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Romeo and Juliet – Review

I just love a theatre festival, a wonderful alchemy of “theatre” and of “festival.” The most fabulous of these happenings occur somewhere that is lovely all on its own (ex.: Niagra on the Lake, the Berkshires, etc.) Add to this an actual company of creative artists and a laid back simulated outdoor performance (note: I do not enjoy theatre in the actual outdoors as I find it inconducive to subtlety) and you have the making of a very special experience. I have seen wonderful new works premiered at festivals as well as unique interpretations of traditional works. Directors have more artistic leeway off of the great white way, and the audience is often the beneficiary of this freedom of expression.

Last night I was mesmerized by Daniela Varon’s (dir.) interpretation of Rome and Juliet at Shakespeare & Co. (Lenox, MA.) I don’t know if I’ve every seen a fully staged professional live production of this work. This would explain why, for the first 30 minutes or so, I kept thinking; “This Shakespeare fellow does a wonderful interpretation of West Side Story.”

A thrust stage and a balcony (not for what you would think) were used within an inch of their life. Many of the younger characters wove in and around the audience at times. This device was used lightly and brilliantly and never felt contrived or desperate (in that “stand-up comic using the audience for material way.”) Set in a non-specific time, with no video, and very minimal audio, the audience was free to project their own framework onto the story. The costumes aided in that they were predominately all white. The white cotton costuming provided a perfect canvas for all of the bleeding as well. There was a colossal burst of color and extraordinary costuming for the ~~dance at the gym~~ masquerade ball scene.

I am hesitant to single out any of the performances as there were so many riveting and enjoyable actors. I do feel compelled to mention that I simply could not take my eyes off of ~~Riff~~ Mercutio. He was very funny and physical and flat out magnetic. Ms. Varon directed this R&J in such a fresh and exciting manner. I had no idea this play could be so funny. Yes, of course it’s tragic, but some of the dialogue is extremely amusing. I particularly enjoyed directing Juliet (Susanna Millonzi) to periodically act just like a 14 year old!

Now dear reader, if you will permit me to get meta for a moment. I have always been schooled to understand R&J as a tale of the ultimate tragedy of warring families. Minimally, the play is a cautionary tale of why we should not try to keep our teenagers from dating those we find undesirable. Well call me practical penguin, but I’m now thinking it is a cautionary tale about mis-communication. Those kids didn’t die because their families didn’t get along. They died because ~~Doc~~ the friar did not get the message to Romeo in time.

Oh, and in Romeo and Juliet? Chino dies.

Note: I found it telling that there were at least a dozen children in the audience, some barely at the multiplication table age, who sat silent and spellbound throughout the three hours.

What Would Miss Cleo Say?

23 Aug

The good state of Florida is pressing charges against a psychic and her family. For what, you ask? Excessive broad statements that could apply to 90% of humans? Nope. Offensive decor and ubiquitous scented gizmos? Oh, no. For bilking money out of clients. That’s right. Confused? So am I.

My rudimentary understanding of the “psychic experience”, if you will, is that it involves the client giving money to the (often) questionably costumed psychic. In exchange, the client receives a monologue of sorts, often the bulk of which consists of broad statements issued to achieve credibility (ex. “Oh my G-d, there IS someone in my past!!!!!!) After the intense rapport has been established, the psychic moves on to the prediction phase of things (I’m guessing.)

Now I’m no district attorney, but I would think that if any crime has been committed it might be in the success rate of the predictions, no? Alas no. Florida is aggrieved by the amount of money the psychic was paid. Evidently there is a secret rate chart for psychics? Probably not. But then how in the world does one determine how much is too much to charge or pay for psychic services?

Personally that sum is equal to what I would pay to engage in gambling. But how in the world does a state decide when the fun stops and the deceit starts? A state, which is arguably most famous for bringing us the “happiest place on earth” no less.

2 Comments

Posted by Anonymous on August 23, 2011 in Cultural Critique

Tags: Brenda Tobias, Florida, Miss Cleo, psychics

Dewey Memories

21 Aug

Some of my most romanticized childhood memories take place in the library. Child-height wooden shelves, overflowing with old favorites and new discoveries. Child-sized tables and chairs and warm, helpful child-friendly librarians. I don’t think my reading capacity was any more voracious than other children in a pre-cable television, text messaging, googling world. In fact I would go so far as to say that it wasn’t the reading per se, which drew me to libraries. I suspect it was the tranquility and order. But we’ll save that particular chapter of self-analysis for another day.

The school libraries were slightly less charming than our town’s public library, but filled with entertaining delight. In my elementary school I discovered a tape of War of the Worlds and shrunk in bug-eyed terror in my carrel (knowing full well it was all fake!) I also discovered Arizona, (or was it Colorado?) magazine, filled with luscious photography of pink and orange canyons. In my junior high school library I mostly discovered a safe haven from the social warfare of the hallways.

Our public library was a world unto itself. The children’s room had a real honest to g-d working fireplace. The shelves were filled with yet undiscovered Helen Keller biographies (don’t ask) and Judy Blumes. It being a regular after-school hangout, I would run into friends I had not seen for years (we had two junior high schools and it was easy to lose track of friends.) Throughout the year, the adult periodicals room would be turned into a movie theatre. I watched every Marx Brothers movie one year.

