First performed in 1996, the show is still performed every year, at Stanford and at many universities across the country, largely because of its unique depiction of the plight of women. This episodic feminist theater piece not only creates more diverse roles for female actors on the theatrical stage, but it also initiates social and political dialogue on the global stage. Its political content is so highly regarded that in 2006, The New York Times called the play “probably the most important piece of political theater of the last decade.”

“The Vagina Monologues” features a series of monologues pieced together from interviews of real life women. While the interview questions were the same, i.e.“If your vagina got dressed, what would it wear?” and “If your vagina could talk, what would it say?”, the responses were decidedly different, producing highly personal narratives about sexual embarrassment and discovering what it means to be a woman.

The Stanford Women’s Coalition’s production of “The Vagina Monologues” captures these personal narratives with a powerful sense of intimacy and unity. Their decision to perform this piece in the round allows a certain closeness with the audience, inviting them to view the characters and the stories from all sides. The all-black costume color scheme, in addition, creates a sense of uniformity and unity. Yet, because each actress wears a different clothing style, from a short black skirt to pants and a crop top, there is still a keen sense of individuality for each character. The costumes are in themselves exemplary of the female experience: while not every woman encounters the world in the same way, there is something which brings them together to form their collective identity.

However, this feminine identity is not restricted to just those who have a vagina, as the monologue, “They Beat the Girl out of My Boy…Or So They Tried,” definitively demonstrates. This speech was a new addition to the play, incorporated into the play in 2005 and written from the perspective of trans women. It is considered to be an optional addendum to the show, but The Stanford Women’s Coalition chooses to perform the piece because of its inclusive definition regarding what it means to be a woman. In the past, “The Vagina Monologues” has been criticized for its narrow definition of womanhood, but the new piece makes use of a more all-encompassing definition of female identity.

The show has also been criticized for its negative portrayal of heterosexual relationships. The men described in this show are often painted as aggressors, rapists, perpetrators, or simply enemies of women. However, this may merely be an attempt to give words to the often unspeakable, violent struggles which women face in Western patriarchal society. Additionally, it is not as if every story paints men in a negative light. “Because He Liked to Look at It,” another piece within the production, describes a positive male-female sexual encounter. In Stanford’s production, Cindy Niu gives life to this story, smiling and gazing afar as she recounts how her partner’s praise and admiration allows her to see the beauty and power that she has within herself.

While the content of these narratives has the potential to soar into the overdramatic, the cast adeptly balances the seriousness of the show with lighthearted comedic timing. In a piece called “The Woman Who Loved to Make Vaginas Happy,” Grace Wallis sits in a plain chair and outrageously reenacts different types of female orgasms. She extends beyond a When-Harry-Met-Sally type of performative scene, exhibiting high-pitched screams and guttural moans as she contorts her face into what looks to be a combination of both pain and pleasure.

It’s no secret that this show may provoke some unease within its audiences. Speaking the unspeakable often produces that effect. But this element of viewer discomfort proves the show’s efficacy in reaching its audiences in tangible ways. I myself have seen the show before, and yet, I am still surprised by the honest details of each narrative – the shame of a car hookup gone wrong, the excitement of a first orgasm. It is as if I, too, am experiencing the horror, the pride, the self-discovery of each character. Yes, the stories presented are real, but more than that, they feel real, and this can be attributed to the personalized delivery of each monologue, whether it be through the small steps of an older woman or the clenched fists of an indignant young girl who longs to find happiness within her body. Perhaps this personalization, this theatrical honesty, is what makes the show so powerful, so beloved by both men and women alike.

Put simply, “The Vagina Monologues” challenges our conventional viewpoints about femininity and call upon us to address and take action against the negative stereotypes and violent wrongdoings which pervade women’s lives. The unity displayed by the actresses of this show is one that can be admired and replicated in our society at large. Stanford’s performance is extremely timely given our current political climate. Women across the country proved their unity at the Women’s Marches earlier this year, and they will continue to prove their solidarity in the future. Now, more than ever, in the era of Trump, we are called upon to protect and demonstrate this unity for generations to come.
Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Theater review: Great timing for ‘Gaieties of Future Past’ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/11/16/theater-review-great-timing-for-gaieties-of-future-past/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/11/16/theater-review-great-timing-for-gaieties-of-future-past/#respond Thu, 17 Nov 2016 05:13:19 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1120049 A malfunctioning time machine and an unrealized tour guide dream give birth to yet another not-so-genius evil plot to destroy Stanford University in Ram’s Head’s 2016 production of “Gaieties.” While this plot may appear to be disastrous for Stanford University, and for Gaieties, this is the tried-and-true method for a successful production. This year’s “Gaieties […]

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A malfunctioning time machine and an unrealized tour guide dream give birth to yet another not-so-genius evil plot to destroy Stanford University in Ram’s Head’s 2016 production of “Gaieties.” While this plot may appear to be disastrous for Stanford University, and for Gaieties, this is the tried-and-true method for a successful production.

