Outside the comfort zone part 2

I'm working with classes studying dramatic literature, and we have recently wrapped up Caryl Churchill's Cloud 9 in one class, and we're about to move on to Fences by August Wilson. In another class, we are working with Amiri Baraka's Dutchman,  which I have always found deeply powerful and disturbing and painful. 

Preparing for these discussions, I have been directed to Adrienne Kennedy's Funnyhouse of a Negro.  This play shared the Obie Award with Baraka's Dutchman in 1964. While I was familiar with Baraka's play and its award, I had never heard of Kennedy's play before this year.

Why? Some of the onus is on me, of course. I need to expand my understanding of plays outside of the standard canon, and outside of my own perspective. 

Still, I knew about Dutchman- and the two plays shared the Obie! Dutchman is included in several anthologies, while I'd not seen Funnyhouse of a Negro mentioned anywhere- not even mentioned as sharing the Obie, when the preface to Dutchman mentions the award.

 Adrienne Kennedy

Funnyhouse of a Negro is also powerful and difficult and disturbing. It is more personally poetic, I think. The play takes place in the mind of Sarah, a woman with a Black father and a white mother, seeking for a place to be, a way to be,  in a world that leaves no room for her and her complicated identity.

I'm also rereading Baraka's essay from The Revolutionary Theatre (1966), and August Wilson's essay The Ground on Which I Stand (1996). Two different voices, approaching the same issue. 

I will look for more of Adrienne Kennedy's work. I need to hear more of these voices. 

Women's voices are there,  we need to uncover them and lift them up. Black voices are there,  queer voices are there, so many voices are there. We need to uncover them, and lift them up. 

Or maybe, just listen without assuming we already know what is being said. Or maybe, just listen without defending or excusing ourselves. Just listen without trying to fix it or correct it. 

Just listen. Allow ourselves to be disturbed, uncomfortable, ashamed, afraid, moved.

Change is not going to happen while we sit back, satisfied that we have already done our parts. 

My students teach me so much more than I teach them. 

Another note: Beverly Cleary died a few days ago. She was 104. "If you don't see the book you want on the shelves, write it," Cleary is quoted as saying. 

I think it goes for plays, too. There are still voices missing. 

So we should write.

Outside the comfort zone

 I'm struggling with a few issues that circle around representation.

On the one hand, there is the overwhelming dominance of white male straight worldview in the dramatic literature, especially in the Western canon. 

This is what I grew up with. This is what I know. 

I've often said that if you read Greek and Roman mythology, the King James Bible, and William Shakespeare, you will "get" 90% of literary references in Western literature.

This is still true. However, it is changing- and it needs to change. 

We can't ignore the past. We must expand on it. Broaden our understanding of the canon. Uncover lost voices, and revisit past classics. 

 There are voices that have been lost or hidden. For women's voices, I knew about Hrosvitha in the 900s, and Hildegard von Bingen in the 1100s.

Hrosvitha

I only learned last year about Katherine of Sutton! This is England and women! I should have known about this!

 

 Also, how did I not know about Margaret Cavendish, and The Convent of Pleasure?

 

I had heard of the female playwrights of the Spanish Golden Age, but I have only recently acquired English translations of some of their plays.

Ana Caro Mallén de Soto

This does not begin to address the other gaps in my understanding and appreciation of minority voices. More on that soon.

I wrestle with these for so many reasons.

Renewal

It's time to begin again. I don't know when, or if, I will be directing again. At first, family health issues took some directing plans off the table. Then, the pandemic happened. Live theatre was ... if not dead, at least in a medically induced coma?

It is now spring. It is more than a year of pandemic pause for live theatre. Theatre artists world-wide have sought ways to remain sane, to create while we wait.

It is a time for reflection, as well. What does a director do when not directly directing? How do we keep our skills sharp when we are in isolation?

This is a great question for me. For a period of time- say, 1993-2011- I was directing at least one production, often two or three productions, each year. Then I was directing one a year- or every other year.

Now it has been over a year since I was a mentor/ assistant to a new director. More than two years since I directed a production.

I have stayed involved because I've been teaching theatre: theatre history, dramatic literature, theatre appreciation. 

None of this is the same as directing, of course. I miss the human interaction, the synergy and new insights only discovered in the moment of collaborative creativity. I miss this intensely. I hope to return to this soon. 

In the meanwhile, I'm looking for renewal and restored energy wherever it may present itself.

Early on, I watched a series of important, powerful, and painful films. Later, I binged on comedy.

 

I revisited scripts and sought out new dramas.

I've been seeking out lesser heard voices.

Now, I will set my task to reflecting on this- on what I've done, and on what I do moving forward.

Write on!