Spaulding Gray Tribute: "And Everything Is Going Fine"

"It's not NewAge enough for me,..."

Aw: The New "Annie" Gets A Taste Of America's Love

“Annie was a freckled face redhead, not a nappy head parasite…”

Is this a wonderful country to grow up in or what?

Now I hope they rewrite the whole thing in Rap,...

Bitches Being Buh-Buh-Buh-Buh-Buh Bad To The Bone

 "The Devil made me do it"? Puh-leaze - let's hear it for history's actors:

By focusing on the performative aspect of possession Levack, in his methodical, scholarly way, cuts against the two most common modern explanations of possession: illness and fakery. Scholars a hundred years ago retrospectively diagnosed demoniacs with epilepsy, melancholy and hysteria. Today scholars seeking a medical explanation point to Tourette’s syndrome, dissociative identity disorder and religious anxiety. But Levack is at pains to show that any one medical explanation cannot fully account for the range of demoniac behaviour. Nor is intentional William Perry-style fakery a sufficient explanation for the full range and extent of the phenomena described in the early modern period. 

Levack’s way of looking at possession allows one to view demoniacs in a new way. His argument hands agency back to those involved in cases of possession—they didn’t just suffer an illness, or deceive a community, says Levack; they actively played a part in a social ritual. Demonic possession was “a theatrical performance that reflected the religious cultures of the demoniac, the community, and the exorcist.” 

Levack’s argument adds a much-needed historical lens through which to view possession, but he goes too far when he rejects any attempt by contemporary medicine to understand the demoniacs. The specificity of social context for all human behaviour is important, but that doesn’t preclude illness or self-interest interacting with performance.

Pathetic attention-seeking assholes, that's what they are. Here, if it'll make 'em happy:

Acting (On Impulse)

I never go to the theatre. I watch a lot of DVDs, many of plays, but I've got a nagging feeling I also gotta go see a few for myself sometimes.

Not only will it open up the blog but - added bonus - it may even make my life Complete:

Complete is a comic, time-splitting wrangle over the power and perversion of language. When Eve (Bishop) finds out that Micah (Kruse) is doing "The Training," she risks their careers, their relationship and their safety to prove just how destructive the notion of self-creation can be. 

"Complete is inspired by both the language of est and the scientific study of syntax and semantics," explained Kuchlewska in an interview. "I did the est training at age nine. The use of language in that subculture was specific and differed in important ways from the English I had been speaking up until then. This was a potent combination for me as a child-using language to empower myself, but also being confused at times by what I and others were saying. It forever changed the way I think and how I speak." 

Developed by Werner Erhard, est is a system of experiential philosophy that was popular in the 1970s and '80s and was accused by some of being a cult. Inspired by her childhood experience and aided by the deeper understanding of language she gained as a linguistics major, Kuchlewska constructs a fictional "Training," a world in which phrases like "I intend to create a parking space" and "You can create yourself being any way you want to be" are normal statements, even in the mouth of a child. 

As a graduate of and former coach at the Ford Institute for Transformational Training, Jennifer Chambers brings an insider's understanding to the project. 

"There is a very specific language that the self-help industry uses, and it can be viewed as either very helpful or very manipulative," she says. "I want to go back and explore that world now that I have some distance from it."

Can you hand me a better give/take-away line than that last one? 

I'm hearing she's snapped - and now sees an "in" and "out", "before" and "after". 

Well Hell, that's worth grabbing my coat all by itself,…

 

Tie Up Your Boobs (We're All Going To Die)

Scientists discover ‘real-world’ ecstasy use is more dangerous than lab tests:

For a glimpse into real-world drug use, Australian researchers went to parties where people were using a drug known as ecstasy - and discovered that users' brains were at far more risk from the drug than anyone had suspected.

The researchers also found that ecstasy pills often contain a variety of other drugs.

Jim Carrey Got a Really Stupid Haircut:

Jim Carrey, that nearly forgotten relic of the '90s, tried to improve his image and box office relevance by getting himself a new haircut. It's not working.

Carrey's wide mohawk is not the sort of haircut that an adult Canadian should be sporting, at least not one like Jim Carrey.

Well, now that he's done killing babies with Jenny McCarthy, maybe it's the best he can do,...

