Madelaine Bixler – The Stanford Daily https://stanforddaily.com Breaking news from the Farm since 1892 Tue, 30 Jan 2018 00:27:33 +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 Madelaine Bixler – The Stanford Daily https://stanforddaily.com 32 32 204779320 Does ‘Disrupt!’ disrupt? A few thoughts on Ram’s Head’s original musical https://stanforddaily.com/2017/06/05/does-disrupt-disrupt-a-few-thoughts-on-rams-heads-original-musical/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/06/05/does-disrupt-disrupt-a-few-thoughts-on-rams-heads-original-musical/#respond Tue, 06 Jun 2017 04:28:06 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1129002 In a refreshing change to its usual season programming, Ram’s Head Theatrical Society staged one of its first original musicals in years last weekend: a high-energy, contemporary joyride entitled “Disrupt!” Written by Samantha Bloom, ‘17 (with music by Ian Lim, ‘17) the show is an attempt to take on the Goliath of Silicon Valley startup […]

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In a refreshing change to its usual season programming, Ram’s Head Theatrical Society staged one of its first original musicals in years last weekend: a high-energy, contemporary joyride entitled “Disrupt!” Written by Samantha Bloom, ‘17 (with music by Ian Lim, ‘17) the show is an attempt to take on the Goliath of Silicon Valley startup culture – that specter that looms, subsumes, and influences every part of life here at Stanford.

The story begins in a banal coffee shop in Palo Alto, and gives us a glimpse of the Valley through the eyes of an average Joe (in this case, a joe-selling Joe named Joe) working behind the counter. The coffee shop, frequented by tycoons of the industry, is a hub of D-School jargon, lucrative business deals, and outrageous drink orders from the “Unsalted Butterchino” to the all-too-tempting “Excedrin Latte.” To facilitate the staged-reading aspect of the performance, actors roamed the stage with iPads in hand – a sight so natural I often found myself forgetting it wasn’t part of the show’s gimmick.

As an intervention into musical theater, “Disrupt!” is compelling in a number of ways. Bloom’s writing is clever, and Lim’s musical composition is catchy as hell. Where many musicals are inaccessible in their length and in their tendency to come off as passé, this production is refreshing in its ability to cut to the chase. The pacing is snappy, sentimental plot points veer away from indulgence, and Bloom’s dialogue emerges in scenes of straight acting as well as in musical numbers – making the show understandable and engaging even to those who may not be fans of the genre.

The show makes a number of reads on the absurd realities which inform life in the Valley, all highlighted by the campy and well-choreographed directorial vision of J.B. Horsley, ‘19. The story kicks off when Joe (in a dorky-yet-charming performance by Carter Burr-Kirven, ‘18) meets aspiring tech CEO Lucy (played by the enchanting Amanda Yuan, ‘20) and gets wrapped up in a plot to introduce the next big tech revolution: a DIY coffee app that allows customers to side-step baristas altogether. Their endeavors lead them into a competition for copyright with Joe’s childhood bully, Chad (Benjamin Share, ‘19), and plunges them into a world of high-stakes investing, cougar clubs, the ghosts of Hewlett & Packard, and a common drive to disrupt – even when there’s no way to tell what it is, exactly, that’s being disrupted.

In the spirit of new work, “Disrupt!” is appealing in not only its centering of emerging writers and directors, but also of a number of debuting performers – many of whom appear destined for larger stages. Though working with new actors can pose a number of challenges, the production featured some notable performances – from the stunning portrayal of a zealous investment tycoon (Elizabeth Gray, ‘20), to the eager intern (Andrew Savage, ‘19) whose enthusiasm to make it big in the Valley felt all too familiar amidst a crowd of Stanford students desperate to refill coffee for anyone working for Tech Crunch. The song “Tech Evangelist Hymn,” a gospel in the name of Steve Jobs, is a hilarious diagnosis of the quasi-religious relationship we have developed to creators of technology, and an absurdist depiction of the social power they yield.

Yet despite these successes, the show, as a piece of commentary, walks a fine line between sardonic and quirky. This is in part due to the fraught relationship between the genres of musical and satire. From a comedic perspective, the purpose of satire is to bring an element of discomfort to the theater – and discomfort is, above all, quintessential to avoid in musicals. The culture of musical theater is one of feel-good medleys, cathartic (but rarely political) explorations of sorrow, and rehashings of historical moments which feel far enough in the past to be safe artistic territory. Part of the danger of addressing contemporary issues lies in the reality that everyone in the room has an investment in the world being portrayed. One cannot do humor about contentious subjects (in this case, class) without making either rich or poor people feel uneasy. Though Joe represents an “average” perspective, working class people are as expunged from the script as they are from the Valley itself – and even Joe’s role is one of the cynic who is finally converted.

Bloom mentions, in her director’s note, that she was inspired by “The Book of Mormon” to write something true to her own life – and while “Disrupt!” certainly makes the bold leap of addressing social and cultural dynamics which are still in play, the success of “The Book of Mormon” (though incredibly problematic in its own right) lies in its ability to go deeper and, in terms of content, bleaker than “Disrupt!” ever does. Throughout the piece, there is a sense that the work is smart, but in urgent need of something real. It is critical, but only teasingly so – and at many points crosses the line separating satire from light-hearted whimsy.

For a show aiming to be critical of the Valley, the juiciest material is conspicuously absent. The culture of hyper-productivity which fuels life at places like Stanford is joked about in passing, but left without the context of the sordid realities which lurk beneath the surface – such as the suicides which put Palo Alto on the map, the military contracts which facilitate the existence of the tech bubble, and the immense inequality lying just on the other side of the freeway.

The question of gender – though marketed as a major selling point of the show – leaves much to be desired. The world of “Disrupt!” is one which is ruled by women; every major executive in the show is female, and the script is teeming with examples of Miss CEO success stories. Despite the immense importance of bringing visibility to women in positions of power, I couldn’t help but feel torn about the decision to do so through the lens of the very institutions the show sets out to critique. In the femme-vestors’ final song, they sing about the power of women in terms of their two chromosomes, X and X: a definition of femininity which is just about as transphobic as one can get.

This lack of intersectionality felt, at times, too glaring to be self-aware – but the end of the show, which saw Lucy’s success at launching an incubator for female run businesses, left me feeling like “Disrupt!” was less of a critique, and more of an advertisement for a Seussian (and strangely inspirational) representation of startup life. This dynamic is not uncommon among shows of this hybridized genre; indeed, even “The Book of Mormon” had the unintended effect of persuading audience members to take up the religion.

A plot device which contributed to this problem was the inevitable romance between Joe and Lucy – a narrative choice with the tendency to put a nail in the coffin of good politics. My personal aversion to love stories aside (I do believe my eyes may have rolled all the way around the room and back into my head), romance and satire are a difficult combination, rife with moments where the sincerity of each character’s passion slows the momentum of the piece, and makes it difficult to maintain focus on whatever fragments of political commentary might have emerged. In addition to this, Joe’s ode to the “friendzone” – that space teeming with male entitlement – felt oddly sexist after such a profession of feminism by the show’s marketing team.

Like the tech work that Joe criticizes so early on, “Disrupt!” seeks to throw into disarray something which it hasn’t quite seemed to identify. To use criticism to change minds and hearts, a show must have some sort of political direction – and unfortunately, few musicals make more than a gesture towards this. Yet the piece does upset a number of existing conventions in the genre. It dares to rethink what musical theater can look like, presents fresh new work in an industry where the same classics are regurgitated again and again, and, most importantly, holds a mirror to the world we live in today. These things take courage, and if another version of “Disrupt!” were to approach this world through a more discerning lens, I’d be the first in line to buy a ticket.

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Let’s talk about violence: ‘The Wild Party’ and the performance of survivor solidarity https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/27/lets-talk-about-violence-the-wild-party-and-the-performance-of-survivor-solidarity/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/27/lets-talk-about-violence-the-wild-party-and-the-performance-of-survivor-solidarity/#respond Fri, 28 Apr 2017 04:27:54 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1126582 Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve probably noticed that Ram’s Head Theatrical Society has recently wrapped up its latest production, “The Wild Party,” a 1999 musical based on Joseph Moncure March’s 1928 narrative poem of the same name. A recipient of rave reviews, the show chronicles the budding romance (if one can use […]

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Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve probably noticed that Ram’s Head Theatrical Society has recently wrapped up its latest production, “The Wild Party,” a 1999 musical based on Joseph Moncure March’s 1928 narrative poem of the same name. A recipient of rave reviews, the show chronicles the budding romance (if one can use such a word) between the beautiful, blonde Queenie and her vaudevillian clown of a lover, Burrs, as they navigate the boundaries between pleasure and pain — or, consent and a staggering lack thereof.

But this is not another review of this specific production. Indeed, despite the best efforts of those involved to address the show’s heavier topics with care and nuance, there is little any ensemble could do in the face of such an irredeemable script — the content of which left me grappling with whether I was more offended by the blatant rape apologism or the quality of the show’s writing.

Beginning with an ode to the length of her legs (built, as we are told, to drive men mad), Queenie’s character is marked primarily by a ravenous sexual appetite, satisfied only by the violence of men. Burrs, presumably her sexual match, is introduced to us through a stunningly abrupt scene of assault against her — though among audiences of the theater, as well as the courtroom, it’s almost impossible to find a universal consensus on matters of consent. The aftermath of this moment of violence leaves Queenie with a desire to rekindle their flame by throwing a party, which ends up delivering more than she’s bargained for.

The main storyline of the show is continually interrupted by a number of other characters, each presenting us with whatever manifestation of moral degeneracy has brought them to the party. One of the most notable guests is, perhaps, Madeline the lesbian — the irony of whose biographical details are not lost on me. Her moment in the spotlight is marked by a predatory pursuit of the other women at the party (“She’s a very clever beaver, with a quality I like – she’s alive!”) and seems to explore the ways in which, to a 1920s crowd as well as to a modern one, queerness and violence are perceived as two sides of the same sexual debauchery coin.

But the guests whose presence really shakes things up are the exuberant Kate and her lover Mr. Black, who quickly becomes an object of interest to the insatiable Queenie. Quick to cast himself in the role of paternalistic savior, he confronts Queenie about the abuse she suffers at Burrs’ hands, all the while crooning about her broken life and broken soul — that cloak of trauma that drapes Queenie’s irresistible beauty in a seductive layer of pity. Mr. Black is infatuated with an image of Queenie that is “beautiful and bruised,” “virginal and used” — in other words, the cake that’ll let you have her and eat her, too.

Though the politics of victimhood are complex, Queenie’s attraction — like a moth to a flame — to the excitement of Burrs’ glorified brutality is hard to read as anything other than victim-blaming. The show purports to examine the twists and turns of the couple’s abusive relationship, but this exploration of abuse is, at best, immensely superficial and, at worst, nauseating in its fetishization of intimate partner violence — an issue which, for so many, is wrought with intense emotional dependency and psychological turmoil (neither of which is adequately addressed in this script).

Intended, perhaps, to highlight the gray area in a political issue around which victims have historically fought an uphill battle to draw sharper boundaries, the most magical quality of the show is its ability to conjure ambiguity towards the question of consent from thin air. The program addresses this ambiguity briefly: “All actions are the products of internalized voices of instinct and reason,” it reads. “Rarely do these voices agree, and the result of this disagreement is psychological turmoil that, in some cases … leads to acts that many consider to be repulsive and near inhuman.”

But rape is not an inexplicable act of instinct that gnaws its way through a thin layer of human rationality to an underworld of unbridled patriarchal fantasies. It does not occur in a vacuum, and its prevalence cannot be explained away by the mystical dance between good and evil. Rape is reinforced by a series of social and institutional structures that cater to toxic masculinity – romanticize the darkest and most misunderstood corners of the souls of men, and then teach those same men to see “dark and misunderstood” as prime real estate in the game of escaping accountability.

Don’t get me wrong — for many, the simple act of representation itself may be a force of healing. On Facebook, members of the cast shared a touching account of one person’s experience with sexual violence, and the ways in which they found this show helpful in their recovery process. But survivors are not a monolith, and I’ve reached a place in my personal processing where I’ve found that representation is no longer enough for me, where I’ve spent too long being consumed by voyeurs to not notice when a narrative is being stolen from our hands.

I struggle to place a finger on exactly what it was about the show that left me so vexed. Perhaps, at some level, I knew that there was a part of me that has yearned to be Queenie in a world where “beautiful and bruised” is what it takes to make people care about your scars. Perhaps, like Queenie, I’ve seen my own violence marred by accounts of long legs and blonde hair — seen enough about sexual trauma in the media to know that my best hope would be to perform the role of “broken girl” for any charming fool who promised to save me. Perhaps I, too, have a voice in my head telling me I did want it this way — that rape is a flame that might have ignited my soul, had I only learned to let its warmth in.

Or perhaps “The Wild Party” isn’t an exercise in presenting a nuanced portrayal of assault after all. Perhaps, like the party in the story, it is a façade for something different altogether — that is, an attempt on the part of corporate artists to use the trauma of marginalized communities as fodder for a passable plot. But even by “trauma porn” standards, the story lacks sex appeal — and indeed, I’ve encountered actual porn which has featured more compelling dialogue.

In the wake of this, and so many other musicals attempting to transform sexual violence into currency, I’m left reeling at the shallowness of an industry that is incentivized to sacrifice complexity in favor of spectacle. What will it take to hold such productions accountable? What will it take to engage with these experiences in a way which doesn’t involve recreating them using bodies that have already carried these burdens all their lives?

Frankly, I haven’t heard this much fanfare for rapist tears since the Brock Turner case — and in both instances, the line between the performance of solidarity with survivors and just plain performance is hard to spot. To members of theater communities both at Stanford and beyond: There is a difference between addressing a topic in a way that is meaningful and simply propping it up on a stage for the world to see. Visibility and empathy do not necessarily go hand-in-hand, and in cases where a script does not leave room for both, it is crucial to know when to let a show die.

After all, it’s better to bury a text than to bury the voices of those for whom, once the music fades, this issue remains a literal question of life or death.

