Do or Do Not. There is No Try.

A few months ago, on The Huffington Post, I read an article by the media maven herself, Arianna Huffington, about the crisis in our country and how politicians want to be “caught trying” to do something.  That is, they want to talk about the problems, “seem concerned” and leave a paper trail to prove it.  All without actually doing anything to deal with the problem but in order to save face for the next election cycle.

In the article, she compares the politician’s actions to that of somebody who sees a drowning child.  “We all know what the difference between taking action and being caught trying looks like. If you saw a child drowning, your first thought wouldn’t be, ‘I probably can’t do anything to save him, but the important thing is just to be caught trying.’ No, you’d take action and dive in.”

This cuts to the very core of what it means to be a Performer.  “Performer, with a capital letter,” writes Jerzy Grotowski, “is a man of action.  He is not somebody who plays another.  He is a doer…”

As with the drowning child, action requires heroism.

Being a director, I encounter actors who try to stall “doing” by talk.  It isn’t because of an inability to do, instead it’s related to fear.  Fear of not being able to do.  Fear of making a mistake.  Fear of our own limitations.  Fear of judgment.  Fear of ridicule.  Fear of rejection.

***

Renowned mythologist Michael Meade believes the ego is born when “the soul, in the fullness of itself, can’t be seen for what it is– its essence.”  Though it takes many forms, it is often experienced as a moment of, usually unintentional, rejection between a parent and child.  Ego, a block, is formed to protect the wound.

The moment takes place while we are too young to remember.  However, subconsciously we remember the terror we felt and rejection becomes our biggest fear in the world.

In our training, I ask the actors to explore their innermost impulses.  This is very different from a kind of “group therapy” where a director or teacher forces an actor to relive one of their worst memories in front of others.  To access these impulses and allow them to become concurrent with action (doing) requires eradicating many layers of blocks– both physical (beginning with those ingrained by society) and psychic (mental).

Removing psychic blocks is a delicate process for the actor.  The wrong word at the wrong moment can result in a closing instead of an opening.  Each layer that is stripped away leaves the actor vulnerable to experiencing the same rejection that created the block.  This prospect creates a crisis for the actor.

Yoshi Oida, a highly regarded actor who works with Peter Brooks, speaks about crisis in his book An Actor’s Tricks:  “It seems that we have more possibilities than we realize.  Usually, when we perform, we stay within our normal consciousness and understanding.  We do what we know we can do.  Yet when we find ourselves in a state of panic or confusion a power we are unaware of sometimes emerges.”

Training in the Suzuki Method with SITI Company, I was taught to plunge headfirst into the moments of crisis.  These moments are when I learn the most about myself and the moments the audience find most intriguing.

When an actor frees his impulses enough to make a “total gift,” completely exposing the being behind his life-mask and puts himself in crisis by risking not being accepted by the audience, according to Grotowski, “The spectator understands, consciously or unconsciously, that such an act is an invitation to him to do the same thing, and this often arouses opposition or indignation, because our daily efforts are intended to hide the truth about ourselves not only from the world, but also from ourselves.  We try to escape the truth about ourselves, where here we are invited to stop and take a closer look.  We are afraid of being changed into pillars of salt if we turn around, like Lot’s wife.”

***

Finally on their feet, the actors again avoid the risk of doing.  Instead, they “act” and hope to be to be caught trying.

But the difference is as clear as diving into the water.

-Benjamin Rexroad
Managing Artistic Director

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Commedia dell’Akron

A new and exciting episode of
Heads Up Arts Radio is up!

Host Benjamin Rexroad
interviews Wendy Duke
director of
Miller South’s Commedia Troupe

Click to go to the HUAR page and listen.

We are also on itunes!
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Big Box, Week 7: “Chaos Theory”

A new and exciting episode of
Heads Up Arts Radio is up!

Host Benjamin Rexroad
interviews Cat Kenney
writer for
Chaos Theory

Click to go to the HUAR page and listen.

We are also on iTunes!
Search “Heads Up Arts Radio” in the itunes store to subscribe.

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Big Box, Week 6: “Divorcing Batman, Dating all of Gothman City”

A new and exciting episode of
Heads Up Arts Radio is up!

Host Benjamin Rexroad
interviews Melissa Barber
writer/actress for
Divorcing Batman, Dating all of Gotham City

Click to go to the HUAR page and listen.

We are also on itunes!
Search “Heads Up Arts Radio” in the itunes store to subscribe.

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Actors Make Adaptation of ‘Bluest Eye’ Sizzle

Until I saw The Bluest Eye, directed by Fred Sternfeld at Karamu House in Cleveland, I don’t think I had ever watched a production that inspired two contradictory trains of thought.