This year’s “Gaieties of Future Past” (head writers Katie Adams ‘17 and Michael McKenna ‘16), travels through time (specifically, from 2016 to 1885) to bring Stanford students a not-so-timeless story about how Stanford triumphs over Cal, in anytime and anyplace. The plot is faulty, the ending is predictable, the characters are essentially caricatures of vaguely real people, but that doesn’t really matter. No one watches “Gaieties” expecting the next “Hamilton” or Best Musical of the Year; they simply watch it to be entertained. And entertaining it was.

Following the story of Polly Plain (Brenna McCulloch ‘20) and her roommate oh-so-cleverly named Roo Mate (Isabela Angus ‘20), “Gaieties of Future Past” travels back in time to highlight a very important message to Stanford Students of 2016: We need to love our school – and, most importantly, we need to love and appreciate ourselves; a sappy end, yes, but perhaps a necessary one in our day and age.

Upon receiving less-than-stellar news from the Stanford Tour Guides, Roo vengefully decides that her only course of action is to wreak havoc on our beloved university and join the dark side (also known as UC Berkeley). As they say, hell hath no fury like a Stanford student scorned. Naturally, Roo decides that her best course of action is to travel back in time to alter the most significant moments in Stanford history, from the school’s founding in 1885 to the apparently-infamous Cal Beat Stanford Conference of 1931 – all using a time machine that she invented. To stop Roo and save the greatest school in the nation, overachieving freshman Polly enlists the help of some important historical figures in Stanford history: Hewlett, Packard and Joe of Trader Joe’s. Thus emerges the whirlwind plot behind this year’s take on a very familiar story.

As an entirely student written and produced musical, “Gaieties” has been a Stanford tradition dedicated to some good ol’ pre-Big Game Cal-bashing since it began back in 1911. This fact by no means makes the show old news, but it can mean that the plot can get a bit boring, especially for upperclassmen who feel “if you’ve seen it once, you’ve seen it a thousand times.” But what this Stanford-wins-all storyline may lack in originality, the characters cover up with a whirlwind of kicks, thrusts and synchronized harmonies.

Angus as Roo shouts, cries and laughs maniacally as she vows to go back in time to destroy Stanford. Although her vocals are captivating, as she displays phenomenal control over her soft and raspy tonality, her character is a bit lackluster. Roo is a good-two-shoes Stanford student turned double-crosser the moment she does not get exactly what she wants. Roo herself functions mostly as a one-dimensional figure to promote our school rivalry against Cal and a vehicle to get the plot started (especially since she is the inventor of the time machine around which the story is centered).

Speaking of the time machine, Matthew Libby (‘17) as the Meyer Time Machine may be more endearing than his creator. Libby takes his robotic character and gives him a hilarious-yet-lovable vitality. With an ever-present smile, faraway stares and the occasional “bee-boo-beep,” Libby truly commands the stage.

Perhaps the most original “Gaieties” twist centers around the partnership between the great Hewlett and Packard; Austin Zambito-Valente and Minh-Anh Day (both ‘20) augment the show with their palpable sexual tension. During one scene, Zambito-Valente and Day tango against a backdrop of rosy lighting and outrageously dreamlike dancers, who wear pink morph suits adorned with papier-mâché hearts, creating a hilariously overdone, passionate, captivating mini rom-com plotline. This spin on the Hewlett-Packard partnership could be construed by some as stereotypical or perhaps offensive, but it’s all in good fun, and it creates a more modernized love story well-suited for our 2016 audience.

Another noteworthy performance comes from Patrick O’Hare (‘17) who plays young Joe Coloumbe, a Stanford student from the past, and future founder of Trader Joe’s. When Polly picks up Joe and asks him to help her on her mission to save Stanford, O’Hare immediately bursts into a surfer-dude, high-out-of-his-mind character voice. Although essentially a caricature of the man himself, this character serves to augment the comical atmosphere, especially as his he reveals his true calling: to serve the blandest food to the richest white suburbanites.

Without these historical characters or the mode of time travel, “Gaieties of Future Past” would probably offer little more than puns and at-times raunchy humor. What keeps the show chooglin’ is the element of school spirit, deeply-ingrained tradition and, most importantly, a message about the need to accept yourself, even if you don’t succeed in every aspect of your life.

“Gaieties of Future Past” is more than just a better-than-Cal story. It is a tale about how we all find our own individual identities – as Stanford students, as humanities people, as STEM majors – in an admittedly humorous and thought-provoking fashion. It encourages us to appreciate our school and ourselves in the present and the future all the while getting us psyched for the Big Game.