 

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Theater review: ‘Brotherhood’ confronts toxic masculinity https://stanforddaily.com/2016/06/26/brotherhood-review/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/06/26/brotherhood-review/#respond Sun, 26 Jun 2016 20:52:32 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1116212 As Stanford’s student-written theater scene continues to steady itself on newfound legs, “Brotherhood” (an original play by Louis McWilliams ’16) has emerged as a continuation of McWilliams’ submission to Ram’s Head’s Original Winter One Acts earlier this year. Initially titled “Journey into Manhood,” the show is a foray into the world of four men struggling […]

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As Stanford’s student-written theater scene continues to steady itself on newfound legs, “Brotherhood” (an original play by Louis McWilliams ’16) has emerged as a continuation of McWilliams’ submission to Ram’s Head’s Original Winter One Acts earlier this year. Initially titled “Journey into Manhood,” the show is a foray into the world of four men struggling to confront their own sexualities – exploring the insidious violence of an anti-gay methodology rooted not in outright bigotry, but in the more subtle approach of warmth, kindness and the dangerous pretext of genuine concern.

The story unfolds within the walls of a cabin in the woods – the site of a gay conversion weekend retreat program, where a group of gay and questioning men gather to foster “masculine” connections and overcome various forms of temptation. In the conference hall setting of Elliot Program Center, we are fully immersed in this world. The show begins with a simple name game: a ball is tossed from participant to participant, and we, the audience, are introduced to each of them – PJ (the military man), Trevor (a closeted Mormon), Noam (the law student), Justin (a college-bound teen) and the two counselors determined to “cure” them.

The program’s psychologist, played by Andre Amarotico ’16, begins by introducing us to the contentious logic behind his approach. Homosexuality is merely a myth, he argues – a fiction designed to combat flaws in emotional development caused by a lack of platonic intimacy between men. The program is an effort to “restore” this sense of man-to-man connection, and to construct a vision of masculinity that fundamentally rejects the validity of homoerotic love. It is a line of thought reminiscent of closeted youth struggling to make sense of their feelings – hoping against hope that their urges are not a testament to the complexity of human sexuality, but a manifestation of manly affection gone awry. Amarotico is (as always) a pleasure to watch, internalizing with complete sincerity the archaic narrative of sexuality being a choice. His monologues, under the guise of science, read as a cry into the ether for some sense of autonomy – some control over the way in which society treats him.

The story really begins, however, when Justin (Will Funk ’16) shares an impassioned kiss with Trevor (Jeff Bennett, ’17) beneath the camp’s starry sky – reawakening long-suppressed feelings in a man deeply committed to God, his wife, and the preservation of his sheltered lifestyle. Justin conveys the restless frustration of a boy unconvinced by the adults around him; Trevor, the desperation of a man trying to cling to his newfound heterosexuality. Though somewhat generic, each character feels at home in the bizarre setting McWilliams has created. Bennett is particularly moving – from his nuanced reactions, to the subtle looks that grace his eyes, to the positioning of his hands as he speaks, every part of him is engaged. The show ends with him returning to his old life; Justin, alone in his bedroom, puts on a dress and makeup as a recording of Trevor talking about the effectiveness of the camp streams in the background.

Like the rest of the men in the group, Trevor’s ability to conform to heterosexual paradigms of manhood is, in large part, facilitated by his status as a white, cisgender, able-bodied male – an aspect of the retreat’s demographic which is alluded to, but never quite confronted head-on. When watching “Brotherhood,” it is crucial to remember that the story does not represent a diverse array of experiences, but a very specific subset of gay Americans. The activities we are shown are catered to a privileged community; the group’s discussions feel somewhat strained, and there is a weirdness to the entire camp that comes hand-in-hand with white, upper-class, clinical approaches to intimacy.

Under the direction of Elizabeth Knarr ’16, the show is dynamically staged. Physical interactions between the counselors and their campers are extremely uncomfortable throughout the piece, evoking, without pathologizing, a tension between the tangible reality of the touch and the hyper-masculine value system accepted by each character. At the end of one hugging exercise, the four men refuse to let go of one another as a pop rendition of “Itsy Bitsy Spider” fills the cabin. The life coach of the group, played by Austin Caldwell ‘15 (who gracefully surpasses his age in the role), rests his hands on each man’s shoulder when he speaks to them, letting his hands linger a few moments after we’ve begun to feel uneasy. When listing qualities of masculinity, the men are instructed to replace their use of the word “aggressive” with the word “assertive” – despite the anger that surfaces when they begin to probe into one another’s pasts.

While this immersive experience lends itself to many unique opportunities for engagement – bearing witness to the most intimate, awkward and tragic moments of the retreat – it also comes dangerously close to reinforcing problematic performer-audience dynamics. More than anything, this piece is one which would have benefitted greatly from the presence of more queer people in the room, both on and off stage. The dialogue, though powerful and natural, leaves PJ and Noam (played by Sebastian Sanchez ’17 and Publio Adrianza ’15) woefully underdeveloped and especially vulnerable to the heterosexual gaze. What might read as a searing critique of whiteness, class and religion to a queer audience runs the risk of looking like a satire about the characters themselves in front of a straight audience – a problem which arises almost constantly in this kind of work.

Though certainly situated within a minefield of potential problems, McWilliams’ play confronts, in so many ways, an iteration of masculinity which is rarely portrayed in Stanford theater. With its moving prose and remarkable acting, “Brotherhood” challenges us to bear witness to the subtle violence of good intentions, and the everyday tragedy of marginalized people plastering bandages onto wounds that will continue to go untreated.

 

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Theater Review: ‘Theory of Relativity’ is relatively charming, but lacks gravity https://stanforddaily.com/2016/05/24/theater-review-theory-of-relativity/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/05/24/theater-review-theory-of-relativity/#comments Tue, 24 May 2016 16:36:18 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1115584 Last week, Ram’s Head Theatrical Society launched its fourth (and final) show of the year: Neil Bartram and Brian Hill’s new musical “The Theory of Relativity” – which, through a collection of songs, monologues, and interludes, tells the story of a group of interconnected people searching for love. Beginning with a crash course in physics […]

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Last week, Ram’s Head Theatrical Society launched its fourth (and final) show of the year: Neil Bartram and Brian Hill’s new musical “The Theory of Relativity” – which, through a collection of songs, monologues, and interludes, tells the story of a group of interconnected people searching for love. Beginning with a crash course in physics and ending with more long-term lessons on the nature of love and loss, the show chronicles the romantic lives of thirteen college-aged kids as they float in and out of relationships, navigate friendships, and struggle to find acceptance on the rocky path to adulthood.

In a refreshing break from the company’s more traditional production style, the show is modestly staged; the blinding lights and blaring sounds of Memorial Auditorium are swapped out for the more intimate setting of Elliott Program Center, where a few rows of chairs are all that separate audience members from the action. Under the direction of Alexander Ronneburg ‘17, the show is executed with a gentle simplicity which suits the nature of its straight-forward narrative. The entire ensemble is onstage for the duration of the performance, perching on chairs and steps as they listen to each number. Behind them, a looming screen changes from blue, to pink, to yellow as each person shares their story – projecting onto the audience a mood for every occasion.

Though the proximity of the space certainly lends itself to the prospect of forging poignant audience-performer connections, many of the show’s peculiar staging choices ultimately prevent this aim from being realized. Transitions from piece to piece lack the fluidity necessary to keep the narrative moving, and – coupled with a lingering applause following each song – make aspects of the show feel stilted and drawn out. The screen, ripe with dramatic possibility, never lives up to its creative potential, and is used in ways which assist the emotional arc of the story but effectively ignore opportunities to incorporate more compelling imagery throughout. While some numbers are brilliantly orchestrated, given fresh life by the use of backup singers, accompanying musicians, and ensemble choreography, this use of space is often inconsistent – leaving other, less active moments of the show feeling listless.

Such an effect is unfortunately amplified by the quality of the script itself, which, transparently written by two middle-aged white men, feels at best repetitive and at worst shamelessly pedantic. Many of the anecdotes are fairly generic, detailing problems which – though often cute and witty – fail to arrive at any realization of depth. The incorporation of scientific jargon into the score feels forced at certain points, never failing to remind its viewers that we are the sum of heat, light, energy, and the inexorable trajectories of different vectors – all embarking on the same journey as we hurdle together through space. Indeed, there were several moments where I found myself longing to toss a wrench into such a flawless narrative.

The exception to this trend lies – as it so often does – in the story of Jenny, who meets her dismal fate working behind the counter of a Dairy Queen, becoming too overweight to find a happy ending of her own. Though the problematic effects of such blatant fat-shaming are partially dulled by the casting of a thin actress in the role, the number sheds an ugly light on the rest of the performance – reminding us that while love can be quirky and unpredictable, it is very much only worth putting on stage when it is manifested in bodies which conform to an oppressive politics of desirability.

Despite this, the caliber of each performer is impressive. A small band (led by Hugo Kitano ‘17) sits to the side of the main stage, consisting of two guitarists, a drummer, and a pianist – all of whom create a sound musical dynamic with the rest of the ensemble. Justine DeSilva’s ‘16 performance as a high-strung woman attempting to overcome her acute germaphobia to win the girl of her dreams is heart-warming and believable, down to the comically sincere glisten in her eyes as the describes the horror of imagining where her lover’s hands may have been.

In perhaps the cutest number of the show, Preston Lim and Paul Gregg, both ‘17, sing a song entitled “Apples & Oranges,” in which their love for “oranges” emerges as a thinly veiled metaphor for homosexuality – an angle on the subject which is revitalizing in its ability to discuss queer romance without succumbing to a one-dimensional narrative of heartbreak and trauma. Samantha Williams ‘17 and Clarissa Carter ‘19 are similarly dynamic – with powerful voices and engaging performances destined to occupy larger stages, both within and beyond Stanford. Also worth mentioning are the moving solo performances of Tess McCarthy ‘16, Holly Dayton ‘17, Cayla Pettinato ‘18, who nearly burst at the seams with the momentum of their talent.

Though “The Theory of Relativity” touches upon some poignant issues, at the end of the night it proves hasty in its handling of more delicate themes – presenting us with an array of stories which are sweet and entertaining, but rarely relatable. Supported by a strong cast and crew, the show represents Ram’s Head Theatrical Society’s ongoing effort to push the boundaries of musical theater and create work which is intimate, subtle, and captivating – and is, in this sense, a testament to the many possibilities which exist in the world of pen and stage. 
Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Theater Review: ‘The Mathematics of Love’ is a stunning exploration of intimacy https://stanforddaily.com/2016/05/11/theater-review-the-mathematics-of-love/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/05/11/theater-review-the-mathematics-of-love/#respond Thu, 12 May 2016 04:07:43 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1114768 Every once in a while, a play comes along with the power to render its audience speechless – to wrench us from our academic stupor, remind us of the importance of good art, and make us feel a little more awake because of it. “The Mathematics of Love,” written by TAPS artist-in-residence Cherríe Moraga, is […]

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Every once in a while, a play comes along with the power to render its audience speechless – to wrench us from our academic stupor, remind us of the importance of good art, and make us feel a little more awake because of it. “The Mathematics of Love,” written by TAPS artist-in-residence Cherríe Moraga, is such a work. Drawing from Mexico’s rich history of colonialism, diaspora, resilience and the endless legacies left behind by strong women, the show is as much a monument to these themes as it is to the people who embody them.

Staged in the Nitery Theater, the show is the culmination of Moraga’s longtime collaboration with Ricardo Bracho, L.A.-based writer and radical intellectual, after they were commissioned to write two short plays on the subject of “Amor Eterno.” It was under such circumstances that two radically different works were brought together: the story of MalinXe, the Aztec princess forced to serve under Hernán Cortés as interpreter, advisor and mistress (reimagined by Bracho to be a spunky, sunglass-brandishing diva who borders on the blasphemous) and that of Peaches, an elderly Mexican woman grappling with Alzheimer’s.

A breathtaking set, designed by TAPS faculty member Erik Flatmo, transforms the space into the lobby of the Los Angeles Biltmore Hotel at the turn of the 21st century. With embellishments of intricate tile flooring, beautiful furniture, a built-in bar and flowing pink curtains concealing a grand master bedroom at the far end of the room, the stage is set for magical realism – and the plot delivers.

We begin as if watching a drawing room play: Peaches, on the day before her anniversary party, sits in the hotel lobby with her Anglo husband, Poppa, and anxiously awaits the arrival of her son (whom they curiously refer to as “God”). Peaches reminisces about her days working at the Agua Caliente, a club in Tijuana where all the movie stars mingled, when all of a sudden, we are transported back to the 16th century. MalinXe enters, followed by a small stack of suitcases, and Peaches has become her slave girl. MalinXe, played by the captivating Erika Yanin Pérez-Hernández, is a character as complex as her history – traveling through time and space to relieve herself of the shackles of her own narrative.

In various iterations of the past – or perhaps a different life altogether – she and Peaches embody many different versions of a complicated mother-daughter relationship, digging at themes which are at once deeply personal and universal within communities living in diaspora. Third-wave feminism, Latinidad, poetry, indigeneity, grief – all are essential components of Moraga’s work, and all are done justice in this workshop production. She explores the dimensions of collective memory as she transforms Peaches’ slaveholder (“Queen of Slaves,” as she calls herself) into Peaches’ daughter, given to Cortés by her mother in order to appease his colonial wrath.

The story is further complicated by Peaches’ own relationship with her present-day daughter, a queer woman struggling to maintain connection in the face of her mother’s dementia, and Peaches’ own traumatic history living and working for a Cortés of her own. As one might guess, this is no easy production to mount – but across the board, Misha Chowdhury’s directorial work is nothing short of stunning. Each moment is meticulously crafted – from the roaring sound of the sea during Peaches’ monologues and flashbacks (crafted by Jonathan Leal) to the powerful conceptual design of Celia Rodriguez, as we are presented with image after image from the depth of Peaches’ mind: two native women scrubbing a toilet, flower petals drifting down from the ceiling, the entire lobby being transformed into a lively iteration of the hotel’s heyday. These moments read almost like moments of prayer; the little black box theater becomes a site of mourning, remembrance and holiness – and its audience as congregants preparing to witness the recreation of miracles.

