|
ON THE COVER | NEWS & VIEWS | THE TOWN DANDY January 17, 2008
Theater: Jesus Christ Superstar Jesus Christ Superstar The night lurked, heavy with portent, as a sickly white substance filtered through the theater’s airspace and settled ever so lightly about the seated audience, who breathed in and breathed out. In. Out. The lights were still on, so this was odd: Every particle of mysterious white dust visible to the frightened eye; heaven revealed too soon, too fast. Some entered the packed theater with apprehension: “What is that white stuff?” they asked an usher. The usher replied, “I don’t know. I hope it goes away soon.” Ah, has it been that long? That long since we enjoyed a genuine rock opera starring heaven above and the Lord’s son on Earth, below? With strobe lights (those came later, when the lights were off) and fog effects? Maybe. The audience at the Tuesday night showing of Jesus Christ Superstar — lyricist Tim Rice’s and composer Andrew Lloyd Webber’s famous rock opera, first performed on stage in 1971 and now once again touring the land — leaned on the older side of life, predominantly white-haired and many accompanied by mobility aides. And even the superstar of the show — the amazing, power-screeching Ted Neeley — looked aged (and wise, natch) as he performed perfectly and for the umpteenth time in the role of Jesus. Which is all to say that though the show was as rocktabulous as it ever was and incredibly fun and moving — I saw tears in more than one viewer’s eyes — the age of Neeley (twice that of his character’s) mingled incongruously with the youth of his costars and some of the funkster musicians in the orchestra pit, and with the evergreen story itself. The juxtaposition had the deliciously time-bending, if unintended, effect of making it seem that Jesus himself was up there on stage, having come back at last and then somehow gotten roped into starring as his younger self in this old-school rock opera. He was real. His wisdom was accessible in the lines of his face and the droop of his mouth and the glinty patience in his eyes. His repeated song, “Then I was inspired, now I am sad and tired; it’s been three years, but it seems like 30 years” couldn’t help but have double meaning. It has been 30 years. In light of Neeley-Jesus’ age, the hopeful eagerness and fawning of the pastels-clad, clapping and singing apostles and their women made more sense. The gentle, protective nurturing of Mary Magdalene (a show-stealing Tiffini Dodson, lush in her blatant red dress) came across more as daughterly affection than lover’s possessiveness. And his mixture of love and distrust of Judas (Living Colour’s boisterous, deeply talented Corey Glover) seemed fatherly. Glover, in turn, while himself older than most of the other performers and therefore also mantled with the authority of age, next to Jesus seemed less a doubting friend and more a son betraying his father in one of those massive generation-gap misunderstandings. Helplessly, pulled along by fate and youthful arrogance, he betrays his friend, leader, father-figure — then suffers the death of his idealism and is induced to hang himself by Caiaphas (Darrel Whitney, whose creaky-deep, eerie voice digs into your bones, seeking marrow) and the priests, clothed in black, who have killed Jesus. After the show, out in the strangely mild January night, a gray-haired man said to his gray-haired companions, “I liked the second half better than the first half.” A wag walking past — just a hint of gray at his temples — overheard and muttered, “That’s what people say about the Gospels, too. That’s because there’s more action. Jesus is whipping the money changers, facing Pilate, giving speeches.” Just like us non-kids. Going to the rock opera. In the second half of our lives. Sucking in some danger, exhaling joy and fear and relief and wonder. Simultaneously reliving our youth and preparing our next wise and fiery speeches. Right? — Heidi Walters
As the World Burns spares no shame. Derrick Jensen’s sharply worded satire delivers a litany of reasons — channeled through the dialog of two girls in pigtails and a one-eyed bunny — why our culture’s alienation from the wild is literally paving the way to global destruction. At the core is this: Our ecofriendly aspirations will do nothing whatsoever to save the planet. Jensen, a prolific Crescent City writer and activist, delivers green-washing accusations that skip over the usual suspects (think Wal-Mart’s ‘Go Green’ mantra) and points the finger directly at, well, me and you. That is, those of us who’ve gone solar or switched our light bulbs or like to nudge the words “green,” “sustainable” and “ecofriendly” into everyday conversation, because we really care. His protagonists bite into the futile but self-congratulating efforts of the biodegradable soapmakers, the recycling industry and the Sierra Club-esque environmentalists, among other tepid reformists. There’s even the peaceful yogi character (a meditating NoCal sort of guy, exquisitely drawn by Stephanie McMillan) blissed out in his inner peace while sitting on a tree trunk, ignoring his animal friend’s pleas to please do something. He’s literally sitting on his ass while the world goes to hell. Fans of An Inconvenient Truth will recognize themselves (er, ourselves) unapologetically portrayed by a nameless pigtailed cutie I like to call Little Miss Reform. She’s out to change the world, one unbleached diaper at a time, and she just loves all the save-the-world suggestions at the end of Truth. Yet Little Miss Reform’s sustainability parade is rained on when her fellow pigtailed friend (a.k.a. The Revolutionary) asks, “Did you notice that on the list from the end of that movie, all their suggestions for action have to do with individuals?” “That’s because they’re things you or I could do,” replies Little Miss Reform. “But there was nothing about stopping