 

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Theater review: ‘Seared’ is a cutting-edge new drama https://stanforddaily.com/2016/11/03/seared/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/11/03/seared/#respond Thu, 03 Nov 2016 19:07:24 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1119123 Theresa Rebeck’s new play “Seared” received a rather hearty welcome at the San Francisco Playhouse. Its premiere marks Rebeck’s first theatrical release since her work on “Smash,” a popular musical television show which she not only created, but also co-produced. Rebeck’s dramatic skills, both on screen and on stage, do not fail to impress. “Seared” takes […]

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Theresa Rebeck’s new play “Seared” received a rather hearty welcome at the San Francisco Playhouse. Its premiere marks Rebeck’s first theatrical release since her work on “Smash,” a popular musical television show which she not only created, but also co-produced. Rebeck’s dramatic skills, both on screen and on stage, do not fail to impress.

“Seared” takes place in a small, up-and-coming restaurant in Brooklyn, with a talented (and egotistical) chef taking center stage. Chef Harry is without a doubt a culinary genius – after all, his mouth-watering dishes earn his restaurant a rave review from one of the most prestigious food critics in town. On the surface, Harry’s precise methods, coupled with his burning passion for the art of food, appear to be a perfect recipe for success. But when his restaurant co-owner, Mike, brings a profit-oriented consultant named Emily into the mix, tempers begin boiling through that once-palatable surface, and the kitchen and its staff are thrown right in the middle of a struggle between authenticity and capitalistic greed.

SFP’s production is a delectable conglomeration of witty dialogue, colorful characters and wonderfully simplistic design elements. The show smells like a hit to me, and that’s not just because of the garlic and balsamic-infused aroma permeating the theatre.

That’s right — actual cooking took place onstage. Salmon, salad, you name it — it was on the menu and in the air. This added element not only drove home the idea of artistic authenticity (as espoused by the character Harry during his monologue about the reality of food and insubstantial nature of money), but made the experience feel all the more inclusive, drawing the audience into the story with a plethora of sensory details. The sharp dialogue grabbed my attention, but the enticing aroma held it throughout the show. It made me feel personally invested: When Harry hurriedly finished cooking a meal — spices simmering, impatience rising — I felt my own stress levels rising. Augmenting the food-heavy atmosphere, each scene ended with a distinct searing noise, a subtle decision made by designer Theodore J.H. Hulkser.

Visually, the set, designed by Bill English, was a feast for the eyes. Filling the entirety of the intimate stage space, this kitchen backdrop was truly an intricate work of art, complete with a run-down toaster oven, a fully-functioning stove, a silver-steel fridge and even a storage closet (which was nearly out of the audience’s line of sight), stocked full of food and supplies.

Brian Dykstra as Chef Harry peels back, onion-style, the layers of his character: Calculated, slow, maybe even inspiring a couple of tears. Dykstra maintains a gruff voice as he challenges Mike (Rod Gnapp) and his questionable intentions with the restaurant. Dykstra’s imposing stature and sharp movements establish a palpable dominance onstage, which reinforces his character’s arrogance and self-importance. Whether he leans over the counter to sneer or wave an intimidating finger at Emily (Alex Sunderhaus), Dykstra maintains his commanding force. All in all, he’s a gotta-hate-him but gotta-love-him sort of guy.

During the cooking scenes, when Dykstra stands alone onstage, you can’t help but get the sense that you are truly peeking into the world of a professional chef. There is something deeply personal about the way in which he regards the food, swiftly chopping the vegetables and searing the meat with such a calm and quiet demeanor – a stark contrast to his usual jaded humor and loud movements.

Larry Powell as Rodney also serves up a standout performance. A sassy and rather flamboyant young waiter, Powell provides a substantial argument against the idea of “selling out” to success in an enticing and comical manner.

Perhaps the most interesting dynamic is the one between Emily and Harry, the two opposing forces of the play. Emily’s hyper-focused desire to make money, contrasted with Harry’s faithfulness to his art, provides refreshing commentary on the corruptive nature of capitalist greed. Sunderhaus highlights her distinctly two-faced character through shifts in vocal tone and body language, changing from a wide smile and sweetly feminine tone to narrowed eyes and impatient sighs.

Gnapp’s Mike is caught in the middle of their struggle, nervously fiddling with glasses as he subtly displays his character’s indecision. His voice is shaky and uncertain at times and his hand gestures are small and limited, establishing his weak authoritative force. When a shocking realization about loyalty hits his character at the end of the play, Gnapp’s shoulders sink and he seems to crumble into himself, unable to withstand the weight of his ill-gotten success.

“Seared” provides powerful social commentary on the nature of capitalism, raising the questions: Can we reconcile art and money in a world driven by greed? Does something need to be fundamentally changed about our society? Rebeck’s expertly served, ambiguous ending leaves us — the audience — to cook up our own answers.

A previous version of this article incorrectly listed Brian Dykstra’s name as Bill Dykstra. 

Contact Alli Cruz at allicruz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

 

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