Okay, full disclosure: The first big acting role I had at Tufts, oh so back in the day, was the king in Ionesco’s, Exit the King.
I also performed it some, in the original French, in French Theatre class.
And, I once had lunch with Ionesco and his wife in a lovely apartment in Paris, in the 1980’s. They were both short and M. Ionesco was still bitter over Hollywood’s rendition of Rhinoceros. Tant pis!
So, I am one of these well-acquainted Ionesco, Exit the King guys.
Listen up: Geoffrey Rush should have cut that dang script the way we cut it in college: lop off about a third of it, get rid of intermission, and let that king go ape shit and die, quick!
It’s a hard play. The same beat is played over and over again. Characters do not develop. And it isn’t even really that absurd---more like a fanciful Death of Ivan Ilyich—A fine book.
It does have much to say about vanity and blindness.
You know, when I had lunch with Ionesco, I had this feeling that he was misunderstood for a reason.
Now, the actors were all splendid. Physical. Staged well enough. All that.
But pushing yourself through the paces---the same paces---over and over again. It has more of a hypnotic effect than a theatrical one.
But that’s just me.
At today’s performance, there was quite a standing ovation.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
California Chicken Judges
Shame on you.
Like African Americans in Newark in the 1960’s, it is time to burn down the buildings.
Like African Americans in Newark in the 1960’s, it is time to burn down the buildings.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Memorial Day
As I sometimes do, I took the bus out to New Jersey today to visit my sister. It was for a Memorial Day BBQ. Completely enjoyable. Lots of tasty food. The trees were thick with leaves. The backyard was green. The company was lively and bright. The hostas were full.
But this is what I’m talking about:
At the edge of the town (Cresskill) there is a place where three roads meet to form a triangular green. This serves as a public space that is good for a nativity scene, a Christmas Tree, a big sign congratulating the local team, or in the case of Memorial Day, wreaths of red white and blue plastic carnations to commemorate the war dead.
I went over to the wreaths because at first I thought they were real flowers and I wanted to see them up close.
Once I saw they were fake, I thought, “Well, cool, they can just use the same ones every year. Why not.”
Then, after walking about twenty feet, I thought, “Shit, that’s the best they can do?”
Then, after walking five more feet, I thought, “Isn’t it so FUCKING WEIRD that we are a species that goes to war? That we have a holiday celebrating the fallen? And it’s all so revved up for all to get even more revved up about?”
Cresskill is a pretty Republican town and Republicans take their wars seriously. You have to fight for freedom, or freedom isn’t free, or you better have lots of tanks and bombs if you want to make sure the world stays open to the pillaging of natural resources, or Remember Hitler?—we had to do it.
Something.
I feel awful for the dead who died in wars, I guess. I had five uncles in WWII, none of whom were even scratched, never mind killed. I have never really been personally affected by the war dead. I do feel it is a very sad for those who have lost their loved ones in battle.
But there is something weirdly football-game-like about putting ugly plastic red, white and blue carnation wreaths in your town triangle. (A cannon, which one can see in many towns, is also weird and even more disturbingly—year ‘round.)
Those wreaths reeked of some sort of civic-national bravado. To me, they gave the impression of bunting, of nationalism, of pride. If one is to put up a tacky public display, wouldn’t a sculpture of a big tear make more sense?
But this is what I’m talking about:
At the edge of the town (Cresskill) there is a place where three roads meet to form a triangular green. This serves as a public space that is good for a nativity scene, a Christmas Tree, a big sign congratulating the local team, or in the case of Memorial Day, wreaths of red white and blue plastic carnations to commemorate the war dead.
I went over to the wreaths because at first I thought they were real flowers and I wanted to see them up close.
Once I saw they were fake, I thought, “Well, cool, they can just use the same ones every year. Why not.”
Then, after walking about twenty feet, I thought, “Shit, that’s the best they can do?”
Then, after walking five more feet, I thought, “Isn’t it so FUCKING WEIRD that we are a species that goes to war? That we have a holiday celebrating the fallen? And it’s all so revved up for all to get even more revved up about?”
Cresskill is a pretty Republican town and Republicans take their wars seriously. You have to fight for freedom, or freedom isn’t free, or you better have lots of tanks and bombs if you want to make sure the world stays open to the pillaging of natural resources, or Remember Hitler?—we had to do it.
Something.
I feel awful for the dead who died in wars, I guess. I had five uncles in WWII, none of whom were even scratched, never mind killed. I have never really been personally affected by the war dead. I do feel it is a very sad for those who have lost their loved ones in battle.
But there is something weirdly football-game-like about putting ugly plastic red, white and blue carnation wreaths in your town triangle. (A cannon, which one can see in many towns, is also weird and even more disturbingly—year ‘round.)
Those wreaths reeked of some sort of civic-national bravado. To me, they gave the impression of bunting, of nationalism, of pride. If one is to put up a tacky public display, wouldn’t a sculpture of a big tear make more sense?
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Why People Buy Things
Is it because one has less sex as one gets older?
So instead of looking around for that physical experience, you look around for a different one, a safer one, a strange sensual relationship with objects?
One wonders.
So instead of looking around for that physical experience, you look around for a different one, a safer one, a strange sensual relationship with objects?
One wonders.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Step and Fetch It Obama
Dear Separate But Equal, Barak Obama,
Let’s make this very plain. People who are gay are not allowed to see their dying partners in hospitals unless they have all sorts of (very expensive) legal documents. And even then, hospital workers may barricade the door to a loving gay partner.
This is simply ludicrous.
I completely understand that some people are nauseated and loaded with contempt when visualizing the bumping together of gender-identical genitalia. I fucking hate listening to Rap and Hip-Hop (which I hear every day) but there isn’t much I can do about that, now is there!
Listen, buddy---rise up to it. Enough with the caution. Once New York and California accept gay marriage, you must make it federal. Completely equal rights, my friend.
This is a horrendously contentious country, loaded with prejudice, bullies and guns. Too bad. Don’t be so afraid. Stop trying to be liked by all. Strap on your demi-black sack and face the inevitable and get on it. And stop hiding behind your religion. There is nothing in religion that condemns this.
Don’t make me come to D.C. and kiss you.
Let’s make this very plain. People who are gay are not allowed to see their dying partners in hospitals unless they have all sorts of (very expensive) legal documents. And even then, hospital workers may barricade the door to a loving gay partner.
This is simply ludicrous.
I completely understand that some people are nauseated and loaded with contempt when visualizing the bumping together of gender-identical genitalia. I fucking hate listening to Rap and Hip-Hop (which I hear every day) but there isn’t much I can do about that, now is there!
Listen, buddy---rise up to it. Enough with the caution. Once New York and California accept gay marriage, you must make it federal. Completely equal rights, my friend.
This is a horrendously contentious country, loaded with prejudice, bullies and guns. Too bad. Don’t be so afraid. Stop trying to be liked by all. Strap on your demi-black sack and face the inevitable and get on it. And stop hiding behind your religion. There is nothing in religion that condemns this.
Don’t make me come to D.C. and kiss you.
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