Of course, there is tremendous difficulty in juxtaposing a history so devastating with the microscopic moments of day-to-day life – yet in Moraga’s work, the two are inseparable. 500 years of colonization, genocide and slavery culminate in simple, heartbreaking moments: a Chicana woman chastising her Anglo husband for not being able to fold a towel properly, a daughter being told she’d be better off born a man and a family waiting in vain for a son (or perhaps some sort of divine presence) to show up and save them.

But as historical as this play is, it is also, in many ways, a searing critique of history – particularly, of history as it is preserved between the pages of Western books. Within the Eurocentric academy (Stanford, of course, being its epitome), history is so often portrayed as linear, expressed in terms of beginning, middle and teleological end. The very structure of “The Mathematics of Love” rejects this narrative for one that is malleable, circular and postcolonial in nature – an exploration of not only the “what if”s of history, but also the many ways in which burdens are shared across generations.

The cast for this production is phenomenal, with a vulnerable and oft-oblivious George Killingsworth as Poppa, TAPS Ph.D student Karina Gutierrez as the daughter and an incredibly versatile hotel staff played by TAPS Ph.D Thao Nguyen and the gripping Hugo E. Carbajal. But most stunning by far is Rose Portillo in the role of Peaches – one of the best performances to grace the Nitery in years. Swiftly moving from timid young slave girl, to worker at the Agua Caliente, to disoriented woman turning her purse inside out to find something she’s lost, she never fails to move with the power of her presence, authenticity and raw emotion.

Though the show is sure to disorient most with its confusing plot line, this is of little concern to Moraga. “You should have to come back and see a play five times to figure out what it’s all about,” she tells the audience during a post-show discussion. In many ways, the experience of the play is not one altogether different from doing mathematics. We are constantly trying to find the sum of different stories and different truths – all while confronted with the precious moments of clarity that come with mental illness. “At the end of your life, you make a long list in your heart to see if all the numbers add up,” Peaches tells us. Ultimately, “The Mathematics of Love” is an exploration of intimacy in its many forms – the ways in which we are connected through dramatic pasts, and yet still lead lives in which we must struggle to connect. To describe such a story as anything less than magical would be an understatement.

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler@stanford.edu.

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The legacy of ‘Rent’: Performing Larson’s musical on the Farm https://stanforddaily.com/2016/04/08/the-legacy-of-rent-performing-larsons-musical-on-the-farm/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/04/08/the-legacy-of-rent-performing-larsons-musical-on-the-farm/#respond Fri, 08 Apr 2016 20:39:31 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1113314 For the past several weeks, Ram’s Head Theatrical Society’s online presence has been abuzz with talk of their upcoming production of Jonathan Larson’s “Rent,” a story of a group of working-class Bohemians and artists in New York City’s East Village struggling to survive in the midst of the AIDS crisis. Based loosely on Giacomo Puccini’s […]

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For the past several weeks, Ram’s Head Theatrical Society’s online presence has been abuzz with talk of their upcoming production of Jonathan Larson’s “Rent,” a story of a group of working-class Bohemians and artists in New York City’s East Village struggling to survive in the midst of the AIDS crisis. Based loosely on Giacomo Puccini’s opera “La Bohème” and drawing heavily from Larson’s own experiences living in Greenwich Village, the show explores themes of sexual identity, poverty, racism, homelessness and the resilience that keeps these communities afloat against a background of police violence, political discrimination, drug addiction and the harsh realities of life on the streets. Known for being the 10th longest-running show in Broadway history and winning six of the most prestigious awards in the world of musical theater, it is no exaggeration to say that “Rent” has left a prolific mark on American audiences.

Yet on the other side of the nation, across class backgrounds, and in light of an entire generation’s worth of new experiences, values and cultural norms, it is worth exploring not only what makes “Rent” so salient today – but also the challenges of performing such a piece at a place like Stanford. Though rightly acknowledged for being one of the most successful writers and composers of his day, Larson’s work is laced with signs of his own voyeuristic tendencies.

The story is told from the perspective of Mark, an aspiring filmmaker whose status onstage as the only straight white man without AIDS is coupled with uncanny parallels to the life of the author himself – an Adelphi University university grad with a degree in acting. Throughout the piece, Mark’s presence is incredibly Kerouacian; like the great American beat novelist, his role is that of the artsy wallflower, creating work from the pieces of the of his friends’ lives. In “Rent” – a show about life in the shadow of death – Mark is the survivor.

In no scene is this more apparent than when Mark stumbles into an AIDS support group meeting on Christmas Day. Amidst a circle of patients singing about the resilience of the human spirit, he is the man behind the lens – the one most easily able to profit off of the lives of his contemporaries. In another scene, after filming a police officer harassing a homeless black woman on the streets, she turns to him and says, in perhaps one of the most honest moments of the play, “I don’t need any goddamn help from some bleeding heart cameraman. My life’s not for you to make a name for yourself on!” In an artistic medium which is so prone to border on the voyeuristic, it would be a mistake to overlook such sentiments – especially when taking into account how many Americans’ lives are touched by poverty, how many young people struggle with drug addiction and how frequently institutions such as Stanford have been known to fetishize these experiences.

Perhaps one of the other most controversial characters in the show is Mimi, a stripper struggling with AIDS and addiction, whose presence in the play often tends to fluctuate between humanizing these experiences and casting them in a troublingly glamorous light. Though “Rent” is certainly groundbreaking in its acceptance of drug culture (rather than demonizing it, as the mainstream media often does), the role of Mimi is notoriously easy to flatten; with a spunky attitude and the best ass below 14th Street, heroin has never looked sexier – and for a crowd of students for whom heroin is both widely accessible and rarely resultant in systemic consequences, such a portrayal has heavy implications.

When ‘Rent’ first hit the main stage in 1996, the number of people living with HIV globally had reached 23 million, and the disease continued to spread rapidly. Throughout the country, communities suffering from AIDS continues to be denied basic human rights – particularly those with intersections of poverty, queerness and (above all else) blackness. In fact, despite Larson’s portrayal of an AIDS-ridden community in which people of all backgrounds support one another, evidence points to a long history of white organizations excluding black community members in New York City from obtaining health services, and by the end of 2014, 42% of Americans ever diagnosed with AIDS were black. Though Larson himself did not represent these communities, his work was meant primarily to uplift those who did: those for whom tickets to a Broadway show were simply unattainable, or who had never had the privilege of seeing people they could identify with in a major production.

Yet for the wealthy spectators who inevitably came to comprise such a large part of the show’s fan base, the danger of removing “Rent” from this extremely human context remains high. This is true not only because of Broadway’s tendency to fetishize poverty, but also because of the literal profits being made off of projects such as “Rent” (I have yet to hear about whether Ram’s Head will decide to donate some portion of the show’s revenue to those living in actual poverty, but I highly doubt it). This is especially poignant in one scene in which the characters stage a protest against eviction, in which we hear the line: “They’ve closed everything real down – like barns and troughs and performance spaces – and replaced it all with lies and rules and virtual life.” At a place such as Stanford, where virtual life so often takes precedence over actual life, there are many things students could stand to learn from “Rent.”

The differences between learning from a community and appropriating their resilience for our own emotional well-being may seem slight, but the consequences such motives have on the way we see and understand theater are immense. To put it plainly, there is a massive distinction between feeling angsty and feeling structurally oppressed – and it would be a disservice to Larson’s memory (and more importantly, the memories of those who inspired “Rent”) to let ourselves, as viewers, become more wrapped up in aesthetics than in the very reason performance has been such an important survival tactic for artists in the East Village.

As we get ready to see “Rent” next week, it is vital to not lose sight of the intentions behind Larson’s work – to see in his heart-warming story of love, loss and living for today not only the indomitable spirit of working-class queer folks, but also the forces which so severely constrict their ability to survive and thrive. As we sit on the plush velvet cushions of Memorial Auditorium, watching a show whose production value tops the income of a considerable number of Americans (some of whom may even be sitting in the audience with us), let us consider the ways in which we contribute to these forces, and the ways in which we might change that moving forward. And before posting on our various online accounts that there’s #NoDayButToday, let’s stop and take a moment to consider our own advice. Long live la vie bohème.

 

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler@stanford.edu.

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Theater review: ‘Rent’ reminds us to live for the moment https://stanforddaily.com/2016/04/07/theater-review-rent/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/04/07/theater-review-rent/#comments Fri, 08 Apr 2016 06:56:00 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1113297 In a follow-up to last year’s critically acclaimed staging of “Hairspray,” Ram’s Head Theatrical Society’s production of “Rent” will — after much anticipation — unleash the force of some of the most talented artists and vocalists here at Stanford. A difficult piece for any group to put on, “Rent” is renowned for its discussion of […]

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In a follow-up to last year’s critically acclaimed staging of “Hairspray,” Ram’s Head Theatrical Society’s production of “Rent” will — after much anticipation — unleash the force of some of the most talented artists and vocalists here at Stanford. A difficult piece for any group to put on, “Rent” is renowned for its discussion of some of the most “othered” experiences in both the world of musical theater and in the privileged domain of Stanford students. Set in New York’s East Village at the height of the AIDS epidemic, the story explores dark themes foreign to most students — from homelessness to poverty to queer life to drug addiction — while celebrating the resilience of the human spirit and reminding audiences to live for the moment.

The play is told from the perspective of an aspiring documentary filmmaker named Mark, who uses his charmingly ‘90s camera to follow the lives of his friends over the course of a year. Throughout the show, we receive insight into 525,600 minutes in the shoes of some of America’s most marginalized: Roger, a songwriter who’s just lost his girlfriend to AIDS; Mimi, a stripper struggling to overcome addiction; Collins and his partner Angel, a drag queen also battling AIDS; as well as Mark’s ex-girlfriend Maureen and her fiancée Joanne.

In a much-welcomed twist on the original, Mark is played by a non-white actor: the endearing Preston Lim ‘17, whose lighthearted approach to the role carries us through the tough worlds of our protagonists. His roommate Roger, played by a brooding Peter Litzow ‘18, enthralls with his husky voice, introducing us to a style of music drastically different from much of what has graced the mainstage in the past few years.

In the weeks leading up to opening night, much attention has been given to the ingenuity of the show’s technical features — particularly to the use of automated platforms which, equipped with high-powered motors, are able to travel, move and rotate as needed. The result is one of great intimacy, allowing the set to expand and contract in ways that provide the audience with the most access to the action. The vast metal scaffolding of the platforms is adorned — if one can use such a word here — with indicators of the play’s urban setting: battered street signs, eviction notices, posters advertising local performances and, of course, a massive backdrop of the city’s skyline. The stairways are draped with twinkling Christmas lights, and a modest band (led by the prolific Makulumy Alexander-Hills ‘16) is placed on platforms at each end of the stage.

Though the production’s directorial vision does not make a great deal of effort to deviate from the Broadway original, Jace Casey’s ’17 choreographic work adds a much-needed touch of creativity to the timeless musical. The song “Over the Moon” (written in protest of the infamous East Village evictions) is transformed by the brilliant addition of three interpretive backup dancers, bringing a taste for humor and performance art inseparable from the Village’s history. Also striking is Casey’s take on “Santa Fe” and “Contact” — the former using simple, elegant movement to evoke the bustle of a New York City subway and the latter a steamy exploration of sexuality during the AIDS crisis, with performative choreography laced with the kind of nuance necessary for such heavy subject matter.

In terms of talent, there are almost too many highlights to fit into a single review. Along with her astounding acting and phenomenal stage presence, Justine DeSilva’s ‘16 show-stopping performance as Maureen is so captivating I could scarcely recall Idina Menzel’s face by the time the curtain fell. Clarissa Carter’s ‘19 singing, particularly during the smash hit “Take Me or Leave Me,” is nothing short of breathtaking — and Andrew Savage ‘19, playing the role of Angel, brings enough energy to fill several auditoriums.

Also noteworthy is the work of the ensemble, who, under the direction of Elizabeth Knarr ‘16, is faced with the challenge of representing New York’s bohème, a rag-tag group of displaced homeless people, racist police officers and various other characters. During the famous number “Seasons of Love,” Abigail Flowers ‘17 is especially remarkable, tackling one of the most difficult solos of the show with grace and soul.

But perhaps most moving is Chris Sackes’ ‘16 heart-wrenching performance at his lover’s funeral, after Angel finally loses his battle with AIDS. In a moment of tender vulnerability, he clutches Angel’s drumsticks and sings a reprise of “I’ll Cover You” — a number which, aided by the sincerity of Sackes’ body language and his beautifully silken voice (with a background in Talisman), no amount of applause could do justice. With easily the most believable chemistry in the show, Angel and Collins’ romance is one which makes even the heart of a cynic tremble, and by the end of the number, the audience was producing enough tears to fill every fountain on campus.

Of course, no rendition of “Rent” emerges without its fair share of problems — and while I applaud Ram’s Head for taking on such an emotional, real and thought-provoking piece, there are certainly moments where it feels as though the show could have done with a bit more patience, nuance and — in a word — delicacy. In a genre of theater so devoted to entertainment and spectacle, it can be extremely challenging to do justice to the stories of people who will never see a penny of the profits made off of these performances.

And, as someone who grew up in a community where hard drugs were commonplace, there is something admittedly uncomfortable about watching Stanford students fumble with needles and rubber tubing onstage. Particularly problematic is the character of Mimi, who — though carried by the spectacular dancing of former Dollie Shelby Mynhier ‘17 — seems to glamorize the realities of both sex work and addiction in a way that undermines many of the aims of Larson’s work.

Needless to say, ‘Rent’ is laced with thematic elements requiring a vastly different kind of attention than that afforded by mere technical expertise. Yet, despite these shortcomings, “Rent” makes a point of centering stories which are rarely given consideration by Stanford’s theater community — and there is something immensely refreshing about seeing such a powerful shift away from the more synthetic aspects of the Broadway stage.