the governments and corporations that are the main causes of the problems. Did you know that all by itself, Exxon/Mobil has released five percent of all carbon emissions put out by this culture? They’re the real problems, not us.” At another point early on, The Revolutionary despondently sits alone on the page, hugging her knees to her chest and whispering to no one (maybe to you?), “We will go quietly, meekly, to the end of the world, if only you allow us to believe that buying low energy light bulbs will save us.” But, aha! in the next frame she’s back in form, upfront and angry and seriously intent on smashing The State. Mind you, this girl’s in pigtails. The plot does indeed thicken beyond ideological debates. Dams explode, key characters wise up, pets run free, therapists push pills, innocent bunnies get locked in eco-terrorist detention centers, evildoers do evil and the wild animals get really, really mad. There’s also a parallel storyline involving an earth-destroying pact between aliens and politicians, and though this plot device leads us into the climax, overall it distracted from the story’s core. As well, while the “no compromise” philosophy delivers paradigm-shattering excitement (as when a monkeywrenching bunny busts down the vivisectionist’s lab), at times there was the feeling that something ain’t right (as when our protagonists start to kill, kill, kill). But still. Literature like this isn’t lip balm, meant to coat the rough edges with petroleum-based jelly just to soothe our worried souls. As the World Burns wants us to remember there was a time before lip balm, if you’ll imagine, a time when we were wild and uncivilized, when we were free. — Kaci Elder The Wire HBO’s The Wire, now in its fifth and final season, may be the most critically acclaimed television series nobody knows about. In addition to receiving a Peabody award, the police drama has been rated the best in its genre by The New York Times, Entertainment Weekly, TV Guide, TIME, and the Washington Post. If you’re not a Wire fan, you probably think that a truly exceptional TV series wouldn’t be in the Nielsen ratings cellar. The Wire audience has been limited by its soap opera formula, but intricate plot lines aren’t the only thing that has discouraged cable channel surfers. Thematically, the show cuts a little deeper. The Wire is a layered narrative about the messy nexus of criminality, race, class and institutional power, packaged as a police drama. Since 2001, the series has presented a multi-dimensional perspective on issues like the drug trade, the demise of organized labor and the crushing pressures facing public schools. It’s storytelling about individuals, but the impact of societal forces is ever present. This is most evident in the way race and race relations are depicted. With the most nuanced African-American cast in TV land, the principals portray good and not-so-good cops up and down the chain of command, crime kingpins and their minions, politicians and average citizens caught in the crossfire. The relationships between the black and white figures run the gamut from seamless to strained, with some characters barely able to squash their isms long enough to gain or maintain some advantage. Sometimes, class seemingly trumps race as the tie that binds. In season two, barely employed white and black harbor workers have more in common with each other than with the downtown political brokers who hold their livelihoods in the balance. Most Wire characters are motivated by comfortable allegiances, but the most calculating players are instinctively exploitive. In this way, politicians, cops, the business elite and street ballers are interdependent. The savviest criminals covet the path to “legitimate” power and wealth. And the greediest cops and civic leaders are vulnerable to bribery by the so-called bad guys. Corruption is a repeated theme on the show. Cop dramas usually tackle big issues like corruption by having drop-in actors embody the societal evil of the day. Then the show’s regular cast mops up the mess, and closure is guaranteed before the credits roll. On The Wire, it’s the ensemble cast that struggles with personal demons — everything from selfishness and infidelity to alcohol and drug abuse. And then there are the systemic realities that they have little or no control over. To stay relevant, they all make some predestined choices, but only street criminals have the bravado — and cops the authority — to mete out inconsequential violence. The street criminals include guys and gals just trying to pay the rent, social climbers and high functioning sociopaths. Likewise, all of The Wire politicians succumb to politics, but a select few are as morally adrift as the scariest street thugs. Unlike the parade of dead primetime bodies displayed for our TV viewing pleasure, the violence portrayed on The Wire is infrequent but usually happens in real time. And it’s always chilling. Despite the show’s heavy dose of reality, Wire fans are rewarded with a taut narrative, unexpected humor and fleeting moments that capture the breadth of the human condition. Since its inception, The Wire has presented an amazing array of authentic characters to tell stories about people and their relationship to power. The show has managed this without flinching, while using Baltimore as a backdrop to chronicle the decay of American cities. The final season focuses on media politics. If you’re unfamiliar with the show, DVD tutorials (season one through four) offer the path to enlightenment. Skipping the earlier seasons (or individual episodes) is convenient, but if you take this road, all will not be revealed. That’s a promise. — Detria Thompson
ON THE COVER | NEWS & VIEWS | THE TOWN DANDY Comments? Write a letter!
© Copyright 2008, North Coast Journal, Inc. |
As the World Burns: 50 Simple Things You Can Do To Stay in Denial — A Graphic Novel