John Lennon's letters to be published by Little, Brown:

The letters of John Lennon will be published in October 2012 by Little, Brown, the publisher announced Friday. "The Lennon Letters" have been compiled in cooperation with Yoko Ono, Lennon's widow. It's the first time she has given permission for a selection of his letters to be published.

Editing the book and writing its introduction is Hunter Davies, the official Beatles biographer, who has tapped Ono's own archives as well as tracked down correspondence from Lennon that is in the hands of collectors, dealers and the original intended recipients.

In the release about "The Lennon Letters," the publisher points out that Lennon, who died in 1980, never had a chance to convert to email.

Also, there's one letter already out there, and a Beatle business book on the way.

Monty Python? Most of the time it wasn't funny, says Terry Jones:

"Some burst out laughing at the mere mention of a dead parrot. Others find Monty Python’s surreal humour merely, well, silly.

But now those who have never quite got the joke have found an ally in the shape of one of the stars behind the cult comedy.

Terry Jones has confessed that he ‘only occasionally found Python funny’.

Jones, 69, added: ‘I used to watch in trepidation at things that didn’t work wondering if no one would laugh.’

When asked if it was a ‘cop out’ to fill in the gaps between comedy sketches with cartoons, he admitted: ‘Yes.'"

Theatre Review: We're All Going To Die!:

The perky refrains in the freaky existential cabaret written and performed by the playwright Young Jean Lee are probably not going to be squeaked out by Britney Spears, wailed by Mariah Carey or even bellowed by the freak-flag-waving Lady Gaga anytime soon.

And all I can say is "Thank goodness for that!"

This Is A Normal Picture Of A Business Meeting (Or How Too Many Folks Seem To View Them)

Little-by-little, the world is closing in on - and warming up to - this blog's theme:

Please be advised: No updates on the health of Steve Jobs are contained in this article. Nor, despite its title, are there any in the piece being reviewed herein. Mike Daisey's "The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs," which opened Sunday at Berkeley Rep's Thrust Stage, is much more concerned with the moral health of a society hooked on the products of Jobs' company.

And with the physical health of the labor that produces them.

Which is not to say that Daisey doesn't like Apple computers, iPhones, iPads and the rest. Or that he doesn't regard Jobs as a genius, with a particularly good eye for design. Quite the contrary. In one of the indefatigable raconteur's most tightly constructed, passionate and socially engaged monologues yet, Daisey's anger and biting comedy stem from his heartbreak as a former longtime "worshiper in the house of Mac."

Together with "The Last Cargo Cult," which Daisey is performing in repertory with this piece, "Agony" fills out a trenchant and funny critique of what might be the most deeply held, if unacknowledged, beliefs in our culture. In "Cargo," he visits an actual cargo cult in the remote South Pacific, juxtaposing its overt worship of material goods with a look at the depth of our faith in money. In "Agony," he takes on the worship of technology and its high priest, because religion is, in essence, "the way we see the world."

So, if "religion is, in essence, 'the way we see the world'" - and considering how shitty everything's been lately - what would happen if we stopped looking at the world that way? You know, dropped all the "spiritual" and "intuitive" nonsense and went with what we actually know?

Yea, yea, we're waaay ahead of you,...that's crazy talk!

Um, Why Is Everyone Talking About Spiderman?

“The Book of Mormon” opens on Broadway in February 2011.

With Love: Stanley E. Williams & Quentin Easter

I'm stunned to read of the back-to-back deaths of two men I knew well, worked for, and liked a lot:

Quentin Easter and Stanley E. Williams, founders of San Francisco's glorious Lorraine Hansberry Theatre.

The very definition of "opposites attract", these two were quite the formidable pair:

Quentin - completely unflappable - always calm, cool, and collected, a man the words "quiet dignity" were invented for. His sleepy brown eyes were always welcoming; and I really mean that - Quentin always had time to talk. He could have played like some big shot theatre guy - which is what he was - but, first and foremost, before the business lunches and whatever, he was a real live thinking feeling human being of the first order. He knew what was what, and who was who, and when he took the measure of a man, it got took. He loved success, but from what I could see, nothing ever went to his head. While I'm sure he would balk at the idea of me calling him a conservative, in many ways he was, and that air of respectability allowed he and Stanley to push open a lot of doors for a hell of a lot of people. I admired him greatly, and value every word of advice he's ever given me, which was a lot.