Ultimately, “Rent” is bold, brazen and beautifully executed, composed of one of the best ensembles in Stanford’s theater community. It represents a very real possibility for change in the types of narratives honored here on campus and provides us with a glimpse — however brief — of many of the artists who have paved the way for this kind of work.

Note: Abigail Flowers ’17 is the Theater Desk Editor for The Daily.

 

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Theater review: ‘Candide’ brilliantly inverts the Stanford success narrative https://stanforddaily.com/2016/03/07/theater-review-candide/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/03/07/theater-review-candide/#comments Mon, 07 Mar 2016 19:58:54 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1111822 If “Gaieties” can be considered the crown jewel of the frosh theater world, “Candide” must be seen as its evil twin sister – a gift from the gods to a slice of the student body unaccustomed to finding others so deeply cynical about academia, Silicon Valley and the peculiar particularities that define the Stanford Experience™. Based […]

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If “Gaieties” can be considered the crown jewel of the frosh theater world, “Candide” must be seen as its evil twin sister – a gift from the gods to a slice of the student body unaccustomed to finding others so deeply cynical about academia, Silicon Valley and the peculiar particularities that define the Stanford Experience™. Based on Voltaire’s 18th-century French satirical novel, “Candide” is a quintessential reflection of the Enlightenment worldview. In the original story, Candide is a young lad from Westphalia whose desires are simple: to marry the love of his life (the Baron’s daughter, Lady Cunégonde) and to follow the teachings of his master, Dr. Pangloss, who instructs him that “all is for the best in this best of all possible worlds.” But as he is befallen by a series of grave misfortunes – the murder of Cunégonde’s family, his own forced enlistment in the Bulgar army, the subsequent crumbling of his homeland at the hands of the Portuguese Inquisition – his sunny outlook on the world wilts at every turn.

In the Savoyards’ adaptation of this jaundiced classic, their staff writers have outdone themselves. The story is set right here at Stanford University: the best of all possible schools, in the best of all possible countries, in the best of all possible worlds. Candide (the fetching Preston Lim ‘17), a sprightly incoming freshman, is overcome with excitement about his fabulous life. He spends his days immersed in the teachings of Professor Pangloss (skillfully rendered by Jacob Chamoun) – a pompous, charismatic lecturer who saturates his students in the work of Aristotle and the vague belief that there is some sort of rhyme and reason to all that is corrupt in the world. As a former East Flo native, I must admit that I began to feel as though I was suddenly reliving my time in SLE, complete with that chipper adolescent conviction that injustice will find a way of solving itself.

But this all changes after a massive earthquake sends The Farm crumbling to pieces and the president’s throat is sliced on the steps of Memorial Church. Amidst the ruins of what was once one of the most prestigious academic institutions in the world, a band of graduate students roams amok, purging the campus of all climate change survivors. Dressed from head to toe in aggressively fun rally gear, they sing the famous Bernstein lyric, “It’s a lovely day for drinking and for watching people die!” as images of FroSoCo flags and the LSJUMB flash across a projector screen above. Meanwhile, the wealthy Cunégonde (in an exuberant – and deliciously dislikeable – performance by Jessica Moffitt ‘16) has been forced into the life of a sex worker, being passed back and forth between an elderly Silicon Valley venture capitalist and the founder of everyone’s favorite start-up company, “Goober.” After Candide travels to the far-off Kingdom of Arrillaga (Arrillaga being portrayed in drag by Mia Farinelli ‘17), Candide must heroically sweep into the Stanford Faculty Club to purchase his lover back with a donation to the Alumni Foundation. Though I was somewhat surprised to see the show end on such an oddly reconciliatory note, with Candide and Cunégonde settling down on a “modest farm” (in this case, The Farm with a capital “F”), the amount of jabs this production manages to make at the world of Silicon Valley technocracy is a sight to behold.

Directed by Wendy Hillhouse, the show makes use of a simple set – which emerges only in the form of projection images and a miniature cardboard ship that is pulled across the stage. Behind the actors, rows of chairs seat an entire ensemble dressed in black, who take turns laughing, crying and messing around with the main characters throughout the musical. The effect is dynamic and refreshing, and does much to keep the satirical nature of Voltaire’s original story intact. Of course, not every moment is entirely on point: Some jokes fall flat, and a few songs feel a little on the long side. But nevertheless, the comedic pacing is keen throughout, with especially entertaining bits by Miles Petrie ‘19 and Samantha Williams ‘17, who gives a stunning performance as a sultry old woman missing her buttock.

Cleverly conceived and sharply delivered, the show digs at many deep questions about why certain aspects of academia are so carelessly embraced – and how absurd the Stanford Bubble truly is. Candide, now having witnessed the many grotesque realities which shape our world, asks, “What is kindness but a lie? What to live for but to die?” and begins to doubt everything he’s been taught. At a place where it can often feel as if people are neither wise nor pure nor good, such a plight is not foreign to the many students who must come to grapple with similar realizations – and ultimately discover that not every problem in life can be riddled away with the Socratic Method. To put it plainly, the Savoyards blew me away with their brazen decision to put the mighty Card on trial, and to address issues about life in Palo Alto that few theater groups on this campus have dared to touch – all with a grin on their faces and a deceptively cheery tune on their lips.

 

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Theater review: Outdated ‘Trouble in Tahiti’ fails to inspire https://stanforddaily.com/2016/02/26/theater-review-trouble-in-tahiti/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/02/26/theater-review-trouble-in-tahiti/#respond Fri, 26 Feb 2016 08:05:16 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1111599 “Trouble in Tahiti,” which opened this past weekend as part of the Stanford Savoyards’ “Leonard Bernstein Double-Bill,” addresses many important issues regarding life, love and the crushing gloom that so often comes hand-in-hand with middle-class American values. Originally written by Bernstein in 1952, the show follows the story of a middle-aged married couple who, surrounded by […]

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“Trouble in Tahiti,” which opened this past weekend as part of the Stanford Savoyards’ “Leonard Bernstein Double-Bill,” addresses many important issues regarding life, love and the crushing gloom that so often comes hand-in-hand with middle-class American values. Originally written by Bernstein in 1952, the show follows the story of a middle-aged married couple who, surrounded by all the wealth and luxury they could ever want, simply can’t find a way to be happy.

The scene is a familiar one: a cheerfully decorated kitchen, complete with all the up-to-date appliances of the beat generation. A trio of singers, dressed to the nines in charming blue tuxedos, sing a campy tune about life in the “little white house” in the heart of Suburbia – in this production, the lines of the song switch interchangeably from “Burlingame,” to “Menlo Park,” to “Redwood City,” to “San Mateo,” and back again. Above them, a projector screen displays kitschy images of such a home (though often the twenty-first century residences feel a bit anachronistic in light of the play’s otherwise old-fashioned aesthetic).

Center stage we see Dinah (Danielle Smith ‘16) and Sam (Kyle Efken ‘17) sitting across from one another at their dining room table: the seemingly perfect pair. But from the moment they open their mouths, it becomes apparent that this family is anything but functional. As we see so often in the quintessential post-war marital trope, Sam makes passes at his secretary and refuses to be present for his son’s extracurricular activities, while Dinah feels isolated in her lonely lifestyle as a stay-at-home wife. The two argue incessantly, constantly lamenting the love they once shared, but which has long since receded into the distant past.

Musically, there are many things to be appreciated. The orchestra – while overpowering at times – does a wonderful job of staying true to Bernstein’s artistic vision, and both Smith and Efken deliver powerful performances. Smith is specifically enchanting, with a delicate, mellifluous vocal quality which allows her to hit impressively high notes while maintaining the sweetness of her domestic persona. In a melancholic song about her crumbling relationship with Sam, she sings: “A woman needs so little – a little feeling of warmth, a little feeling of home.”

The dilemma between the two as they struggle to avoid spending another hour together despite the shallow interests which connect them – their love for the same music, the same parties – places us in the midst of what they call a “screaming silence.” Desperate to keep their illusion of merriment intact, they resort to go to the cinema together to watch a movie entitled “Trouble in Tahiti,” a classic American picture that feeds audiences silly stories about adventurous love affairs, all wrapped up in the bizarre brand of racism which emerges whenever Hollywood attempts to portray exotic, indigenous characters. The film is a cheap shot at the happiness both Dinah and Sam seek, replacing the magic of their young love with “the other magic – the bought and paid for magic” created by the glowing screen.

While there are many allusions to a beautiful and romantic past shared by the two parties, we are never shown – either technically or directorally – any hints of what this may have looked like, and are left trying to process the self-pitying soliloquies of both characters with no ability to contextualize the how and when and why of their failed marriage. The unfortunate result of this is that both characters fall flat; Sam is shown as inconsiderate and brutish, singing about money at his office desk and pummeling punching bags at the gym – while Dinah, slightly more nuanced, still emerges looking helpless, with no interests outside of her little white house. And despite the emotional core that holds the show together, as an audience, it is only possible to observe the boredom of others for so long before becoming bored ourselves.

Thus, though the opera may have made important political strides at the time of its debut, much of the novelty of Bernstein’s critiques are lost in a more modern setting. In this day and age, it is no longer enough to simply portray the stifling emptiness of upper middle-class life; instead, we must create characters who are fully developed, relatable and able to be situated within broader historical and social processes – and who embody both the hardships and the privileges that come with wealth. While both the textual and directorial choices in “Trouble in Tahiti” address the former, the latter is left out of the show completely, making it impossible to glean a nuanced perception of who Sam and Dinah are, and why their stories matter. In the end, I was left feeling neither sympathetic nor properly critical of their actions but perhaps, if anything, even more frustrated by the narcissism of Suburban aristocrats than ever before.
Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Theater review: ‘The Telling Project’ adds much-needed nuance to the veteran narrative https://stanforddaily.com/2016/02/25/theater-review-the-telling-project/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/02/25/theater-review-the-telling-project/#respond Fri, 26 Feb 2016 04:57:23 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1111564 For a country with a national rhetoric so strongly centered around the glorification of armed service, it is incredible how few of us are acquainted with the jarring realities behind military life. With a rate of 22 veteran suicides per day, it is no secret that the United States has yet to address the many […]

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For a country with a national rhetoric so strongly centered around the glorification of armed service, it is incredible how few of us are acquainted with the jarring realities behind military life. With a rate of 22 veteran suicides per day, it is no secret that the United States has yet to address the many hardships that come with reintegration. From post-traumatic stress disorders to chronic mental illness, drug abuse to the lingering shadows of sexual violence, life after war can be as wrought with adversity as life on the frontlines. So why are so many of these issues considered taboo?

“Telling: Stanford” seeks to address this very question. Directed by Stanford alum Alex Mallory ‘08, the show represents part of a larger organization called “The Telling Project,” which works with veterans and/or relatives of veterans from around the nation to craft their stories into monologues and process these monologues into longer pieces of documentary theater. The project is centered around the many incongruities which lie in the discourse surrounding military service – the growing divide between civilians and the 1% who actually serve. The cast of the show is comprised of five Bay Area residents, all with vital insights to share.

From the onset, it is clear that these narratives are far from being uniform. While some people, such as Marine Officer candidate Leslie Bridges ‘17, express a strong enthusiasm for America’s military culture, the circumstances surrounding each individual’s enlistment are not always so idyllic. For Victoria Sanders, who served in the army from 1975 to 1976, the military was a means of escaping life as a single mother on welfare, earning only $2.10 an hour. For Randall Holmes, Human Intelligence Collector, it was an opportunity to earn a stipend to community college. For Bobby McLean, Special Operations Airborne Ranger, it marked a one-way ticket out of adolescent aimlessness. Reflecting on his decision to enlist, he tells us, “I wrestled with my meaningless life and thought about America. I began to think of myself as a patriot.” As each story unfolds, we begin to see the complexity of the military’s role in each person’s life.

Leana Litchfield, a Florida school teacher, spends her time as a Navy wife planning “mandatory fun” with the other ladies at her base and effectively operates as a single mother – while at the same time battling breast cancer and waving goodbye to her husband more times than she can count. Sanders, one of the few women at her base, describes the harrowing sexism that awaits so many women in military environments. She recounts fellow soldiers catcalling new recruits, harassing nurses and hanging their genitals out of barracks windows as she passed by. In one heart-wrenching monologue, she shares her experience of being violently sexually assaulted while at work one morning – a fate which, as of 2014, was met by 76% of women and 57% of men during their time serving. Her testimony is powerful, and the honesty and strength she renders brought tears to my eyes for the first time since I became a regular theater-goer. The struggles she faces to provide a better life for her daughter – even in the midst of custody battles and a dehumanizing military justice system – are humbling, and force one to reflect on the tremendous sacrifices which working-class mothers must make to survive in this world.

For McLean and Holmes, realities on the ground are no less horrific. Their testimonies are poignantly nuanced, from recalling the butterfly-laced excitement of jumping from a plane to the absolute helplessness of watching friends and commanding officers die off one by one. Unsure of where to go, how to proceed or even why they’re there in the first place, both men grapple with the heightened paranoia fostered in places like Iraq and Afghanistan, where soldiers are explicitly programmed to shoot at any military-aged men in the near vicinity. In a stunningly rendered moment of emotional breakdown, McLean, having witnessed one senseless killing too many, sums up his disillusionment in one sobering statement: “‘Winning’ is such a childish word to use for war.”

As they struggle to adjust back to life in America, Sanders, Holmes and McLean all manage to process their trauma into activism. Sanders goes on to testify before the House Veterans’ Affairs Committee, and openly criticizes the retaliation faced by survivors within military structures. McLean, who describes falling into severe depression and turning to drugs after returning home, works with patients who have been diagnosed with PTSD at the Palo Alto VA Hospital. Holmes, now a graduate student in Stanford’s School of Earth, Energy, and Environmental Sciences, spends his time researching the effects of exposure to hexavalent chromium, which he calls our generation’s “own version of agent orange.”

After such touching accounts of transformation, it is admittedly somewhat jarring to see the show end as it does: with all five participants in a line, forcing a happy resolution onto a narrative which has not been particularly kind towards anyone. Even more troublingly, and without attempting to overshadow the trials and tribulations of our veterans, we as an audience are given little access to the voices of those who remain silenced: civilians from Iraq or Afghanistan, the many refugees attempting to flee their countries or even soldiers of color (who continue to face heavy racism at the hands of hate groups). Such a lapse in representation is no small matter – after all, America’s military campaign is a matter of life and death.

