As I sit in the house at REDCAT, the sublime words of Hilton Als washing over me in what I feel compelled to say is one of the more engaging performance works I have seen in recent memory, I realize the irony of what is going on. Here I am in a live theatre venue, being introduced to the work of a brilliant theatre critic as he is speaking about writing about live performance and performers.
Looking around, I realized I was in the minority here. The house was filled with other journalists, coming to gain the sage advice of a seasoned and revered professional. This was, indeed, not intended to be a spoken word performance to be left to the interpretation of the overactive imagination of a theater producer such as myself. I was in unfamiliar territory.
It was indeed difficult to remain conscious of the fact that all I was doing was watching someone read aloud onstage. The power of the story and the atmosphere of the sensual, voluptuous writing engulfed me and made me feel as though I was swimming through a swirling mist of intellectual incense, a deep, relaxing, inspiring sensation you want to inhale and let linger around your face so you can slowly drink in the scent.
As I listened, I couldn’t help wondering at the value of the sparkling, flashy musicals that often captivate audiences of thousands. If only the same crowds could experience the raw, naked quality of such an evening, they would surely give up their decadent overpriced, over-produced entertainment. Or would they? Does an experience like this rely on more than just a standard suspension of disbelief? Would your “average” theater patron (what does that even mean?) realize the thoughtful, unassuming performance that was taking place before their eyes and ears if they were sitting next to me at this very moment?
I was floored by how much the phrase “less is more” meant during this wonderful ode to the spoken word. Although Hilton is a print journalist by trade, his smooth, velvety voice and perfect articulation, muffled only occasionally by his handkerchief dabbing at his brow or his nose or his upper lip, the deeply earthy resonance of his vocal timbre slowly seeped over the crowd, finding its way into every crack and crevace of the room. I sat suspended by this melodious chorus of one, eagerly grasping onto each artfully formulated phrase, pulling myself upwards into the atmosphere of my imagination, my mind leaping to the next highest cloud with each sublime sentence, looking down on those who had the misfortune to be left behind at an actual “show” on this particular evening.
In stark contrast to the performance I had by now constructed in my mind, the theater was intended to became a forum for education in this moment. Originally planned as a seminar as part of the NEA Arts Journalism fellowship presented by the USC Annenberg School for Communication, I knew this had clearly never been intended to take the shape of such a deliciously concocted dessert after what I could only imagine was an intense day of seminars and classes planned for the fellowship participants. I looked down over the house to find journalists alternating between furiously scribbling in notebooks and having their attention pulled back into the gravitational pull of Als’ velvety smooth voice and captivating syntax.
Perhaps the reason for the theatricality of this so-called performance lecture is Als’ unique brand of gracefully executed fact mixed with deliciously deceptive fiction. This was, indeed the topic of the lecture, which he executed skillfully and humbly, using mostly examples of his own texts, deftly combining the two genres that many assume to be mutually exclusive. He spoke about the “Stanislavski approach to journalism” that he often uses, spending vast amounts of time with his interview subjects, delving into such things as only an actor who is working to embody a role would need to know.
Another interesting method that Als sometimes uses to write is to construct a profile of a public figure without ever having met him/her. He will construct this persona based solely on the individual’s work, interviews with others about the individual, rumors and other pieces of information that would often be classified as somewhere between fact and fiction.
As journalists throughout the audience listened intently, grasping at the sweet pearls of wisdom that Als was showering into their laps, one thing became clear – he just made this room full of journalists realize they’re artists. And he’s made me, who usually resides much closer to the “artist” end of the spectrum, want to leap into the journalist role, suddenly made much more approachable and desirable by his unique outlook on the profession.
As I pondered the tenuous at best relationships many theaters and theater artists have with journalists and specifically theater critics, it occurred to me perhaps this was a welcome dose of exactly what we all needed. A little role reversal. A little give and take so that the line between these two professions can be blurred – or perhaps there isn’t a line at all.
Meropi Peponides is a Producer/Development Coordinator for Watts Village Theater Companywww.wattsvillagetheatercompany.org. She is also an Executive Assistant for 24th Street Theatrewww.24thstreet.org. and an MFA Candidate in Dramaturgy, Class of 2013 at Columbia University.