As an adult I seem to be in fruitless pursuit of those golden library experiences. I still appreciate a good children’s room, but find the plethora of paperbacks and franchise series just a tad disheartening. Where are the Betsy-Tacy books, the Nancy Drews? Sigh. I still frequent the film festivals and gird myself for the unpredictable onslaughts from the dwelling optional. In truth, I should just cherish those memories of new discovery and calm predictable beauty which the libraries provided and recognize those very gifts in new adventures.

Freedom of Choice

20 Aug

Yesterday Judge Loretta Preska’s decision in the Bloomberg LP discrimination suit was announced. I, a tried and true feminist, cheered. Today, not surprisingly, the National Organization of Women and the American Civil Liberties Union are “disappointed.” And I ask myself; “when did equality come to mean ‘special’? when did freedom of choice come to mean ‘having it all?'” When did we stop being grown-ups?

The workplace is not the sandbox. There is little sharing or fair play at work. If you can’t contribute to the building of the sandcastle in a meaningful way, you’re outta the box.

At the heart of the Bloomberg LP discrimination suit, is how the organization treated its female employees who availed themselves of maternity leave. The workers felt, but were not able to prove, that they suffered because of choosing parenthood. Before you even start composing the angry email, let me clarify my position. Parenthood is a choice and children need loving capable care. The second wave of feminism (in my estimation) championed the right of a woman to manage her own reproduction and to be treated fairly in the workplace. It is a wonderful state of affairs (again, in my estimation) that women can actually make choices about what works for them throughout the course of their lives. But let us be perfectly clear; these are CHOICES. The very nature of choice is that something is preferable over another thing. “Having it all” is the anthem of a child, not of a grown person. Having it all does not just speak of ill-mannered greed, but of a complete misunderstanding of how limited we are all as people. We can not be all things to all people all the time. It is foolish to even try.

I believe that yesterday’s verdict should be seen as a victory. We acknowledge that it is a massive undertaking to care for a child, it may even take a village. However, that village should be self-selecting and not police state forced upon one’s co-workers or boss. The judge, in siding with Bloomberg LP, is in essence saying; “women are no different than men in the workplace. what matters is your productivity not your gender.” I say hurrah.

1 Comment

Posted by Anonymous on August 20, 2011 in Cultural Critique

Tags: Brenda Tobias, Feminism, Parenthood, Workplace

The Joys of Summer (Fashion)

20 Aug

I am a four-season girl. I cannot imagine living anywhere where time cannot be marked by nature. I do not, however, love all seasons equally. I’ve never been much for summer. This is not entirely due to the heat nor the humidity, but rather how those elements play havoc with the desire to accessorize. It’s only after I embraced the joy of the enormous floppy hat, earrings, and heeled sandals, that I started to enjoy donning a swimsuit. For years, it was not embarrassment which kept me from socializing in the equivalent of water resistant underwear, it was how incredibly boring the outfit was! Where is the creativity or joy in pulling on two pieces of clothing? A bathing suit cover-up doesn’t really count as the third piece as all it really conveys is that one has something they’d prefer to cover up.

So here it is, mid-August, and I have done my due diligence with a drawer filled with colorful shorts and flirty cotton skirts. I have collected a bevy of attractive and highly functional sandals, and several straw hats. I have handbags and even a few pieces of jewelry which scream Summer. And I have found my peace. Now this state should be its own reward…

But it is challenging to be putting concerted, and not necessarily intuitive, energy into an endeavor that clearly is solo. Have you seen what is walking the streets of this city? (“Street walking” is an apt imagery.) It is not clumsy attempts of seasonally appropriate ensembles that have sullied my soul. I accept that appearance is not a priority for all. It is instead the promotion of private parts to public parts that leaves me horrified/dejected. For months, I have seen every size and shape of breast, spilling out of “not meant as outerwear” apparel. The summer top or dress is ostensibly a set of pasties. I am not referring to décolletage or snug fitting cotton blouses. I am referencing the custom of 50-75% of the area in question to be al fresco. Why? Do they really suffer such heat exhaustion, they can’t be covered? Is it simply the epitome of lazy, to use ones own parts as an accessory?

In the interest of fair and balanced, I must point out that the population’s nether regions have had their fair days in the sun as well. Oh, the things I’ve seen. And on public transport! No doubt these women are the same who sanitize a public toilet seat within an inch of its life. The hygiene contradiction is boggling. For those who do not live alone or whose mothers are still living, they choose instead to wear see-through clothing. Most of the transparent garments I have seen are not haute couture, but instead very cheap off the rack clothing that is meant to be worn with underpinnings. Some choose to disregard this intention entirely (oh my eyes!) Others see this as in invitation to wear the boldest most incongruous mass-market under things. This might be a good place to mention that if one is old enough to pull up one’s own pants, one needn’t have underpants festooned with imagery.

I will trudge through the next month, donning sundresses, wearing silver jewelry and white pants, and pedicuring like mad. But I will do so while longingly eyeing my sweaters, boots and scarves, and reminding myself that biology will win out: private parts do shy from the cold.

Here She Is Boys

Tag Archives: Brenda Tobias

Romeo and Juliet – Review

What Would Miss Cleo Say?

Dewey Memories

Freedom of Choice

The Joys of Summer (Fashion)

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