The Nexus of Art and Activism

This absolutely blew my mind.

In 1990, poet Adrienne Rich was chosen for the National Medal of the Arts and she refused it based on the disconnect between her work and the "work" of the Clinton Administration.  Her poems are literary celebrations of art as a human birthright and the kinship of humanity, and thus she felt she could not accept an award from a president and a government whose America was comically unequal, entrenched in corporate greed and had set a disturbing precedent for the dismantling of arts funding.

The actual refusal letter to the NEA is at the bottom of the webpage, but the letter she wrote describing her reasoning is at the top and is pretty long.  Long and amazing.  Read it here.

My parents gave me a copy of Dark Fields of the Republic when I was in high school.  I had just taken my first poetry class.  I just read some of it again, now that I am a little more prepared for understanding it, and that led me to her letter from the 90's.  Unbelievable that something so resonant today should be found today, unearthed after 15-odd years. 

Shit Gets Real

First of all, Ma-Yi Theater Company's workshop of I__NY was awesome.  Everyone involved was a total pro, and there was some serious food for thought afterward.  They took you high and then they took you low and set some serious things before you for further personal processing.  In the theater, if you're not talking about it when you leave, then I think the show was a misfire.  That doesn't mean you have to go home and write a dissertation for a production to have any worth, I just think you can continue to learn and grow as a person even though you're sitting in the dark watching something.  So: kudos to Ma-Yi.  They did a great job.

Second of all, my horrible spending habits have come home to roost.  According to some recent calculations it will take me fifty (!!!) years to pay off my credit card.  I shit you not.  2058.  

And so the mandate for "Change" has reached Pennsylvania Avenue and Lorimer Street.  

I am taking a page out of the Obama playbook and will be revamping an old, crusty system.  I am stepping up my efforts to budget, working longer hours, drinking as much free corporate coffee as I can stand (Pumpkin Spice!  Dark Magic!  Breakfast Blend! Levicorpus!), and trying radical new fiscal strategies that will hopefully keep me off of a WPA workgang on the West Side Highway. . . I just have to seriously tap into my love of filing paperwork and everything will work out in the end.  Right?

Third, I was recently in a reading of The Physicists by Freidrich Durenmatt at EST.  Now this piece took a lot of time to grow on me, but it really began to grow on me.  At heart, despite all the absurdity, it's basically a reiteration of the famous axiom, "With great power comes great responsibility."  I don't think that's just from Spider-Man, I think the Greeks said it first or something, but it's a play that begs us all to look at What We Are Doing and ask ourselves why we do it.  The meat of the play is the role of scientists in the practical application of their discoveries vis-a-vis atomic energy, but it's more universal than that.  Why do we do what we do?  Because we're good at it?  Because the work is its own reward?  Are we doing it because we're trying to accomplish something?  Are we innocent of the impact of our actions if we did not intend or forsee that impact?  Check out this quote:

Mobius:  There are certain risks that one may not take: the destruction of humanity is one.  We know what the world has done with the weapons it already possesses; we can imagine what it would do with those that my researches make possible, and it is these considerations that have governed my conduct.  I was poor.  I had a wife and three children.  Fame beckoned from the university; industry tempted me with money.  Both courses were too dangerous.  I should have had to publish the result of my researches, and the consequences would have been the overthrow of all scientific knowledge and the breakdown of the economic structure of our society.  A sense of responsibility compelled me to choose another course.  I threw up my academic career, said no to industry, and abandoned my family to its fate.  I took on the fool's cap and bells.  I let it be known that King Solomon kept appearing to me, and before long, I was clapped into a madhouse . . . Reason demanded the taking of this step.  In the realm of knowledge we have reached the farthest frontiers of perception.  We know a few precisely calculable laws, a few basic connections between incomprehensible phenomena and that is all . . . We have reached the end of our journey.  But humanity has not yet got as far as that.  We have battled onwards, but no one is following in our footsteps; we have encountered a void.  Our knowledge has become a frightening burden.  Our researches are perilous, our discoveries are lethal . . . 

The character of Mobius had himself committed to an asylum so his ideas could never be released unto a world that would use his ideas for evil.  That is pretty bold.  How many of us would have the courage of our convictions to do something like that?  

I mean, we have lawyers drafting memos that justify torture.  Why?  Because they're good at writing memos?  Because they were just doing their jobs?  We have businessmen who cheat their own employees and screw their customers.  Why?  Because they know about tax shelters and loopholes?  We as a people are witnessing all of our systems breaking down because the people with the knowledge have been using that knowledge for evil.  Either because they didn't know what would happen or because they didn't care.  When we as a people and as individuals know for ourselves what we want, what we want to change, and what we believe in, then we can start practically applying our knowledge for good.  

The Argument

"My Dear, Hamlet is not a guy like you."

