A Night at the Play…

Based upon a recent performance I witnessed, I came to the conclusion that sometimes you must ask yourself if you can really judge people about their interpretation of a presentation? I mean is one person’s evaluation any more or less valid than another’s? Example: A few days ago, I happened across someone who had seen a show. She was very enthusiastic about how it portrayed her interests and beliefs and felt compelled to tell me all about it. The same day, I came across another person who spoke to me about the same show. His version of the events was quite different than the first encounter I had experienced. In fact, there was a startling disconnect between the two versions of the show. It’s as if the two individuals had seen two completely different shows. Place these people together in the same room and a disturbance was eminent. So…you guessed it…I felt obliged to see the presentation for myself. Not because I wanted to, mind you, but because I felt drawn to the reason(s) there may be such discrepancies in what had unfolded in front of their individual eyes so as to lead to the insurmountable disparities in the recounting of the tale. Now, before I begin my segue into this odyssey, it should also be noted that there isn’t really a negative versus positive reaction to the play; just a difference of perception regarding its overall casting, performance, character development, depth, and the changes they would have liked to have seen.
Off I went to purchase a ticket. After the reviews I had previously, gratuitously, and unexplainably received, I found the tickets to be both surprisingly obtainable and inexpensive. I was certain with the fervor around the town, that they would be difficult to come by, but that was not the case. So, purchase I did. Under different circumstances, I may have wanted to see the show that night to A) sate my own curiosity, and B) get it out of the way, but since there was such passion revolving around this production, I felt I should at least bathe and get my nails, hair, etc. etc. done so I would be presentable. I certainly do not want anybody seeing me less than presentable if I’m to be critiquing an extravaganza that has people so emotionally invested (this goes back to my “friend” who felt it was his duty to groom me). I put it off for a couple of nights to make arrangements for the abovementioned grooming. A Friday evening production was the one I chose. No matinees here, people, I want the dark and Fridays are the best days for performances, in my opinion. The thespians always seem a little more excited and on edge. It’s as if their energy level explodes into the audience and drags you into their realm. You feel yourself drawn onto the stage and into the characters. You feel the heat from the lights. The return electricity from the audience as they anticipate your next line. All from the safety of your folding seat. This is such a personal experience that I could not imagine being with anyone else. I truly wanted to endure what those people, who had given me their unsolicited recounting of their experiences, felt. As an introvert, I wanted to be alone with my thoughts and my inner emotional turmoil which might unintentionally be exposed by this creative retelling of a classic. Which is code for: I didn’t have a date.
Back to my hotel room I went. After making the necessary phone calls, and securing the relevant appointments, I spent the next two days refining my appearance, which included purchasing attire appropriate for such an event (again, we can thank my “friend” for his tutelage in this department). I found the most suitable haute couture available in this neck of the woods and purchased what I felt would be an acceptable outfit for the occasion. All the while my anticipation was growing around seeing what this to-do was about. I felt like such a little kid. All excited and stuff, ya’ know? My nails were done. My hair was quaffed. And I was dressed-up…to a point. Anything considered overly extravagant would have to take a back seat. I mean, why go through all that trouble? A dark room and no date should say it all.
I spent the day of the event actually trying to find people who had seen the show. As an introvert I wanted to gain as much information as I could, with as little effort, and even less interaction with people. However, I still wanted to acquire as many angles as my mind could handle. A comparative analysis from different perspectives was what I was after. No going in blindly for me. I wanted to be informed. I wanted to understand the people involved. I wanted to know the players. I wanted this done and over with. The most abundant pool of knowledgeable beings I found to choose from were milling about the local coffee shop in the late morning hours. There I discovered no lack of people willing to give me their opinions. Yay! After several renditions, and a couple of disputes that needed quelling, I decided to refrain from further research into the subject matter at hand. I felt, beyond all doubt, that I was now well prepared with information, viewpoints, argumentative ammunition, and expectations leading up to my immersion into this passion driven experience (in case you had forgotten, I’m still talking about the performance).
The night of the grand social event finally came, and I was ready to go. To keep things brief; I arrived, took my seat, watched the production, and left.
What’s that? Where’s the critique I promised? Yeah…ummm…here it goes:
It was the director’s vision of a US historical event and, although some of the actors seemed on board, it had become quite clear that he did not have everyone’s support (or attention). Now, please keep in mind that I have absolutely no qualms about seeing productions at local repertories. Some of the best performances have come from these smaller venues. Executants who embrace the Stanislovskian methodology of acting on a shoestring budget while embracing the magical “what if” to a level that may have even made Konstantin smirk. Am I saying this was the case here? No, I am not. Am I saying it was a mess? Yes, I am. But the audience was none-the-less riveted, and no one (except the director) could do any wrong. The roaring applause at the end of the show told those involuntarily recruited thespians, that it was not the director they cared about, but they…the performers…themselves. Those actors who were forced to endure a second-rate vision by a failed theater director grasping at the last hope of his career by reinterpreting events that are well beyond his educational understanding (or research) at their expense. The only good thing I have to say was…it ended. In all fairness, I do agree with some of the spectators, that a cast change should have been considered. But I don’t know that there was a whole lot of wiggle-room in that department. Painfully (and I mean that full-heartedly), some were better suited than others to be up on that stage, but again I don’t know that any of them had too much of a choice. Obviously, everyone watching was invested in this play, and had high hopes that the party which held their interest was destined for greatness. Sadly, they were wrong. Clearly, I understand now why the passions were so elevated in those who attended. Did it merit fighting over? No. Was it worthy of the amount of attention it received? Yes. After all, if it were my kid up on that elementary school’s stage, I would want him/her to be the best he/she could possibly be. Know the loaf of bread’s motivation! Embrace that cabbage! BE the tree. Timmy, say something. ANYTHING! Oh, look! We have before us an introvert in the making.