I wish I could thank him in person.

Not that I've met many people who were even remotely like him, Stanley was that kind of gay guy who always telegraphed his hair was on fire, the only question being if he was enjoying it or not. Stanley was a hustler. He talked too fast, he walked too fast, and if he ever did slow down enough to focus on you, it was either to try and seduce you into doing what he wanted, or, with those always-a-little-too-wide-open eyes, he'd glare you into submission. Oh, Stanley was an angry black man, and didn't mind letting you in on it. All that said, he could also be about as warm, understanding, and compassionate a man as you were likely to meet. It just depended on the time of day. You see, like Quentin with the finances, Stanley was a genius, able to make something out of nothing in the old slave tradition, and yet, so consumed with artistic passion, the sometimes-mad vision that drove him took every one, and every thing, he touched to places no one but he imagined possible. And he did it over and over and over again. Burning. Seriously, if you didn't like one of Stanley's plays, all I have to say is imagine what it would've been like without him. Stanley's shit was so on, it's still hard for me to grasp that a mind, functioning at that capacity and caliber, could be stilled. I know: I'm an atheist. But I'm talking about Stanley. All bets are off on anything.

Stanley hired me for what would turn out to be two seasons, the first as a composer and artist, and the second as an archivist, finding and supplying him with period music for the world premiere of The Huey P. Newton Story starring Roger Guenveur Smith. Though his brilliant Russian soundman and I spent a lot of time together, on occasion I still had to go over to Quentin and Stanley's to preview pieces and discuss sound cues, and there was nothing funnier than watching Stanley go from elation to despair, and back again, based on what he heard. If he liked something, he'd be beaming as though he'd done it himself, already imagining how he was going use it. If it wasn't working for him, then Good Lord, fix it, fix it now, no, fix it where I can hear it, now, I need to hear it (he's addressing the keyboard as though it's controlled by magic) "fix it." I'd look at Quentin, who'd be rolling his eyes, and then I'd do whatever and there was Stanley, arms raised to the heavens again. I loved that. He was hilarious - and everything I thought a great director ought to be. He and Quentin, both, were just outstanding.

Fuck, now I'm going to cry.

My condolences to anyone who had the privilege to know these two great men and/or their work. They are missed.

More Material For The (Spiritual) Material Girl

"A musical parody about Madonna's controversial adoption of Malawian orphan Mercy James is being performed at the Edinburgh Fringe this month by a Malawian cast.

The 50-year-old Material Girl, who is portrayed in the play Mercy Madonna Of Malawi by a black male actor in a blonde wig, is routinely mocked and her back catalogue of hits takes a beating.

Madonna is first glimpsed breaking wind in bed with adopted Malawian son David Banda, whom she later uses as a step to climb on to the stage."

-- The Daily Mail

Joe's Garage: Art's Solipsistic Sanctuary

"The ideas,...form the crux of the ribald cultural satire in Joe's Garage, which will have its world premiere on September 26 at the Open Fist Theater. The play opens with an Orwellian 'Central Scrutinizer,' a large robotic puppet who speaks through a megaphone and whose job is to enforce laws 'that haven't yet been passed.' A local policeman counsels Joe to drop his music and engage in more church activities, but Joe's sweet Catholic girlfriend, named Mary (of course), abandons him for a backstage pass to see another band. After following that band on tour and after being used as a sex toy by the band's roadies, the exhausted Mary is dumped in Miami, where she enters a wet-T-shirt contest to raise enough money to get home.

When Joe learns of her plight, he goes into a funk of depression, contracts venereal disease, and seeks religion — at the door of L. Ron Hoover and his First Church of Appliantology — to pull him back up. Membership in the church costs Joe his life's savings, and he is ordered 'into the closet' in order to find salvation by having sex with home appliances — so much more safe and titillating than with human beings. There's a three-way orgy between Joe, an appliance named Sy Borg and a 'modified Gay Bob Doll'; Joe accidentally destroys Sy Borg's circuitry during a golden shower episode and is imprisoned for being unable to pay for Sy's repair. In prison, Joe is gang-raped by record executives and other riffraff. He eventually emerges into a new world, where music has been banned, but he does land a good job in a muffin factory."

