jolly old Titus Andronicus

I just saw a Shakespearian gore-fest, performed as ALMOST A COMEDY! ---a black one, with a cruel end. But if you know anything about Titus Andronicus, you probably know that it is not usually performed with happy music, laughs and slapstick.

Well, check out the production at the Old Globe in San Diego's Balboa Park. In the outdoor theater [which SORT OF tries to replicate the Elizabethan Old Globe], young buck maverick Yugoslavian director Darko Tresnjak recasts the Roman brothers competing for the throne as contemporary politicians, served by cell-phoning assistants, note-taking apparatchiks, and dark-suited, dark-shaded CIA-ish operatives. Titus Andronicus, a general returning from decades at war, is "elected (Emperor!) and declines to serve," leading to an escalating series of tragedies that sink Titus into madness, revenge, slaughter and death.

nihilistic
fatalistic
cannibalistic
slapstictic

Broadway and popular songs are interspersed (She Had it Coming from Chicago and I Wanna Hold Your Hand, yes, that hand), simultaneously lightening and darkening the piece. In fact, the first thing we see is police tape, but the first thing we HEAR is the opening number from A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the Forum.

When you go, say "hi" to my buddy Leonard Kelly-Young, who plays the tired General, with a descent into madness that singes (no, Titus doesn't "sing"), and a turn as a celebrity chef that cooks (yes, Leonard is a great cook, although I wouldn't have wanted to attend THAT meal).

The Sensuous Margaret Cho

If you haven't heard of Margaret Cho, you are in for a shock AND a treat. If you have and you don't like her, you may wish to stop reading. If you are under the age of consent, go away now and look her up in a couple of years.

If you are my mom, hang onto your hat, keep reading, and don't worry too much.

Brilliant and "out there" as an actress, comedienne, political activist and writer, Margaret Cho is, among other things, pro-gay [she laughingly has called herself a "fag hag" for years], pro-free-expression, pro-sensuality, pro-sex, pro-body, pro-acceptance, pro-diversity, pro-self love AND pro-laughing at oneself. Fierce, edgy, hilarious, transgressive, sweet, smart, proud, mouthy, and ultimately transformative. FIERCE. Did I say "fierce?" And last Wednesday she ended a new variety show, The Sensuous Woman, with a powerful dance (NOT comedy).

Artists, liberals, pierced and tattooed hipsters, the gay/ lesbian/ transgender community, and people who create and follow extreme culture (and I'm leaving people out, sorry) adore Margaret. I adore Margaret. She rocks. She writes.

Anyway, Margaret (and a few others?) have spearheaded a series of performances at El Cid, an aging Flamenco restaurant/theater/bar in Silverlake. The series, The Sensuous Woman, features performers of burlesque (did you know there is a full-on burlesque revival going on?), bellydance, comedy, etc. I believe it is the third Wednesday of every month. Margaret emcees, supports the sketch comedy of others, and inserts some comedy bits, and this time did one final, amazing DANCE. The Sensuous Woman has traveled and will travel (to NYC too, soon). Go see it. DON'T bring the little ones.

Several Highlights:
Lisp and Havana (gay and lesbian rappers, incredibly funny, check out the MP3 Sexual Homo and crank it!)
The Wet Spots (transgressive elegant night club singer/songwriter duo: the tasteful Do you Take it in the Ass? is OHMYGOD funny)
Princess Farhana (bellydancer and elegant burlesque artist)
Kelly (alter ego of Liam Sullivan whose performance of songs shoes and txt msg brkup were outrageous)

Biggest Highlight:
Margaret Cho's final, phenomenal dance. Not one to do the expected, Margaret pulled much together, and pulled much off. And yes, here is my take on it.

First, context: Let's not forget that a bunch of the performances were by bump-and-grind pierced and tattooed elegant and naughty hipster burlesque goddesses. AND, I happen to know Margaret not just as a writer and comedienne, but also as a gifted and gorgeous BELLYDANCER. (Another blog, another day.)

