The Mute Ghost of Othello
Okay, Othello is over, and I'm back -- another one down. It's strange ...
Every time I do a show there's a point early in the process, before we've started building, just when we've started rehearsing, when the show is still mostly concept, frequently I'm looking at a bare stage when I think, I can't believe this is all going to happen. I can't believe it's all going to go up, that all these parts are going to come together, that all these things are going to be done. I mean, it takes a lot to put on a show. And here am I with this wacky idea of how it could happen and a bunch of people are just going to do it? Then, down the line, months later, when the show is up, I watch it and have a sibling moment when I think back to that first moment and get this warm feeling of satisfaction. We actually did it. There it is. It's like a magic trick. Let me make something appear. Presto!
Well, with Othello I certainly had the first moment, but I never had the second. I mean it wasn't because the show was a disaster or even bad, far from it. It wasn't like I was standing there with Rocky continually telling me it was time to get a new hat. It was like ... it wasn't done, or maybe I wasn't done, like I was holding my breath. Don't know why.
So I went looking to other people to tell me, is it a show yet? And so many people really liked it. And so many other people had numerous opinions as to which things they didn't like. I don't know. Commenting on someone's art is a delicate thing. When we teach art appreciation, that's something we should teach. Everyone sees critics do it phenomenally poorly. Maybe that's the angle to my THEA 101 class that I've been missing.
Anyway, It was a very frustrating ending of the process. It lingers like a bandaged cut that's still slightly bleeding ... or like Hamlet's father, haunting the battlements of Elsinore, but mute and unable to tell me if I can cry, "Uncle."
Every time I do a show there's a point early in the process, before we've started building, just when we've started rehearsing, when the show is still mostly concept, frequently I'm looking at a bare stage when I think, I can't believe this is all going to happen. I can't believe it's all going to go up, that all these parts are going to come together, that all these things are going to be done. I mean, it takes a lot to put on a show. And here am I with this wacky idea of how it could happen and a bunch of people are just going to do it? Then, down the line, months later, when the show is up, I watch it and have a sibling moment when I think back to that first moment and get this warm feeling of satisfaction. We actually did it. There it is. It's like a magic trick. Let me make something appear. Presto!
Well, with Othello I certainly had the first moment, but I never had the second. I mean it wasn't because the show was a disaster or even bad, far from it. It wasn't like I was standing there with Rocky continually telling me it was time to get a new hat. It was like ... it wasn't done, or maybe I wasn't done, like I was holding my breath. Don't know why.
So I went looking to other people to tell me, is it a show yet? And so many people really liked it. And so many other people had numerous opinions as to which things they didn't like. I don't know. Commenting on someone's art is a delicate thing. When we teach art appreciation, that's something we should teach. Everyone sees critics do it phenomenally poorly. Maybe that's the angle to my THEA 101 class that I've been missing.
Anyway, It was a very frustrating ending of the process. It lingers like a bandaged cut that's still slightly bleeding ... or like Hamlet's father, haunting the battlements of Elsinore, but mute and unable to tell me if I can cry, "Uncle."
posted by - caj at 8:15 AM
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