I have fought with myself for a long time about the logistics of doing Shakespeare.  For a long time I thought that as long as you could decipher olde english you'd know what you were really saying, and thus be able to just speak with clarity and intention.  It took me a long time to come to appreciate that the classical language is not simply olde english but poetry; poetry that requires much more than simply knowing what you're saying.  The language is heightened and the actor must honor that, but how?  I've seen actors on both ends of the style spectrum fail to move audiences because of the disconnect that Peter Brook describes in the quote below.  People either A.) try play their characters as if they were not in a classical play but a naturalistic film scene or B.) send it up in epic, bombastic and mannered "style."  Check out his thoughts.

From The Empty Space:  

Imperial gestures and royal values are fast disappearing from everyday life, so each new generation finds the grand manner more and more hollow, more and more meaningless.  This leads the young actor to an angry and impatient search for what he calls truth.  He wants to play his verse more realistically, to get it to sound like honest-to-God real speech, but he finds that the formality of the writing is so rigid that it resists this treatment.  He is forced to an uneasy compromise that is neither refreshing, like ordinary talk, nor defiantly histrionic, like what we call ham. . . If you ask an actor to play in a "romantic style" he will valiantly have a go, thinking he knows what you mean.  What actually can he draw on?  Hunch, imagination and a scrapbook of theatrical memories, all of which will give him a vague "romanticness" that he will mix up with a disguised imitation of whatever older actor he happens to admire.  If he digs into his own experiences the result may not marry with the text; if he just plays what he thinks is the text, it will be imitative and conventional.  Either way the result is a compromise: at most times unconvincing.

So this is the dilemma and I don't know what the answer is.  

On the Eve of the Election, a Prayer

Election Benediction

(a non-secular election prayer)

I admit, I don't pray very often.

I prayed when my children were born

that they be healthy and whole.

I prayed when my daughter got sick,

when all of the doctors and all of the treatments

couldn't make her better.

And I prayed when, finally, she was well again

in profound thanksgiving.

When my son sang his heart out in his first high school play

I prayed to be deserving of the joy that filled my heart,

hearing his confident voice, watching his agile body.

I prayed when he went off to college

and I prayed on September 11th

when he called from his New York apartment.

And when his father and sister went to New Orleans to help, I prayed then, too.

I've prayed when I've been most afraid,

bone tired or thoroughly spent.

I know you're supposed to pray more than that-

more frequently, more selflessly.

I acknowledge my negligence in the realm of spiritual correctness.

And I'm sure there are others like me

who mostly look to God when out of luck or out of time.

(I bet God understands that about people.)

These days I have a new prayer practice

One born of hope, not fear.

These days I pray for America

and I pray for Barack Obama.

I pray for his wife who sustains him,

for his children and all of our children,

who compel him to reach for the heights he is seeking.

I pray for him to win the election

because even though my religious adherence has been minimal

I know a miracle when I see one.

The man is not the miracle.

Through the confluence of hope and history,

the miracle is the capacity he creates to inspire so many millions of us

to engage again, or for the first time,

in our nation's political process - 

to work together for peace, for prosperity, and for the planet.

I never sang, "God Bless America" unless I had to in school.

It seemed arrogant to me, like asking for divine special treatment.

Bless America instead of India?  Not Peru or Mozambique?

"This Land is Your Land," was my patriotic favorite.

I'm older now.  The bifocals I wear make it easier to see shades of gray

and stand, like everyone else, with my hand on my heart

when the band plays loud martial songs.

My prayer is nonsectarian.

"Baruch atah adonai," it begins, because that's how I first learned to pray.

And then, tentatively, I say it,

"Please God, bless America.

Help people get to the polls.

Help others to count the votes fairly.

No fraud this time, or intimidation

no Florida hanging chads.

Help us move closer to the dream, closer to the promise of our creed."

I teach in a wonderful public school with kids of all colors and faiths.

I borrow their words when I need them,

in Arabic, Creole, Chinese.

"Tal ouy ban sac, Barack Obama," I say in Khmer to end my prayer.

"Vaya con Dios," the same thought but in Spanish.

God be with you, Barack Obama.

I'm hoping to cover all bases.

Whether the way is a cross or a crescent,

Whether Allah, Loving Kindness, or Christ

Bless audacity.

Bless hope.

Amen.

Written by Susan Markman, Pelham, MA 2008

Election Benediction

The blog Daily Kos, known far and wide as one of the best sources for progressive political thought and action, has just featured the writing of a rising star in the literary world.  

Her name is Susan Markman.  She is my mother.  I am incredibly proud of her and her achievement tonight.  Her piece expresses the breathlessness that stirs in people when presented with profound possiblity.  I've been talking a lot to people about searching out plays and art that deal in human truths.  Well, here it is.

You can read her poem Election Benediction here.   

I'll post the entire text on its own tomorrow.  For now, just checking it out on Daily Kos is worth it.  The site is famous and seeing her work there sent Kate and I into fits of starry-eyed adoration.  Not for the first time.  

Enjoy.   

Pics from Elizabeth

Blaxploitation

The Soul Samurai workshop approaches.  