It started with sound. The crowd swayed to percussive, invasive, angry and LOUD rap (Eminem's "Lose Yourself"). We knew what was coming and we screamed as Margaret was announced. When Cho stomped in, dressed as a (convincingly male) samurai, the crowd at first laughed and whistled at the sight (and at the contrast with the music). We quieted when our samurai turned to face us, mournful, despairing, holding back tears. (Cho is also a gifted actress, of course.) We watched him. Moving in stylistized squats with the grinding thumping rap, the samurai slowly raised a curved sheath above his head in front of the confused, cheering crowd.

Then he slid out the sword.

I know very little about of hara kiri (ritualized suicide), so I can't comment on the historical accuracy of what followed, but I gasped as our sad samurai acted out a swift self-disembowelment, first thrusting the sword into his belly, and then hurling himself onto the sword, ramming his guts onto it over and over. The movement was male, sexual, violent, and although covered with layers of clothes, a reference to both ritual suicide and sex, even rape. NO there was no blood. The act was all in movement, visual reference, and music.

Thrust after thrust. Then the shocking, shuddering pause.

Then, new movement. The crumpled, eviscerated pile began to undulate. Another Margaret awakened, disheveled, rapturous, body coursing like a bellydancer. She rose, stripping off the kimono to reveal herself, a woman, a goddess. The dragon tattoos on her belly writhed with her as she danced and expanded, triumphant. It is as if our new dancer consisted of serpents that crawled from the massacred bowels of the violent masculine. Unleashed. Free.

Strip tease.
Performance art.
Dance.
Sacred ritual.

I can't stop thinking about it.

Big Brother Birthday

Bill, my big brother, turned 50. At a small, intimate, family "chocolate party" his wife Bridget got our niece up on a donkey and a horsie, we looked at old family photos, we ate way too much chocolate (including dipping thingies into hot molten chocolate), and I sang.

Sang?

Yes, and it had been a very long time. In another life I probably was a lyricist for Broadway musicals.

For decades I have written parody lyrics to various tunes for various occasions. And this occasion was no different. After all, how often does an annoying, amazing, weird and wonderful man whom you have known since birth have a momentous 50th birthday (or, as Bill would call it, "natal anniversary")?

Anyway, here, for the world to see, are the lyrics I wrote for Brother Bill, lovingly typed up on her own blog by my sister-in-law, Bridget (thanks, Bridget!):

Oh Billy Boy
sung to the tune of Oh Danny Boy

Oh Billy Boy, the sun, the sun is burning
The beagles dig, the chocolate flows and flows
You chose to leave your homeland of Encino (Chicago?)
Although we all have known a dungeon is your home.

You were the first one born to Al & Sheila
And you were destined for UCLA
You were distinguished in the halls of academe
For driving football helmets and things I can't say

Oh Billy Boy, you always made the women cry
Your wife, your girlfriends, mother and your sis
Your complication goes back to your youngest self
Back to Wisconsin, or Chicago, or your Bris.

Now Doctor Bill, the decades have been good to you
Your patients need you , and your friends are true
Your Bonnie Bridget fills your home with love and joy
And cats and dogs and horses, and a donkey too.


My Big Brother
sung to the tune of My Sharona

Billy was the first of us - the first of us
He came before Andi and I - big brother
Billy used to beat on me - make fun of me
When he was a very small fry - big brother

Bill was very smart - very bright
And he loved to have a lot of verbal fun- loved to pun
And annoy with his mi -i - i - i- ind! Why!?
m - m - m - my big brother

Bill has a creative side - a quirky side
Hard to find another such guy - big brother
William loves his history - his fantasy
And he loves to read his Sci Fi - big brother

William is a doc - not a Spock
Unless he is at a conference dressing up
Writing down - on his blog - his whole li - i - i - i - ife
m - m - m - my big brother

William played with Abe and Steve, Abe and Steve
When he was a regular guy - big brother
Then he went to CCO - to CCO
That is where his passion struck wide - big brother

William is my bro - watched me grow
He insults me and makes
Sure that I'm OK
What's to say
I love Bill till I die -ie - ie - ie - ie
m - m - m - my big brother

kitty garage sale

One night some weeks ago, a dear friend found a little black kitten that had been mauled by a coyote. She brought it inside so that it at least could die in peace. But the kitten lived through night. My friend then decided to do whatever she could to give this little fighter its best chance to survive.