Ultimately, “Telling: Stanford” directly challenges many of our assumptions about those who serve. It forces us to replace the abstraction evoked by the word “soldier” with something tangible, and to acknowledge the ways in which American veterans are used and abused by the very systems which claim to uplift them. Altogether, this leads us to the question of who is actually serving. But answering this is only half the battle; the remainder will come from finding ways to incorporate their stories into our resistance, and learning to criticize violent institutions without simplifying the experiences of those they recruit.

 

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Theater review: ‘White Power: A Comedy’ hits home https://stanforddaily.com/2016/02/18/theater-review-white-power-a-comedy-hits-home/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/02/18/theater-review-white-power-a-comedy-hits-home/#respond Thu, 18 Feb 2016 22:37:36 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1110966 With a white majority demographic of 46.3% as of the start of this school year, Stanford University can only be described as an apt setting for second-year Ph.D. student Thao Nguyen’s masterful solo piece “White Power: A Comedy.” Part of the department of Theater & Performance Studies’ annual Grad Student Repertory Theatre, “White Power: A […]

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With a white majority demographic of 46.3% as of the start of this school year, Stanford University can only be described as an apt setting for second-year Ph.D. student Thao Nguyen’s masterful solo piece “White Power: A Comedy.” Part of the department of Theater & Performance Studies’ annual Grad Student Repertory Theatre, “White Power: A Comedy” is an exploration into the issues of cultural appropriation, structural racism and the general, well, basicness white people get up to when exposed to a culture that doesn’t belong to us.

Inventively integrating video projections and short films throughout the piece, the show begins on an ostensibly light-hearted note – with a skit about a group of children arguing over superpowers. Starring Nguyen in every role, the video follows the group as one of the children, rather than come up with her own idea for a superpower, steals the ideas of her playmates. When told to think of something more original, the child responds: “I did. I’ve got White Power.”

With that, we are plunged into the world of Thao’s childhood, where we are shown a series of anecdotes about the experience of a young, Vietnamese, Buddhist kid at a predominantly white, Catholic, American school. With an impressive command of physical comedy, verbal impressions, and expert timing, Nguyen captures the essence of the many conflicting voices in her life – from Cathy the Catholic (who, in the schoolyard, informs Thao of her imminent descent into Hell) to her father (who, in a heart-melting monologue, advises Thao to push back against an unkind world), to an aggressively cheery sex-shop statue of the monk Budai (who, as Thao points out, is obnoxiously mistaken for the Buddha by unenlightened customers). Bold lighting changes take us from one skit to the next as we are offered insight into different periods in Thao’s life, all presented with minimal set and costume pieces.

Seamlessly transitioning from hysterical conversations to moments of poignant sincerity, Nguyen introduces us to a paradigm of the “immigrant narrative” which isn’t one-sided in its tragedy or tendency to, like the Buddha himself, be re-processed into kitsch. She recounts, with incredible patience, the stories that so many of us often refuse to hear – of Buddhist temples in America being first petitioned against, then shot at, and finally invaded by swarms of white people showing off their organic hemp pillows and tossing around misplaced “Namastes.” Thao characterizes the entrance of white culture into her psyche as if it is a virus, here to delete the “Buddha.jpeg” file that has played such a significant part in her cultural, social, and religious programming. As she grapples with white men who are determined to call her “Dao” (or, in an unfortunate twist, use their familiarity with her name to feed their own sense of self-importance), she is confronted with the even larger task of recovering that file, and restoring to herself a version of the Buddha not corrupted by Western narratives. “I can’t walk around with this much spit and venom and call myself a Buddhist,” she tells herself as she struggles to reconcile her anger with the lessons of her childhood.

Thus, “White Power: A Comedy” is not merely an examination of Nguyen’s real-life experiences with whiteness – it is also an attempt to grapple with her own background on her own turf, to define what her faith and heritage mean to her without the discriminatory and condescending feedback of white America. Indeed, many of the anecdotes in the show are also about the beauty and resilience present in Thao’s experience. Though whiteness has greatly complicated her relationship to the country in which her family now lives, she refuses to be defined by her oppression, and allows us to see, through a child’s eyes, the moments of magic which life has granted her. As she learns to meditate with her grandmother, we see a young Thao transition from the restlessness of childhood boredom to the stillness that comes with inner peace. As she attempts to order cafeteria food in a language foreign to her tongue, we see her befriend one of the servers, who teaches her to say the word “pizza” and offers her her own carton of chocolate milk. As she struggles to respond in her classes with anything other than “I don’t know,” we see her hand-in-hand with her mother, who explains to her teacher that Thao is not being disrespectful, but asking for help – that perhaps it is not Thao, but her teacher who really doesn’t know what’s going on.

At times heartbreaking and at times grotesquely funny, “White Power: A Comedy” tells a story familiar to many who are made to exist on the outskirts of a culture ostensibly built for inclusion. Throughout Nguyen’s performance, the crowd was alive with uproarious laughter, murmurs of recognition, empathetic mumbling and gasps of astonishment. For some, the piece seemed to hit home, echoing versions of an experience which continues to reverberate around the country. For others – namely, those of us in the crowd with white skin – it struck directly at the places we call home, raising a number of important questions about the way we treat others and the privilege we so often weaponize against people of color.

 

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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A Criminal Cabaret: Getting away with murder https://stanforddaily.com/2015/11/20/a-criminal-cabaret-getting-away-with-murder/ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/11/20/a-criminal-cabaret-getting-away-with-murder/#respond Fri, 20 Nov 2015 09:50:31 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1107682 Last Friday, the Stanford theater community saw the opening of At the Fountain Theatricals’ production of “A Criminal Cabaret,” a collection of some of the most scandalous crime-themed pieces in contemporary musical theater. Directed by Michael Whalen ‘16 and under the musical direction of the incredible Makulumy Alexander-Hills ‘16, “A Criminal Cabaret” showcases some of […]

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Last Friday, the Stanford theater community saw the opening of At the Fountain Theatricals’ production of “A Criminal Cabaret,” a collection of some of the most scandalous crime-themed pieces in contemporary musical theater. Directed by Michael Whalen ‘16 and under the musical direction of the incredible Makulumy Alexander-Hills ‘16, “A Criminal Cabaret” showcases some of the most talented emerging voices at Stanford today.

Intimately staged at the Elliott Program Center with nothing more than a modest arrangement of cabaret-styled stools and makeshift stage to set the scene, the show proves effective in challenging some of the audience’s most deeply-held conceptions of what musical theater is (and what it should be). The proximity with which we are able to engage with the performers is striking – particularly for a genre so heavily associated with massive, high-budget, and distant productions, wherein the division between spectator and microphone-clad singer is painfully apparent. Whalen’s direction of “A Criminal Cabaret” makes bold strides in deconstructing these barriers and creating a paradigm of theatricality that combines the accessibility of the black box with the stunning musical talent of his performers.

Though this reimagination of the modern American musical is largely effective, the show might have also benefitted from even stronger directorial choices. While certain quirky tactics used throughout (such as breaking the fourth wall or tailoring certain lyrics to the specific needs of the show) contributed to the innovative style of the production, these tactics were often used inconsistently, making it difficult to develop a cohesive artistic vision. In addition, the presentation of each musical number was at times rather disjointed, appearing more like a talent show than a cabaret with an MC aiding transitions  from piece to piece. Such considerations would have also helped make the show more accessible to non-thespians who would likely not understand the context of each piece.

Fortunately, the musical quality of the show proves more than enough to compensate for these minor structural issues. Alex Scott ‘16 and Lianna Holston ‘18 shine in their performances of “Dentist!” and “Roxie” (from “Little Shop of Horrors” and “Cabaret,” respectively), adding a kind of sex appeal that set the stage for many of the numbers throughout the night. Abigail Flowers ‘17 brings the house down with her powerful rendition of “Last Midnight” from “Into the Woods” and outstanding performance in “Cell Block Tango,” adding a dynamic energy to the production —  in many instances, this energy helps carry the show. Adielyn Mendoza ‘13, clad in leather and knee-high fishnets rose to similar vocal heights performing “No Good Deed” from “Wicked.” In this song, she belts her way through complex moral questions about good, evil, and the grey area between those two extremes.  The highlight of the show in terms of acting, however, is James Seifert ‘17, whose impeccable comical timing and nuanced portrayals of criminal-minded madness bring a much-needed sense of sincerity to the production.

Thematically, of course, the question of criminality – what it means, how it’s presented, who we’re expected to sympathize with – is a tricky one in musical theater, especially considering how many texts attempt to present the issue of crime as one that affects us all equally. That eerie quote from Stephen Sondheim’s hit musical “Assassins,” for instance (“Rich man, poor man, black or white – everybody gets a bite!”), becomes somewhat uncomfortable when we have personal connections to those identities or an awareness that crime does mean something radically different for communities divided by race and class. This topic, however, is a poignant one in the performing arts – and one which certainly deserves more exploration.

Ultimately, “A Criminal Cabaret” paints a portrait of not only the heavy (and sometimes darkly hysterical) subjects of crime, scandal, and murder, but also the bizarre and entertaining way in which these phenomena are manifested under the lights. It provides us with an opportunity to become intimate with both the prophetic characters plotting our destruction in darkened alleyways and the charming performers who embody them – and realize that the things that terrify and amuse us are not always so different from us.

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Who are you guys, again? An overview of Stanford’s undergraduate theatre scene https://stanforddaily.com/2015/10/22/who-are-you-guys-again-an-overview-of-stanfords-undergraduate-theatre-scene/ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/10/22/who-are-you-guys-again-an-overview-of-stanfords-undergraduate-theatre-scene/#comments Fri, 23 Oct 2015 04:14:51 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1105111 A quick Google search will lead eager thespians to a wealth of knowledge about Stanford’s theater department — its history, upcoming performances and a seemingly endless selection of workshops, teach-ins and undergraduate programs. But the cult of students known for stalking the dark halls of performance venues on this campus is by no means limited to […]

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A quick Google search will lead eager thespians to a wealth of knowledge about Stanford’s theater department — its history, upcoming performances and a seemingly endless selection of workshops, teach-ins and undergraduate programs. But the cult of students known for stalking the dark halls of performance venues on this campus is by no means limited to the confines of the department. Since Stanford’s founding, students have grouped together to create spaces in which to make their own art — each group being unique in its approach to aesthetics, purpose and performance.

The oldest (and arguably most well-known) of these organizations is, of course, Ram’s Head Theatrical Society. Since its founding in 1911, Ram’s Head has been committed to “the production of sketches, songs, musical comedies, and the like,” and has consistently put on some of the most lavish and well-attended productions in Stanford’s history. As the only group on campus that consistently encourages the production of student-written work, its annual season includes “Gaieties” (a student-written satirical musical about Stanford’s Big Game Week), the “Original Winter One Acts” (a collection of original 15-20 minute plays) and a major Broadway musical. With an average cast and crew of over 30 people, Ram’s Head’s membership looms far over that of other organizations — making it the group which offers the most opportunities for technical and artistic design in large-scale professional productions.

Another classic is Stanford’s beloved Shakespeare Company, or “Stan Shakes,” as it affectionately refers to itself. This organization wears its interests on its sleeves, but if you’ve stumbled into its midst expecting another run-of-the-mill production of some play you were forced to read sophomore year of high school, you’re in for a surprise. Stan Shakes has earned a reputation for its creative re-imagining of the old classics — from a matriarchal Lear who’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s to a version of “Much Ado About Nothing” set in the Roaring Twenties. As part of an arts-based community outreach program, Shakes has also been known to visit middle and high schools in the area and hold workshops for local students.

Another group known for its work offstage is At the Fountain Theatricals, which derives its name from the 2002 musical “Sweet Smell of Success.” Dedicated to musical theatre and performing arts education, At the Fountain holds video conferences and social events with thespians around the world, and has staged a plethora of experimental musical work, including “Violet: The Musical” (which was performed on a moving bus) and “Did We Offend You?” (a cabaret-style showcase of some of the most offensive numbers in the history of musical theater).

As one of the first alternative theater groups on campus, the Stanford Theater Laboratory (SAL) sets out to provide a “flexible artistic home” for artists here on campus, and has produced a number of shows over the past five years which have stood out for their creativity, intensity and intimate staging. While more markedly social justice-oriented in the past, SAL has produced a number of successful shows such as “Eurydice,” “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” “Picasso at the Lapin Agile,” and “Proof.” Run by a small, tight-knit board of directors, SAL manages to evade the bureaucratic framework of so many on-campus groups and provide a setting in which all members are encouraged to participate artistically. According to Noemi Berkowitz ‘16, ensemble director, “Lab” is unique because “absolutely anyone can propose a show for our season, and our artistic decisions are made by the ensemble as a whole.”

The Asian American Theater Project (AATP) takes its place as one of the few surviving identity-conscious collectives in Stanford’s undergraduate theater scene. Founded in 1978, AATP has been producing season after season of socially critical work, creating one of the few niches on campus in which artists from all background can be creative and still have room to explore the many questions which come along with minority representation in the arts. They have used theater as a platform to question some of our most deeply-held beliefs regarding race, gender and the intersection of cultures on stage, and have reimagined well-known works like “My Fair Lady” and “Death of a Salesman” through an an Asian/Asian-American lens.

Flying Treehouse, founded in March 2011, takes a very different approach to theater. More invested in community involvement than size and scope, Flying Treehouse does a majority of its work in elementary schools, where Stanford students conduct writing workshops with local second and third graders, who have the opportunity for their creative fiction to be selected by the group and turned into a full-scale performance. Camilla Franklin ‘17, teaching coordinator, says these shows follow “a unique structure that borrows from improv and sketch comedy,” with a small ensemble involved in every part of the process: teaching, adapting, writing, acting and directing. “We’re lucky enough to get to use the boundlessly creative ideas from our students [as] a springboard,” she says. “They are always really excited to see their writing come to life in a tangible end product.”