One of the best parts about working with Vampire Cowboys is that in the researching of roles for the show you fall in love with the genres you're mashing up.  I have recently taken in the delights of Shaft, Superfly, Black Mama White Mama, Foxy Brown, Samurai Champloo, and Hara Kiri.  The Mack, Shogun Assassin, and (my favorite title so far) Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song are lined up for this weekend. 

 

Blaxploitation.  The genre is controversial, and a few people have come up to me saying is it cool to do that in this day and age? Didn't that genre cherry-pick the worst aspects of black culture and then help codify and normalize those stereotypes nationwide?  Well, yes and no.  In my opinion, the answer needs to be contextualized.  

In the beginning (as I understand from the documentary Badassss Cinema--absolutely required viewing), the films coming out reflected the revolutionary energy of the times. They featured potent, powerful and proud black characters who were impervious to racists and suffered no fools.  They offered performers of color the opportunity to play lead roles of substance that Hollywood had always denied them.  Because these were initially independent movies, they afforded entrepeneurial outlets, a sense of cultural ownership, and again, pride in black craftsmanship.   They celebrated the slogan "Black is Beautiful" and put the day-to-day worlds of Harlem and the ghettos of LA on the big screen.  

(Superfly has a still photography montage that is basically a photo essay on Harlem in the 70's.)  Combined with the soul and funk music of the legendary artists Isaac Hayes and Curtis Mayfield, the result was a profound experience at the movies for people of color who were desperate for stories and images that spoke to them and their lives.  

As with most film, the characters were larger-than-life icons.  Shaft was a detective who was cooler and badder than anyone in the room--a black 007.  Preacher, the pusher from Superfly, commanded a small army and lived like a king, enjoying clothes, money, women, and prestige.  Foxy Brown was a sexy afro'd independent woman who could infiltrate and take down a prostitution ring (and whose boyfriend was a black DEA agent!  What?)

A lot of characters were pimps and ho's, crime bosses and hitmen, this is true.  However, that negativity was usually counter-balanced by the appearance of Black Power activist characters and/or community watch groups who confronted the underworld figures about the damage they were doing to the neighborhood.  

To me, these are usually the best scenes and provide the most dramatic fireworks.  In Superfly, the confrontation is in a diner.  A watchdog gang in daishikis accost Preacher about his peddling drugs and his disregard for his own people, as it is blacks who are buying his cocaine.  Characteristically, Preacher responds, "What you need to do is get a gun.  And then get guns for all those blacks you care so much about.  And when you do that, I'll join you and be there on the front line shootin' whitey.  But until then, stay the fuck outta my way."  Or something similar, but the politics and concern with social justice and cultural elevation was usually put front and center at some point.   John Shaft enlists the aid of his former friend, now an activist, in the rescue of a mobster's daughter, and they spar over who's helping the people the most.  There's an incredibly powerful scene in The Mack where the pimp's brother says that instead of visiting him in jail, he created a people's movement that would actually do some good.  The empowerment of the people was worth more than some phone calls or envelopes of money because it would truly help his brother when he got out.  He argues that the pimp is essentially still in a prison of the mind because he's playing right into The Man's hands by selling drugs and women.  The Mack responds by saying he has a right to pursue his business anyway he likes. . . because this is America.  He says, "Being rich and black means something, don't you know that? It's crazy to stay in the ghetto once you've seen the way out." Or something similar, but essentially, huge questions are raised and social justice is prioritized in the middle of a film about an unrepentent pimp.

After this initial period, Hollywood saw how popular the movies were and how much they made.  They began cranking out shitty versions of their own, replacing the black artistic staff behind the camera, and turning the style into formulaic crap and wildly over the top characterizations.  The negative aspects were seized upon, commoditized, and encouraged by the industry (not unlike the gangstery thuggish hip-hop of the past ten years).  

Eventually people cooled to the nonsense.  This is the heartbreaking part, because they eventually screwed the black artists.  When they saw that they had taken an art form and turned it into a trend--and that that trend had run it's course--they again shut the door in the faces of actors they had made famous.  Many were never hired again despite being matinee idols and stars in their own right.

So, yes and no.  Blaxploitation, in my opinion, began as something incredibly empowering and beautiful and devolved into something cheap and harmful.  There was always a sense of whimsy and silliness and overblown characterization, but with the influx of money and studio interference, the movement got away from its roots and became another cliche of hollywood genres like the western and the romantic comedy.

I think what we are setting out to do with Soul Samurai is honor the essence of this tradition and have a lot of fun with a style that is inherently theatrical and dramatic.  Everyone is doing research on their own to inform the characters they play.  We talk a lot about what Pam Grier movie we saw last night or what we're excited about incorporating and how it relates to what we have to play in our scenes.  Who should see X to get an example of Y.  

It's a challenging task, but we're endeavoring to do it with honor and respect. 

We're aiming to blow your mind.  

And your soooul.