Category: Theater

Layer It On

by klgonnerman, posted in Movie, Theater, TV, Uncategorized

Art is a progressive act. No matter how angry or dark the subject, the act of creating and expressing is by nature optimistic, a call for connection and a search for understanding.

What’s especially exciting to me lately, then, is the layering of interpretations that can take place, as an original production gets remade, or dancers choreograph to a new song, or a book gets adapted for the screen. Expression on expression, the conversations between artists that span time periods, geographical space, and art forms.

One particularly entertaining example came last week, when U.S. figure skater Jason Brown performed to Hamilton’s The Room Where It Happened. Not only did he perform flawlessly for a full rink of fans, his performance made it to Lin-Manuel Miranda’s living room (Miranda wrote Hamilton). Surprise and delight travels well.

The other day I rewatched Joss Whedon’s version of Much Ado About Nothing, easily one of my favorite movies. Filmed in one house, over a weekend (so the legend goes), this production is visually gorgeous and also just the right combo of traditional and modern so that the audience will actually understand Shakespeare’s language. I repeat: when I watch this movie, I actually get what Shakespeare meant. The reinterpretation not only created a stunning production, but it also shone a light on Shakespeare’s timeless artistry. The layers work together to make both the original and the reinterpretation better.

Admittedly, maybe I’m thinking about layers so much simply because it’s freezing in New England and I’m wearing about twelve layers all the time. But I think it has more to do with the power that art provides for us to learn from one another and create in concert with those who came before and will come after us. A generational conversation about things that matter, in ways that we can understand.

Here’s the thing about interpretation, though: no one need wait to put their own spin on things. You do not need credentials to become part of the discussion (anyone who’s created dance routines to Whitney Houston can vouch for this). The discussion happens with every moment of appreciation and every act of production.

You are just as capable of interpreting the art that you see, of riffing off of a story that inspires you. As long as you are not ripping off someone else’s work, your engagement with the art is part of the process, and part of our progress as people.

For some people, engaging with art will inspire them to do something progressive in the political arena, to make phone calls to elected officials, volunteer in their community, or see someone’s experience a little differently. For others, it will inspire them to create more art.

Whatever your inspiration, whatever your medium, don’t shy away from engaging with the art around you. You just never know what it will inspire. Layer it on.

 

Space for Silence

by klgonnerman, posted in Theater, TV

I’ve had the privilege and punishment of taking in tons of art, news and commentary this week. The news has been devastating. Mind-numbingly, logic-defying, devastating news. Horrifying evidence of our systemic bias and the families it tragically affects, from the Philando Castile verdict that allowed a cop who shot an innocent man at point-blank range in front of his girlfriend and a four-year-old girl to go free, to the ACLU case in defense of Anthony Promvongsa, who was beaten by police, to Charleena Lyles, a pregnant woman killed by police in Seattle. Misconduct by Senators creating devastating legislation under wraps, only to reveal that their new health care bill will set us all back decades and threaten millions of lives.

So I’ve counteracted, as I do, with the arts.

I was fortunate to attend Fun House, an impressive musical about a lesbian girl and her family including her father who was also gay. The portrayal made all too clear what happens to our souls when we live in fear, in hiding, afraid of our very nature.

I listened to Stevie Wonder, I played my “FUN” playlist, I tracked Lin-Manuel Miranda’s upcoming star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

I binge-watched Queen Sugar, an absolutely artful TV series by Ava Duvernay and directed by a string of female directors.

Tonight, I need space for silence.

I rewatched a few episodes of Queen Sugar, and appreciated a nuance that a viewer pointed out: the masterful use of silence. The way that breath, space and honoring the beats in between create an even more powerful experience for an audience. It reminded me of my music studies, when we carefully honored every rest in the music with the same reverence as the note we sang.

Silence reminds us that we do not have to rush to make sense of the non-sensical. We do not have to hide from the rush of emotions that naturally accompany the topsy-turvy world we occupy. We do not have to avoid taking in the information, we do not have to shy away from educating ourselves.

We simply must make space for silence. To honor the spaces in between, to make time for our reactions, be they complex, overwhelming, or all of the above. To observe the silence between, to take stock of it, and to speak again when it’s time.

So here’s to space for silence, and to not shying away from the many situations in which we must raise our voices. We can’t have one without the other. Thanks, Queen Sugar, for the reminder of both.

 

 

 

Two Sides of Touch

by klgonnerman, posted in Theater

What would it be like if being touched were torture?

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, a broadway play, came to the Bushnell in Hartford last week, and asked me to really consider that question. An adaptation of the 2003 novel, Curious takes the perspective of a teenager who places high on the autism spectrum, who is trying to find out how his neighbor’s dog was murdered.

It’s a gloriously uncomfortable walk in the shoes of a boy who sees life from an entirely different perspective. He’s literal – why say “get on with the show” when you just mean “let’s start”?  He’s incredibly gifted – math is his thing. He’s sensitive to noise – the scenes in a London subway station feel like an onslaught to the senses, just as it might to this boy in real life. And he can’t stand to be touched.

It’s a great story and a great show for many reasons. But my big takeaway is about the privilege of touch.

I’m a texture person. I love soft fabrics, running my fingers over textured wallpapers, the feel of cold, wet sand between my toes. Do you remember the kids book, Pat the Bunny? I used to love that book and all its various feels. As I write this, I am petting my dog while he lounges awkwardly on my legs. I have never found an emotion that didn’t require a hug.

So to see parents who cannot hug their children, to think of how it would feel for every touch to feel like an assault – it’s foreign and, for me, very sad. I’m reminded that kids with autism aren’t the only ones who might not like to be touched. Abuse survivors, people with other sensory processing disorders, and others, may also be, completely understandably, resist to touch.

We should never force someone, especially a child, to be touched if they don’t want to be. At the same time, I will be appreciating my hugs, cozy comforters and scratchy wool hats even more with the knowledge that I could have been born without the ability to tolerate, much less enjoy, these beautiful expressions of touch.

Yet again, art gives me a new lens on the world and a new appreciation for something I take for granted. Isn’t that what art is all about?