Taking this trend in bright, bold and unconventional theater to the next level is Stanford’s final (and newest) addition to its undergraduate arts scene: the Freeks. Known for its passion for the absurd and glorious disregard of the sterility of the Silicon Valley Experience™, the group takes on the term “thespian” in a way that’s fresh, fun and radically different from most college collectives. In the past few years alone, it has already made its mark with such ambitious shows as “Titus,” “Rhinoceros,” “Circle Mirror Transformation,” “Equus” and, most recently, a rave-inspired “Bacchae.” Its mission statement has an unmistakable anarchist flare, and emphasizes the importance of art which “accesses everyone” and is “accessible to everyone” — a feature which becomes increasingly rare in an industry so bent upon raking in ticket money and pledges of patronage.

Of the many undergraduate groups that color the canvas of Stanford’s arts scene, each has its own perspective on life, theater and what it takes to bring the two together. Their imagination and devotion to the work that they do makes it possible for us to enjoy the barrage of shows that are put on every quarter, and allows students to participate in performance-making beyond the limited opportunities provided by TAPS productions. Despite ongoing struggles to acquire funding, departmental support and performance space, these groups continue to bring a taste of the human experience to the Farm. They are not tangential to Stanford’s theatrical culture; rather, they are its heart and soul, and we will strive to ensure that they remain staples of the Stanford landscape for years to come.

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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A brief history of ‘Gaieties’ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/10/13/a-brief-history-of-gaieties/ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/10/13/a-brief-history-of-gaieties/#respond Tue, 13 Oct 2015 23:26:35 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1106913 As week nine inches closer and closer and our thoughts begin to wander towards midterms, Thanksgiving Break and the insufferable academic cesspool we refer to as dead week, we are granted a moment or two of pause in which to pay attention to another beloved Stanford tradition looming on the horizon. I’m talking, of course, […]

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As week nine inches closer and closer and our thoughts begin to wander towards midterms, Thanksgiving Break and the insufferable academic cesspool we refer to as dead week, we are granted a moment or two of pause in which to pay attention to another beloved Stanford tradition looming on the horizon. I’m talking, of course, about “Gaieties 2015: Chem 31XXX,” opening Wednesday of next week.

Steeped in a long history of rivalry, outrageous dance numbers and puns that can only be successfully deciphered by Cardinal Frosh, “Gaieties” is known for being one of the only theatrical performances to poke fun at the absurdity of life here on the Farm. Dating back to 1911, “Gaieties” – originally dubbed “Football Follies” – has traditionally gone up the week before Stanford’s annual rugby game against UC Berkeley. After the 1920s, the infamous student-written, student-produced and student-performed musical extravaganza was adopted by Ram’s Head Theatrical Society and turned into an all-campus rallying point for Big Game, the most anticipated football match of the season.

Originally performed as a series of skits, “Gaieties” has evolved into a cohesive musical following the arc of our most cherished Stanford fairytale, in which a ragtag crew of freshman band together to defeat our notorious villain: the Cal Berkeley Bear. Since 1937, the production has found a home in Stanford’s lavish Memorial Auditorium, which, it is rumored, was constructed with this major theatrical event in mind. But in spite of its formal setting, “Gaieties” continues to bring a sense of fun and reckless abandon to a student body desperately in need of a pick-me-up. Students in the auditorium are encouraged to interact with the production as they wish, and the first two rows of the house are known to be filled with Ram’s Head staff ready to hoot, holler, dance and do whatever they can to embarrass their actors.

Like any annual production, “Gaieties” has had its ups and downs. In 1968, due to tensions within the ensemble, the show was cancelled for the first time in history – and for the following decade, Memorial Auditorium remained devoid of its yearly week of theatrical catharsis. Navigating social and political disputes, an apathetic student body and an unfortunate case of bankruptcy, the original Ram’s Head Theatrical Society was forced to close, causing students to abandon all hopes of reviving “Gaieties.”

But when the organization was revamped in 1976, the tradition once again joined the ranks of Stanford’s major musicals. Today, the show serves a much broader purpose than merely pumping the student body up for Big Game – it seeks to unite the campus through the silliness of our common experiences here at Nerd Nation, and it reminds us that it’s okay for Stanford students to have fun sometimes, too.

Gaieties 2015: “Chem 31XXX” will be performed on Nov. 18, 19 and 20 at 8 p.m. in Memorial Auditorium. Tickets can be purchased here.

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Stan Shakes breathes new life into ‘Much Ado about Nothing’ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/05/26/stan-shakes-breathes-new-life-into-much-ado-about-nothing/ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/05/26/stan-shakes-breathes-new-life-into-much-ado-about-nothing/#respond Wed, 27 May 2015 05:59:31 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1101528 William Shakespeare, arguably the most well-known playwright in the English language, has had his works produced and reproduced on and off college campuses for centuries. For each production, familiar challenges emerge: How can we keep work that is so old perpetually fresh and exciting? How can we prevent romance, in all its controversial glory, from […]

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William Shakespeare, arguably the most well-known playwright in the English language, has had his works produced and reproduced on and off college campuses for centuries. For each production, familiar challenges emerge: How can we keep work that is so old perpetually fresh and exciting? How can we prevent romance, in all its controversial glory, from becoming cemented in a historical milieu long since come and gone?

The Stanford Shakespeare Company’s production of “Much Ado About Nothing,” a light-hearted counterpart to its performance of “Lear” earlier this year, challenges the very basis of these questions. Set in the decadent world of New York City in the 1920s, Stan Shakes’ swanky interpretation of the quintessential Shakespearean rom-com does not disappoint. Shrouded in the fantastic costume design of Elizabeth Margolin ’17, Shakespeare’s classic elites are reimagined as post-war socialites committed to scheming up new and absurd ways of spending their copious amounts of free time. Their world of rumor, romance and revenge leads them to ruin weddings, masquerade as matchmakers and drink enough to make me question which I was more conscious of: my class background or my sobriety.

The story follows two sets of lovers as they are tricked into falling in and out of love with one another; we follow the cavalier Count Claudio (Zachary Damman ’18) and Hero (Heather Connelly ’18), whose romance is eclipsed by the altogether more misanthropical relationship between Hero’s cousin Beatrice (Jackie Emerson ’17) and Claudio’s friend Benedick (Matthew Libby ’17). As in most Shakespearean comedies, the real romance emerges between the audience and its unquenchable thirst for gossip. Set in the remote picnic area of the Toyon courtyard, with a stage centered in what almost feels like a dramatically-lit urban fairy circle, this outdoor locale allows audiences one of the most authentic Shakespeare-viewing experiences possible. Nestled close to loved ones, watching dusk set in as the events surrounding us unfold, the sense of community is palpable. United by our own laughter, enchantment and collective hatred for the most despicable characters, we are swept up in the world of these outlandish debutantes in their exploration of human folly.

The time-specific setting of the piece makes for a whimsical and alluring experience, immersing us in the thrill and utter absurdity of the roaring twenties. Bright colors and upbeat Postmodern Jukebox tunes lull us into a romanticization of the era which rivals even the characters’ romanticization of one another. But in addition to all this aesthetic wonder, director Andrew Whipple’s decision to transform the circumstances surrounding “Much Ado” would have been even more poignant had there been more historical follow-through. Though the lavish world of Whipple’s reimagined elites is unmistakably tied to Shakespeare’s interest in bourgeois realism, it is sometimes unclear whether these connections are socially critical or purely aesthetic. While some aspects of the show — the endless liquor, wild parties and extravagant displays of wealth — feel divorced from the social implications of life in the American 1920s, there are other moments at which the absurdity of this representation of class and gender seem acutely self-aware. When false accusations against Hero’s fidelity lead Claudio to leave her at the altar, her suffering might feel even more tragic if we had a way to contextualize it within the confines of this new social environment. When we hear Beatrice’s impassioned speech about the burden of womanhood, her grievances might hit closer to home if we knew how to incorporate it into the bougieness of the time in which she lives.

Regardless, Shakes has outdone itself. In a high-caliber performance, each actor does an astounding job of making the words of Shakespeare — dense and indecipherable as they can often be — accessible to the general public. A series of strong technical and interpretive choices help prevent us from lapsing into utter confusion about who’s falling in and out of love and who’s trying to undermine whom. As our headstrong and heartwarming romantic leads, Emerson and Libby steal the show with their witty banter, high energy and sharp comedic timing. Whipple varnishes the show with outrageous games of hide-and-seek, slapstick humor and endless spit takes. Louis McWilliams’ ’16 performance as Don Pedro is a comedic highlight throughout, and Malaika Murphy-Sierra’s ’17 constant ad-libbing is a breath of fresh air amidst a group of characters who sometimes tend to take themselves too seriously.

Though there are many answers to the question of how to keep Shakespeare relevant, the simplest is that the human condition is always relatable. We fall for pretty faces and dirty tricks, uplifting love stories and jokes about no one wanting to date crazy Ursula. And ultimately, this is what the Stanford Shakespeare Company allows us to participate in. Glittering dresses and twinkling champagne glasses aside, “Much Ado About Nothing” reminds us that theater (and particularly Shakespeare) is about more than intellect and aesthetics. It’s about having fun, and creating the moments of laughter, joy and beauty we need in order to function as a community. It takes an old form of art — kept alive, for many, only between the dusty pages of a book — and breathes life into it. And for a brief evening, we get to be a part of that.

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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‘The Life of Galileo’ fosters criticism of authority https://stanforddaily.com/2015/05/21/the-life-of-galileo-fosters-criticism-of-authority/ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/05/21/the-life-of-galileo-fosters-criticism-of-authority/#respond Fri, 22 May 2015 04:21:53 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1101363 “Truth is born of the times, not of authority!” Such is the spirit evoked by Rush Rehm’s staged reading of Bertolt Brecht’s “The Life of Galileo,” which proved this past weekend to be one of the most critically engaging shows put on by Stanford’s TAPS department this season. Part of Stanford’s Imagining the Universe series, […]

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“Truth is born of the times, not of authority!” Such is the spirit evoked by Rush Rehm’s staged reading of Bertolt Brecht’s “The Life of Galileo,” which proved this past weekend to be one of the most critically engaging shows put on by Stanford’s TAPS department this season. Part of Stanford’s Imagining the Universe series, “Galileo” pushes us to interrogate the intersection of truth and reason in our own lives – as well as the type of questions we should be asking as academics on this campus.

The story chronicles the life of Galileo as he challenges the doctrine of religion with his newly developed theory of heliocentrism (the idea that the earth revolves around the sun), and takes us on a journey of exploration into not only the nature of the cosmos, but also of our own responsibility to future generations. Faced with charges of heresy, Galileo is eventually forced to renounce his astronomical discoveries – and in doing so, transform from a fearless idealist into a washed-up academic too cowardly to prevent science from taking this same course.

From the onset, it is clear that “The Life of Galileo” is far from traditional. The setting of the show itself — the conspicuously high-tech environment of Lathrop 282 — makes it difficult to ignore the connections between the academic themes in the script and academia here at Stanford. Surrounded on all sides by nine massive screens projecting maps, scene titles, and even various sketches (designed by Jessi Piggott and Alex Scott ‘16), audience members are virtually incapable of distancing themselves from the ever-looming influence of scientific development on our own realities.

In the house, actors are seated in rows of chairs at each end of the stage, where the audience can easily see them change costumes and slip in and out of character – no doubt to the surprise of many onlookers. As the play unfolds, a clear discrepancy is maintained between actors onstage and the characters they set out to portray. The use of gesture by each performer to caricaturize their roles is exceptionally successful – particularly by Galileo’s pupil Andrea (Alex Cheng ‘17) and the Grand Inquisitor of the Catholic Church (Matthew Smith, TAPS Professor) – and helps bring to life the sense of absurdity so vital to the production. Alex Johnson, who plays Galileo, beautifully depicts a character who is anything but the flawless tragic hero we are at risk of expecting. Throughout the show, enchanting a cappella ballads (performed by the talented soprano Shu Chen Ong ‘17) and a lively carnival scene (led by the outstanding Paul Rosenfield ‘12), ensure that our attention never wavers.

These techniques are, in many ways, products of Brecht’s theory of alienation: the idea that an audience must be separated from the emotional impact of a play in order to politically engage with it. Without this emotional distancing, “Galileo” is easy to misconstrue entirely – especially here in the lavish, self-congratulating environment of Silicon Valley, where science is lauded as the irrefutable solution to issues of change and social progress. Though the play itself is highly critical of Galileo’s doctrine of science, it is easy to overlook these complexities in favor of a much simpler narrative: one in which Galileo valiantly defends reason in the face of burdensome tradition. Yet it is our skepticism of Galileo’s “hero-like” role which is most important; it is what allows us to become more critical of authority figures in every field – including the sciences. Given the importance of this message in our current place in history, an even stronger emphasis on these alienating theatrical devices might have helped ground “The Life of Galileo” more firmly in the realities of its viewers, and more effectively eradicate any remaining perceptions of this production as a new iteration of the Stanford success story.

But overall, Rehm’s work is moving in a way which supplements, rather than hinders, political engagement. “Unhappy is the land that needs a hero,” Galileo tells us as the play comes to a close, before he is condemned to a life of shame and solitude – reminding us that the fates of science and religion aren’t as different as we may imagine: that, in fact, science without an emphasis on the truth will lead to nothing but new injustice. At an institution where we often find ourselves paralyzed in the face of our own structural power, such a reminder is not only important – it is essential. Without cultivating a willingness to engage in art which criticizes our own commitment to truth, both theater and academia will continue to perpetuate the very lies we have sworn to fight. Now, as we move forward, we must ask ourselves: which role do we want to play in our own historical narratives: the onlooker or the actor?