Vet visits ensued. Bills. And alas, despite veterinary science, prayer, and credit cards, the little black kitten, after trying so hard to live, expired.

Leaving my friend with a $350-odd bill.

Several of us offered to kick in a few bucks. And then my girlfriend mentioned that she would maybe have a garage sale to make up the difference.

As it happens, I was getting rid of some nice stuff. So I started a pile.
Another friend was moving. So I picked up a heap.
Another friend was emptying closets and cabinets. Five bags.
Another happened to have a sack of CDs and books.
And so on.

My filthy Subaru became a conveyance for kitty garage sale stuff. People all over heard the story and went through their stuff. I made several trips to my girlfriend's garage. And then, when one of my students (an accomplished potter with an MFA) gave me a box of her own, beautiful handmade ceramics (PLUS a green chair and five boxes of glass dishes), I nearly lost it.

I love this friend. I love all my friends. And right now, I love the generosity of people. And I love how willing people are to share.

As it happens, last Saturday, the hottest day of the year, was the day of the first kitty garage sale. People dribbled in slowly. But, hearing the story, people tended gave my buddy more than she asked for when they bought. At the end of the day she had made $200. Plus she still has a lot of good stuff for a second sale day, when maybe it isn't so excruciatingly hot.

Got stuff?

a farewell to Evidence

Does it seem like a lot of my posts are melancholic farewells to arts organizations? Unreal. Don't get me started on how Los Angeles, the State of California, and the alleged Richest Country in the World (you know, the good old USA?) don't support the arts. Criminal negligence.

Anyway, another one bites the dust. The Evidence Room is soon to be no longer, more or less due to an internal dispute, but the phenomenally talented uberDirector Bart DeLorenzo is producing his last piece at their wonderful Beverly-near-Alvarado hub. Last night I saw the third-to-the-final night of the Evidence Room's swan song, Chekov's The Cherry Orchard, which Chekov wrote while he was dying, young and worldly-old at age 44.

All about endings. All tragi-comedy, comic tragedy, manic humor veering off into bleak despair and back again.

Who knew that Chekov could sound so much like California, with real estate developers, handsome sexual predators, oversexed underlings, and looking good? Who knew that Chekov could look so much like the United States, bloated and unaware that our butts are being kicked? Who knew that Chekov could hit so close to MY bone, about wasted money and wasted time?

And of course, who knew that Chekov could sound so much like a theater director's accounting for moving on?

Bart and Chekov. What a team. It is ALL it all in there, VERY physical comedy, loveable complex buffoons, tragedy, and leaving the wreckage of one's past. This is not the heavy, lugubrious Chekov we expect. Nor is it "Chekov Lite." This is Chekov presented to us, BY us, FOR us, slamming us with both spectacle and pain.

I wrote about another piece that the Evidence Room had done, on a previous blog:
http://laurelpaley.blogspot.com/2005/11/go-see-theater-ellen-evidence.html

Now I realize it wasn't just the amazing piece of writing. It is the living bodies of committed actors, the extraordinary text, AND the penetrating vision of a director that come together to cause it all. A fragile, nebulous web. A community willing to submit itself to the text AND to the direction.

The Evidence Room location will remain a theater. It is a wonderful space for that. AND Bart DeLorenzo will direct again [taking the name "Evidence Room" with him]. How could he not? But the Evidence Room as we know it has only two more performances left, tonight's and tomorrow night's.

Farewell.

too much time on their hands

Science in the public interest......
With thanks to that great discoverer David Letterman for making it very virally famous.

http://eepybird.com/dcm1.html#sharethisvideo