Before I explain those divergent trains, a background of the play is necessary. The Bluest Eye is adapted from Noble Prize-winning author Toni Morrison’s novel of the same name.  The story centers on young Pecola Breedlove, a black girl living in Ohio in the years immediately following the Great Depression. Pecola yearns to have blue eyes, like little white girls. Throughout the story she faces racism, incest and child molestation and, consequently, the book is banned from schools and libraries across the country.

Needless to say, this play isn’t for the faint of heart.

During curtain call of 'The Bluest Eye'

Although I’ve never encountered Toni Morrison beyond the mandatory reading of Sula during my junior year of high school, I felt this production was soft-shoeing around the grittiness of the reality of being poor, black, and living during the 1940s. (Not to mention incest and child molestation.)  I remember having a gut-wrenching reaction to Sula. I walked out of this production saying, “that’s too bad” but otherwise being unmoved.

For this, I feel the responsibility lies mostly with the script.  Lydia R. Diamond, the woman who adapted the novel for the stage, did just that– adapt a novel for the stage. The play had the dynamics of a book on tape. Fortunately for her, she picked a majestic/compelling/insert-positive-adjective-here piece of literature.  Morrison’s lyrical poetry was ever-present throughout the play. Many of my “reviewer” notes included quotes, which turned out to be appropriated from the novel.

After doing research to write this review, Diamond could have picked better events from the story to ensure the play had the emotional impact of the novel.  Or– and I don’t say this often– I would have gladly sat through something longer than the 90-minute one act that was The Bluest Eye.

I left wanting more.

Which brings me back to the divergent thoughts. Seeing the play, I felt I had enough of an understanding of the book that I didn’t need to read it. On the flip side, I wanted to devour everything Toni Morrison has ever written.

The actors deftly handled Morrison’s poetry; it flowed from their lips as natural as everyday speech and infinitely more beautiful.  Their talents turned a lackluster script into an enjoyable evening of theatre. This group of actors was a well-oiled ensemble, whose interactions made the family dynamics and intricate relationships sizzle.  A special mention goes to Andrea Belser, who plays Pecola. Her ability to exude a deep, deep sadness is limitless and made me want to run onstage and carry her far away from the pain.

Belser, center, is able to exude a super-human sadness

Karamu made a wonderful decision putting The Bluest Eye in their black box theatre. The intimate space– which couldn’t fit more than 50 people– places you in direct confrontation with the characters and their terrible situations.  The only problem is that more audience members won’t get to experience this engaging production.

The show continues Feb. 10-26.  Thursdays-Saturdays at 8 pm and Sundays at 3 pm. Several performances are already SOLD OUT. Tickets range from $16 for students to $25 full price.  Visit Karamu House for more information.

-Benjamin Rexroad
Managing Artistic Director

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Big Box, Week 5: “The Berlioz Project”

A new and exciting episode of
Heads Up Arts Radio is up!

Host Benjamin Rexroad
interviews Deborah Magid
guest artist in Cleveland Public Theatre’s Big Box Series.

Click to go to the HUAR page and listen.

We are also on itunes!
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This Place is a Prison…

“This Place is a Prison… “ –The Postal Service

One question we received during our initial staged reading of 1,000 Hills was, “who are the people telling the story?” We lacked a framing device to properly contextualize our script.

Preparing for the reading, my research focused on the genocide itself. Between the Tutsi people and their Hutu accomplices, 800,000 men, women and children were brutally slaughtered over a 100-day period in 1994. (Mostly by machete or other hand-to-hand method.)

During this workshop, my research expanded to the culture of Rwanda. I stumbled across these facts: Though many Rwandans claim Islam or Christianity as their primary form of worship, most still follow some sort of traditional religious practice– from paying devotion to dead ancestors (guterekera) to the belief that objects contain spirits (abazimu).

Kubandwa, a secret cult among the Hutu people, uses imandwa (the ones who are grabbed), to enact a form of ritualized possession. During Kubandwa celebrations, Ryangambe, the most venerated ancestor, “grabs” the initiates and they become his lieutenants. Often, they would enact ritualized scenes as a symbolic protest against Tutsi dominance.

In an earlier draft of 1,000 Hills, the character Fran had a line toward the end of the script, “the day I left Rwanda plays over and over in my mind at least 100 times a year.” Even if characters survived, some experiences are powerful enough to devour the spirit. Reliving these events, the characters admit that, at least part of them, is trapped.

Using these ideas as a launch pad and setting our production in a cabaret (a bar that serves as a center of life for a Rwandan village which was frequently used as meeting place for the Hutu perpetrators of the genocide), we began to re-vision the play.

Searching for answers to help us frame the text, I discovered another question.  What’s worse:  being murdered as part of the genocide or leaving part of your soul behind to relive the events ad infinitum?

-Benjamin Rexroad
Managing Artistic Director

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