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

 

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Behind the Scenes: ‘The Fierce Urgency of Now’ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/05/08/behind-the-scenes-the-fierce-urgency-of-now/ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/05/08/behind-the-scenes-the-fierce-urgency-of-now/#respond Fri, 08 May 2015 20:53:22 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1100660 It’s an early morning for the Chocolate Heads Movement Band. Having heard little about their upcoming show, “The Fierce Urgency of Now,” I’ve come not quite sure what to expect. Still carrying the stress of midterms and life at Stanford, stepping into the Nitery Theater feels calming. Keenan Molner ‘15, the show’s lighting designer, has […]

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52025-1It’s an early morning for the Chocolate Heads Movement Band. Having heard little about their upcoming show, “The Fierce Urgency of Now,” I’ve come not quite sure what to expect. Still carrying the stress of midterms and life at Stanford, stepping into the Nitery Theater feels calming. Keenan Molner ‘15, the show’s lighting designer, has transformed the tiny venue into an almost ethereal reflective space. Tiny footlights surround the stage, a large square of white canvas is taped to the floor, and dancers are accompanied by a backdrop of moving water. After a warm welcome from the crew, Tess McCarthy ‘16, the show’s stage manager, calls places, and their tech rehearsal begins.

As I watch the piece this talented group has created, I’m struck by the interdisciplinary nature of their work. Two musicians sit at the side of the stage and play every song (a combination of electronic, jazz, and soul) live for the collective, and each dancer comes from a diverse array of backgrounds, majors, and artistic styles. Sitting in the second row, I can hear the sound of their breathing over the music, and am reminded of the hours of collaboration, energy, and production effort which goes into the creation of new work.

During intermission, Professor Aleta Hayes, the show’s director, explains that her process differs from that of many other artists. Part of Aleta’s larger project, “Performing Ambassadors for Social Good,” the Chocolate Heads Movement Band was founded in 2010 as a collective dedicated to exploring the role of dance in modern society. Their collaborative project, “The Fierce Urgency of Now,” examines the nature of movement in our every-day lives – what creates physical, emotional, and social movement, and how that movement can be channelled into something beautiful. “That’s what dance should be,” Aleta tells me when I ask her about the process leading up to this performance. “If doesn’t move you, if it doesn’t make you want to move, what good is it anyway?”

Formulated through her 2-unit class, “Chocolate Heads Movement Band Performance Workshop,” “The Fierce Urgency of Now” is devised entirely by Aleta and her students. Everything that has gone into this production – the music, the choreo, the narrative – has been created by members of the ensemble specifically for this performance. “Every year is beautiful because every year is different,” she tells me. “It always depends on who takes the class and what they want to contribute.”

As the rehearsal continues and they stop to troubleshoot each number, her focus remains on movement – the magic of the body navigating its way through open space. “See one another,” she tells her performers. “Feel your way through the space. Imagine it more liquidy.” Their movements are all self-choreographed, and are reminiscent of gymnastics, modern dance, contact improv, vogue, and even athletic exercises. “The content comes from the bodies,” she says. “My job is to direct that into a show.”

Though the show is, in part, inspired by the words of Martin Luther King, Jr., “The Fierce Urgency of Now” does much more than attempt to reconcile art and politics through the means of “diversity.” Rather than feeding into the cookie-cutter narrative of inclusivity for the sake of diversity, Aleta strives to form an organic union of the diverse by creating art that is inclusive. At a time in our history and politics in which the legacy of Martin Luther King is constantly being evoked, discussed, and  occasionally misrepresented, this ability to transcend the empty rhetoric of “affirmative casting” – which is often treated as a blanket solution to creating more diverse art, even here on campus – enables us to shift the conversation towards something even bigger.

“We focus so much on the PRL as a collaborative space,” Aleta tells me, “but this kind of work exists here too.” The continued emphasis on the importance of process in the sciences, but not the arts, is not a new theme for artists and teachers on this campus. But by taking the importance of the collective and integrating it into the work she does with students, Aleta and the Chocolate Heads have created one of the few opportunities on this campus for dancers to create work which extends beyond the limits of a traditional recital.

The Fierce Urgency of Now” will be playing in the Nitery May 8th and 9th at 7:30p.m. Tickets are sold out, but a waitlist will be opening one hour before each performance.

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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‘The Last Five Years’ prompts audiences to question the romantic ideal https://stanforddaily.com/2015/05/06/the-last-five-years-prompts-audiences-to-question-the-romantic-ideal/ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/05/06/the-last-five-years-prompts-audiences-to-question-the-romantic-ideal/#respond Thu, 07 May 2015 04:27:56 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1100497 A staged concert rendition of “The Last Five Years,” composed by Jason Robert Brown, closed last Saturday after a decent two-week run which left its audiences to ponder the nature of romantic relationships both on and off stage. Directed by Ken Savage ‘14, “The Last Five Years” follows the story of Jamie, a blossoming writer, […]

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A staged concert rendition of “The Last Five Years,” composed by Jason Robert Brown, closed last Saturday after a decent two-week run which left its audiences to ponder the nature of romantic relationships both on and off stage. Directed by Ken Savage ‘14, “The Last Five Years” follows the story of Jamie, a blossoming writer, and his wife Cathy, a struggling actress living in Ohio, as they attempt to navigate their profoundly dysfunctional relationship. The show alternates between each character’s perspective; Jamie (Andrew Forsyth ‘14) tells the tale of their romance in order, while Cathy (played by Talisman’s Sarah Jiang ‘16) tells the same story in reverse chronological order, beginning with their heartbreaking divorce and ending with the youthful appeal of first love.

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Sarah Jiang in “The Last Five Years.” (Photo credit: Harrison Truong)

Savage’s attention to detail in this production is uncanny – especially in such an intimate environment. Set first in Stanford’s Center for Computer Research in Music and Acoustics (CCRMA) and the following weekend in Elliott Program Center, the production shifts the genre of musical theater from its usual place on the mainstage to the up-close-and-personal arena of smaller venues. From where the audience sits, every batter of the eyelash, every trembling hand and every perfectly placed tear is unmistakable. No kiss can afford to be staged, and no reaction can afford to be overlooked. Forsyth and Jiang both rise to the challenge, displaying both immense vocal talent and the finesse possessed by only the most nuanced actors. Jiang’s passion for her unfaithful husband is palpable, and the almost sickening charisma of her big-shot ex is exceptionally believable.

The ingenuity of Savage’s direction is perhaps best displayed in Forsyth’s enchanting performance of “The Schmuel Song.” Written in the style of Judeo-Russian folk music, “The Schmuel Song” details one of Jamie’s stories about an old man named Schmuel who is suddenly given 41 years of his life back, which he uses to sew a dress for the woman of his dreams. Forsyth sings it with the energy of a professional, at every step displaying the charm and whimsicality present in much of Savage’s work. From his brilliant old man impression to the cleverly handled puns and endearing dance moves used throughout the piece, the captivating artistic style of Savage’s work is unmistakable.

But while the show is advertised to be a heartbreaking tale of love and loss, the potential of Cathy and Jamie’s relationship to evoke empathy is often undermined by the show’s sexist narrative. Based off of Jason Robert Brown’s own failed relationship and career as an artist, “The Last Five Years” maintains an overwhelming emphasis on the male perspective and reinforces some troubling clichés about the role of women in heterosexual relationships. Though given as much stage time as her male counterpart, Cathy’s songs consistently focus on the narrative of her lover – his career, his betrayals, his promises – and rarely on her own dreams and ambitions. “Climbing Uphill/Audition Sequence,” a song about her troubles landing parts in Ohio, effectively emerges as the only exploration of her character’s autonomy, and shines as one of Jiang’s most truthful and relatable numbers. Meanwhile, Jamie, a man caught between his desire to attain the perfect lifestyle and to canoodle every pair of breasts he locks eyes with, dominates as both the center of the show and of the couple’s relationship.

Fortunately, under the seamless musical direction of Joel Chapman ‘14 (who is also featured as the show’s keyboardist), the musical component of the show helps compensate for what we lack in plot. Accompanied by a small ensemble comprised of one violinist (Sunli Kim ‘16), two cellists (Tyler DeVigal ‘16 and Lennart Jansson ‘15), a guitarist (Justin Cavazos ‘15) and a pianist (Alon Devorah ‘15), Chapman’s navigation of the challenging score is remarkable. Even in the midst of the melodrama occurring between our two protagonists, it’s nearly impossible to resist the urge to watch the passion of each instrumentalist as they undergo their own emotional voyages throughout the show. And where the sentimental content of Brown’s writing falls flat, the magic conjured by both Chapman’s miniature symphony and Jiang and Forsyth’s musical abilities proves more than capable of evoking genuine feeling.

Though “The Last Five Years” is not the most moving portrayal of a relationship, it is certainly enough to make us question why we love the people we love and whether it might be possible to love in a way that’s healthier for everyone involved. Throughout it all, the inspiration to do better in our own lives emerges triumphant.

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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‘Hairspray’ brings racial dialogue to the world of Stanford theater https://stanforddaily.com/2015/04/17/hairspray-brings-racial-dialogue-to-the-world-of-stanford-theater/ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/04/17/hairspray-brings-racial-dialogue-to-the-world-of-stanford-theater/#respond Fri, 17 Apr 2015 16:15:04 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1099217 Ram’s Head Theatrical Society’s production of “Hairspray,” which opened this past weekend at Memorial Auditorium to phenomenal campus-wide reception, is an amalgam of some of the most outstanding talent the Stanford theater scene has to offer. With the kind of energy that inspires people to go home, throw on a pair of high heels and […]

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Ram’s Head Theatrical Society’s production of “Hairspray,” which opened this past weekend at Memorial Auditorium to phenomenal campus-wide reception, is an amalgam of some of the most outstanding talent the Stanford theater scene has to offer. With the kind of energy that inspires people to go home, throw on a pair of high heels and dream of life under the lights, “Hairspray” had me feeling optimistic, in spite of my doubts about the ability of this particular show to spark genuine debate about racial representation in theater. Under the vision of accomplished director Ken Savage ’14 and produced by James Sherwood ’17, “Hairspray” ultimately serves as a successful step towards beginning to address racial issues within Stanford’s theater community.

The year is 1962 — the height of the civil rights era. In place of traditional theater haze, aerosol drifts across the set. The music of a fabulous house band fills the room, and a massive video wall containing 20,000 LED lights transforms Memorial Auditorium into a virtual television studio and its audience into a teeming crowd of virtual viewers. Opening with a glamorous Baltimore cityscape, accompanying the many dance scenes with moving checkerboard patterns and at one point even becoming a campy backdrop of falling stars, the video wall (programmed by Matt Lathrop ’16) represents one of the most innovative unions of technology and performance to have graced Memorial Auditorium’s stage.

The show is brimming with ambitious, high-energy dance numbers (choreographed by former Dollies Amber Quiñones ’15, Tayna Gonzales ’15, Emily Giglio ’15 and Dafna Szafer ’15) that made it almost impossible to sit still. The star of the show, an unpopular yet spirited teenager named Tracy Turnblad (Jessia Hoffman ’15), dreams of dancing on television’s Corny Collins Show with her love interest, the talented Link Larkin (Matt Herrero ‘17). When finally given the opportunity to audition, Tracy is forced to face the ugly realities of mainstream media — both its standards in regards to aesthetic beauty and its blatant racism towards black performers.

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Cast of “Hairspray.” (Courtesy of James Sherwood)

Throughout the show, an appreciation of black music and black art is present — if not the radicalism and autonomy of black politics — and performers of color are given one of the few mainstream platforms in Stanford’s recent theatrical history upon which to dazzle us. Television’s “Negro Day” singing trio, known as the Dynamites (played by Samantha Williams ’17, Shavana Talbert ’16 and Willie Hercule ’16), brought the house down with the number “The New Girl in Town.” Ladidi Garba’s ’14 heart-stopping performance as Motormouth Maybelle, the host of “Negro Day,” is the musical pinnacle of the show, moving dozens of people to their feet mid-performance. Nick Biddle’s ’14 drag performance as Edna Turnblad, Tracy’s charismatic mother, is a comedic highlight, making me question many times which shone brighter: his personality or the sequins plastered to him throughout the show. Also noteworthy were the hysterical Wilbur Turnblad (Brady Richter ’15) and Velma Von Tussle (Lucie Fleming ’17), the horrendous producer of the Corny Collins Show who was perhaps just a little too fun for us to hate.

Make no mistake: “Hairspray” has been subject to a long history of debate regarding its treatment — and mistreatment — of race. Though the plot makes efforts to address issues of segregation, representation politics and other forms of racial injustice, Tracy Turnblad, the show’s enthusiastic protagonist, ultimately fills the classic archetype of the white savior: the well-meaning ally whose courage and steadfast moral compass lead an otherwise helpless black community towards equality. And unfortunately, the show’s light handling of traumatic issues such as police terror and incarceration admittedly makes it somewhat difficult to compare this narrative with that of the #BlackLivesMatter movement today.

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Cast of “Hairspray.” (Courtesy of James Sherwood)

But Savage’s take on the classic story does, in many ways, strive to put a new spin on some of the more problematic moments in the show. When Tracy co-opts dance moves created by her friend Seaweed (played by the inordinately charming Robert Poole ’15) in order to land herself a spot on the show, the moment is not overlooked, as it has been in so many other large-scale productions of “Hairspray.” Rather than simply handing over his artistic integrity, as he does in the film version, Seaweed’s discomfort at Tracy’s utilization of his dance moves is made apparent and forces us to confront, if only briefly, the reality of cultural appropriation in mainstream media. When Seaweed introduces his blooming love interest (the light-skinned Penny, played by Hannah Hsieh ’17) to the rest of his community, he is met with looks of hurt and betrayal after delivering the line “the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice” only a few scenes earlier. In addition, the role of Penny’s mother, the traditionally racist white housewife, is in this production played by an Asian-American woman — thus provoking questions regarding what it means to be “of color” in America and about the nuances of discrimination within different communities.

However, this celebration of diversity does not have to be limited to the walls of Memorial Auditorium. Stanford’s Institute of Diversity in the Arts (IDA), Everyday People and numerous events hosted by Harmony House and the Black Community Services Center work to support black art and provide year-round platforms for these kinds of conversations. In addition, Ram’s Head’s unique position as one of Stanford’s only student theater groups to charge for admission could have inspired them to go one step further and actually donate to these artistic endeavors or any number of organizations working to uplift black voices across the country.