-- Steven Leigh Morris, explaining the eerily life-like plot of the latest project by the late Frank Zappa (above) to be produced, in the L.A. Weekly.

Clear Your Mind - And Give Us A Hug!

"'Mataji' is really our play." The house it's set in could belong to any of the cast. The play skewers India's penchant for exporting gurus and god-men. Some promise to manifest themselves on the moon. Others conjure up Rolex watches or cure cancer by touch. Saraf's Mataji hugs.

There is a real hugging saint, Amma or Mata Amritanandamayi Devi (above) who touches down every year in Castro Valley. Saraf says she comes complete with Amma dolls, jewelry and medallions, all of which she's touched once. Thousands of devotees, Indians and non-Indians, line up for hours to get a hug. 'Don't they see there is something funny about a woman who hugs for a living?' he asks incredulously. He's dumbfounded that so many people he knows, many of them rational engineers 'of scientific temper,' seem to swallow her 'miracles' without question."

-- Sandip Roy, on Sujit Saraf's Bay Area theater group Naatak, and their play about the on-going Western lunacy of cultish thinking - even in "science" circles - for the SFGate.

Somewhere Over The (NewAge) Rainbow

"Eat your heart out, Madonna. The chanteuses who play Madison Square Garden and football stadiums have never experienced the imaginative heights of spectacle with which Basil Twist surrounds Joey Arias in 'Arias With a Twist,' which opened Wednesday night at the newly renovated Here Arts Center.

They uncover Mr. Arias, looking like the vintage pin-up model Bettie Page in dominatrix mode, strapped to a giant, rotating silver wheel and being probed by ghostly aliens. The script, devised by Mr. Arias and Mr. Twist, uses this very close encounter as a dropping-off point for a series of earthly, and often earthy, adventures.

These include Mr. Arias tumbling through space and landing in a glorious Edenic rain forest; eating a magic mushroom that takes him straight to hell; stalking Manhattan as a 50-foot woman,...

And how about those giant dancing devil puppets, which move like Las Vegas chorus boys? Their outsized assets include flailing phalluses, a reminder that though children might find much to revel in here, this is definitely not a kiddie show.

Mr. Arias’s dialogue, delivered in a deadpan mix of little-girl breathlessness and big-girl worldliness, will sound familiar to anyone who’s seen a New York drag show during the last few decades. ('I didn’t even get his phone number,' Mr. Arias sighs after dancing with the devil.)

Mr. Arias registers as a figure of solid human flesh aching to be transported into a world of celluloid dreams. Costumes and makeup can only take a fellow so far. That’s where Mr. Twist comes in, with a fluid mise-en-scène that allows Mr. Arias — and, vicariously, you and me — to go the distance, all the way over the rainbow."

-- Ben Brantley, reviewing "Arias With a Twist" for the New York Times.

Even Slave Magic Fails (Again)

"In 'Conjur Woman,' a folk opera for a single performer, the venerable actress Sheila Dabney, working with three proficient musicians onstage at the La MaMa Annex, creates a potent spell seasoned with the power of myth.

She plaintively addresses the walls, as if searching for another slave, her beloved. Her tone is enraptured: 'Out of dem all he is de smartest an’ de strongest — an’ — he fetch a good price.' He escapes from overseers and is hunted by dogs. She plots his rescue.

A turbaned sorceress, she pulls trinkets from the bag, intent on using her enchantments to transform her beloved into a tree. But as with Daphne’s fate as Apollo pursued her, escape comes at a price. When the white man finds the tree and cuts it down, it is the Conjur Woman who mourns.

The play — by the avant-garde actress and educator Beatrice Manley, with a haunting acoustic score by Ms. Dabney, Mr. McGruder, Ellen Stewart and Mr. Tsuji, and directed by George Ferencz — gains dramatic heft over its 45 minutes, though it could use greater variation in its dirgelike pacing. By the end, the character’s protracted suffering can grow repetitious. But at its best moments, the production has the incantatory impact of a fever dream."

- From Andy Webster's review of 'Conjur Woman', in the New York Times