While Ram’s Head’s production of “Hairspray” is more about exploring the magic of theater than moving us to action, its willingness to open this type of dialogue is significant — especially within the context of Stanford’s current attitudes towards racial injustice. To put it plainly, “Hairspray” is a must-see. Director Ken Savage’s bold attempt to take on a genre which is, essentially, a minefield of racial problems represents an important step in the right direction. Where this dialogue will take us, and how it will be manifested in future productions, is in your hands.

“Hairspray” will be playing in Memorial Auditorium April 16-18 at 8 p.m. Tickets are available at musical.stanford.edu.

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Lagalante’s new musical, ‘Mirror Image,’ moves despite narrative flaws https://stanforddaily.com/2015/03/09/new-musical-mirror-image/ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/03/09/new-musical-mirror-image/#respond Tue, 10 Mar 2015 06:25:25 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1097309 "Mirror Image" — through its moving music and stellar director — invites us to reflect on life, love and the difficulty of holding onto our passions.

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“Mirror Image,” an emotive musical conceived and composed by Louis Lagalante ‘15 and written and directed by Patty Hamilton ‘16, invites members of the Stanford community to reflect on life, love and the difficulty of holding onto our passions.

Performed on the stage of Dinkelspiel Auditorium, the action is positioned 180 degrees from the main house, facing the back wall — where the audience is invited to sit upon bleachers and experience the show from an intimate vantage point.

The format of the show itself is a compelling combination of words and music. Accompanied by a brilliant orchestral pit playing styles reminiscent of traditional symphonic music, acoustic and folk and even occasionally soul, “Mirror Image” intersperses a variety of genres — a testament to the compositional talent of Lagalante.

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(l-r) Alex Kim ’17 as Old Mike, Ellen Woods ’18 as Old Kiera, and Jack Lundquist ’17 as David. Photo courtesy of Keegan Livermore ’16

As the opening song plays (a poignant piece entitled “Move On”), we are thrust into the lives of three friends living in New York and given little snippets of exposition in the dialogue between lyrics. Under Hamilton’s fluid direction, characters appear and disappear from different parts of a massive set — on a fire escape, from a doorway, between wall flats — creating a dynamic and fast-paced world in which past and present are seamlessly intertwined. Through it all, we are introduced to David, his girlfriend Kiera and his best friend Mike (Jace Casey ’17), with whom he dreams of changing the world through music.

The story flashes ten years into the future, when David and Kiera learn that their old friend Mike (Alex Kim ’17) has finally made it big. As the now middle-aged couple sit on opposite ends of their living room, reading, versions of their former selves in matching sweaters and shades burst into the room dancing, giving us some insight into the glory days of their past. Eventually, the present-day couple invite the now-successful Mike to their home in an attempt to reconnect, forcing David — played by the melodious Jack Lundquist ‘17 — to confront his newfound insecurities about his music, lifestyle and crumbling marriage.

The only character throughout the show to be portrayed by the same actor in both his present and past forms, David’s reluctance to leave the past behind is made even more evident through this dynamic directorial decision, making the people around him appear not as their true selves but as David’s own glorified memories of them.

Even in light of this very human story, certain aspects of the show could have benefited from more specificity. Though the starry-eyed, socially-conscious “starving artist” archetype is a relatable one, the group’s shared dream of saving the world, while touching, might have felt a little more sincere had there been more of a personality to this dream. What does changing the world mean to each individual? What passions, aside from music, make them tick? The female characters in the show are also somewhat lacking: David’s girlfriend, Kiera — played in her younger form by Kathleen Kelso ‘18 and in her older form by Ellen Woods ‘18 — is given beautiful solos and portrayed with a gentle nuance by both actresses. Even so, her role seems only tangential to David’s life and success, preventing us from fully understanding her identity in the piece.

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(l-r) Lundquist as David and Sonja Johnson-Yu ’18 as his mother. Photo courtesy of Keegan Livermore ’16.

As if to balance this, the musical talent of these performers is tremendous. Of particular note is Sonja Johnson-Yu’s ‘18 performance as Joan, David’s mother, who struggles with cancer. With a delicate timbre, Johnson-Yu delivers a touching solo about the difficulty of holding onto life once living becomes too painful to bear. Lundquist does a fantastic job as the lead of the show; his high range and convincing portrayal of frustration effectively communicate the struggle of trying to reconnect with his art.

Ultimately, “Mirror Image” succeeds in contributing something incredibly brave and much-needed to the Stanford theater community — original work. Through its moving music and stellar direction, the show invites us to examine not only the ways in which David’s current choices mirror those of his past but also the ways in which this narrative mirrors our own as artists and dreamers.

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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The case for circus at Stanford https://stanforddaily.com/2015/03/04/the-case-for-circus-at-stanford/ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/03/04/the-case-for-circus-at-stanford/#respond Thu, 05 Mar 2015 06:19:29 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1097023 To many, the circus is a symbol of freedom and liberation in a world of limitation, where even art has become teleological. As Stanford students, this world is not far from our own reality. Even in the arts, an immense pressure to succeed pervades student life. Creativity gets overshadowed by resume-building, stressing about future career prospects and conforming to the constraints of grant provisions and feasibility. In an academic environment as competitive as this one, it can be hard to find a niche in which it is okay to be, well, weird.

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The archetype is not unfamiliar: the reckless teenager, wrought with angst and a fierce lust for the unknown, who vows to abandon his or her small town for the adventure of the circus. To many, the circus is a symbol of freedom and liberation in a world of limitation, where even art has become teleological. As Stanford students, this world is not far from our own reality. Even in the arts, an immense pressure to succeed pervades student life. Creativity gets overshadowed by resume-building, stressing about future career prospects and conforming to the constraints of grant provisions and feasibility. In an academic environment as competitive as this one, it can be hard to find a niche in which it is okay to be, well, weird.

As if to resist this trend, Stanford’s theater department (TAPS) has become increasingly diverse in recent years. New classes offered push for the exploration of different mediums and genres distinct from classical performance. Professor Helen Paris’ class, TAPS 101P (Intro to Directing and Devising Theatre), pushes students to think outside the box and examine the “relationship between form and content, aesthetics, proximity, audience [and] space.” TAPS 144, entitled “Puppetry with a Twist,” gives students the opportunity to work with renowned puppeteer Basil Twist to cultivate their own puppetry performance piece. Even a unique array of faculty interests — such as Dr. Branislav Jakovljevic’s work in the avant-garde and in political theater — encourage bold art.

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Gabriel Beaudoin in Cirque du Soleil’s “Kurios.” Photo by Martin Girard, courtesy of Cirque du Soleil.

But despite all these strides forward, there is one genre of theater which continues to be overlooked in most modern universities: circus.

Representing a break from traditional theater, circus is a style of performance with a sense of autonomy independent from Shakespearean storylines and the traditional performance skillset of acting, singing and dancing. Uniting art with physical ability and training, circus encompasses a number of feats, including juggling, vaulting, hoop diving, tightrope walking, contortion, tumbling, poi spinning, knife throwing, trampolining and many, many more. As theatre has evolved over time, modern circuses such as Cirque du Soleil and Les 7 Doigts de la Main have moved away from animal-related stunts and now focus entirely on the acrobatic talents of their performers and the beauty that can be found in uniting the wonders of the body with the creativity of the mind.

Stanford’s Aerial Arts Program gave students the opportunity to dabble in one of the many performance techniques featured in modern circus. Since its abolition in 2013, circus has been one of the only performance genres not offered here on campus. A petition written by members of the student body to reinstate the program argued that exposure to the aerial arts “builds self-confidence and encourages self-expression through unique, creative and performative means,” and many student testimonies describe the program to be one of the most rewarding parts of their Stanford experience. Additionally, the university has discontinued every circus-related course offered in previous years, including PHYSICS 92SI (Physics of the Circus) and DANCE 142 (Circus for Community Building and Social Change).

Of course, there are many programs outside of Stanford that allow one to explore the circus as a viable professional and artistic field. However, there is a vibrancy that the spirit of adventure associated with circus may bring to the Stanford community. Stanford, with its emphasis on ambition and ingenuity, serves as a gleaming reminder of what the mind is capable of. But in the world of academia, it is easy to lose other elements of ourselves in the pursuit of intellectualism. The brain is privileged over the body, and the body is forgotten. Especially now, in a time on our campus in which violence against bodies is becoming commonplace (the multiple assault cases which have come to light recently, the battle over divestment, even the general disregard of our own physical health in the whirlwind of midterm season), a celebration of the body is long overdue.

Andrii Bondarenko in "Kurios."
Andrii Bondarenko in Cirque du Soleil. Photo by Martin Girard, courtesy of Cirque du Soleil.

Though creating a circus program here at Stanford certainly wouldn’t be a goal for the foreseeable future, there are many ways to make room for Stanford artists and athletes to experience the many potentials which exist in the world of circus. Reinstating the few classes Stanford has offered in the past, providing more circus-related training through the athletic department and including the circus in discussions about career prospects in the arts would all help increase Stanford’s already expanding theatrical repertoire.

Stanford, in all its academic glory, may have something to learn from the art of circus: that there is value in putting down the laptop for an hour or two, giving the mind a break and using the body for something other than rolling out of bed, slapping on makeup and biking to class. As a genre, circus continues to provoke, inspire and evolve as a form of performance art. Perhaps it’s time for Stanford to evolve with it.

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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National Theatre’s ‘Treasure Island’ thrusts us into an adventure for the ages https://stanforddaily.com/2015/02/22/national-theatres-treasure-island-thrusts-us-into-an-adventure-for-the-ages/ https://stanforddaily.com/2015/02/22/national-theatres-treasure-island-thrusts-us-into-an-adventure-for-the-ages/#respond Mon, 23 Feb 2015 03:12:34 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1096199 While nothing can best the magic of live theater, the spirit of “Treasure Island” is bold enough to transgress even the limits of overpriced popcorn and a two-dimensional screen, catapulting its audience into a world of treasure, adventure and non-binary gender identities.

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l-r AIDAN KELLY (Bill Bones), HELENA LYMBERY (Dr Livesey) and NICK FLETCHER (Squire Trelawney). Photo by Johan Persson courtesy of National Theatre
l-r AIDAN KELLY (Bill Bones), HELENA LYMBERY (Dr Livesey) and NICK FLETCHER (Squire Trelawney). Photo by Johan Persson courtesy of National Theatre

Presenting us with a fresh and exciting interpretation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic children’s tale, the National Theatre’s production of “Treasure Island” — as seen in a live broadcast at the Aquarius Theatre in Palo Alto — is dazzling. While nothing can beat the magic of live theater, the spirit of this production is bold enough to transgress the limits of overpriced popcorn and a two-dimensional screen, catapulting its audience into a world of treasure, adventure and non-binary gender identities.

Playwright Bryony Lavery’s spunky new adaptation of Stevenson’s words puts a feminist spin on this timeless coming-of-age story in the representation of our heroine: Jemima “Jim” Hawkins, played by the riveting Patsy Ferran. Here to show us that “girls need adventures too,” Jim, the granddaughter of an innkeeper, is swept up by a ragtag crew of sailors in a quest to find buried treasure. In an effort to play up the humor in this otherwise serious story, the National’s quirky cast appears as a number of comedic supporting characters: Grey, the sailor whom no one can remember (Tim Samuels); Ben Gunn, the castaway with a cheese obsession (Joshua James) and Squire Trelawney, the nobleman who can’t seem to keep his mouth shut (Nick Fletcher), just to name a few. With all the authenticity required for larger-than life personalities, the acting throughout the show consistently blurs the line between the fantasy of Stevenson’s characters and the reality of human folly. Along the way, Jim’s fate intertwines with that of Long John Silver, a fearsome one-legged pirate determined to secure the riches for himself.

The first to play a female rendition of this classic character, Ferran uses her carefully-constructed androgyny — from her gender-neutral appearance to fluctuations in her title from “cabin boy” to “cabin girl” — to capture the best of both masculinity and femininity. She captures the bravado which characterizes the quintessential “pirate narrative” and the gentleness that sets Ferran starkly apart from her brutish co-stars. Many of the more intelligent characters in the play are portrayed in a feminine light. Doctor Livesey (Alexandra Maher), while still identified as a male character, is also played by a woman, and numerous crew members aboard the ship are based on fierce, female pirates who have been engulfed by the male-centric tides of British history.

Even the traditionally hyper-masculine character of Long John Silver is portrayed with a gentle nuance. Played by Arthur Darvill, known best for his role as “Rory” in the BBC series “Doctor Who,” Silver is more of a friend than the father figure he is in Stevenson’s original. Despite his violent past, Darvill plays him with a sweetness and sincerity worthy of the innocent Ferran herself. When Jim is excluded from the “men’s work” in the captain’s loft above, Silver steps in as her only companion in the world. Sitting together on the deck of the mighty Hispaniola, he points to the constellations above, sharing their beauty with Jim and teaching her how to navigate the stars in order to “find [her] way safe through all this evil world.”

Some of the show’s most magical moments come in its design choices. Lizzie Clachan’s spellbinding set functions as both platform and turntable – transforming from the simple inn of Jim’s childhood into a mighty ship, the bubbling sand pits of Treasure Island, a network of underground caves and back again. Under Polly Findlay’s creative direction, actors maneuver in and out of quicksand-ridden trap doors, up and down lofty rigging lines, and through massive sea storms created with booming sound effects and flashing bolts of artificial lightning.

Nearly every moment of the show involves some kind of theatrical ingenuity: The stars which surround Jim throughout the story loom above the entire audience as hundreds of tiny shimmering lights, and the transition from setting to setting is accompanied by authentic folk music, played live by John Tams. Sultry songs describing the might of the seven seas serenade us as a crew of wayward sailors, decked head to toe in regal coats and heinous scars, leads us to fortune and adventure.

Through this creative use of design and fresh re-imagining of a classic boy’s tale, we are invited into a world where we are allowed to believe that regardless of our genders, “we all have a pirate ship in our brain… that takes us somewhere else.”

“Treasure Island” will be playing at the National Theatre in London until April 8.

Contact Madelaine Bixler at mbixler@stanford.edu.

 

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