Only One More Sleep Until Italy!!

Hi, everybody!  Only one day to go - tomorrow I leave for my long-planned, long-desired trip back to Italy!  I will most likely be on radio silence for quite a while, though I may try to post one photo while I'm there, if my iPhone and the villa's wi-fi cooperates.  We'll just have to see.  I present for you a photo from my last trip to Italy - even though I'm not returning to this island, I'm guessing the joy I felt there will follow me throughout Italy...

Tornerò presto.

Quick Trip to Nashville

Last weekend, I made a quick trip for work to Nashville.  I've never been to Nashville before, so I wish we would've been there longer so I could've seen at least some of the sights.  But flying in on Friday night and leaving early Sunday morning doesn't really leave a lot of time to sightseeing.  Our work event on Saturday went swimmingly, which is great, and at least I got to walk through a farmers market and shopped in a cute little shop near the work event space.  And I also got to have drinks with an old college friend. Next time, I must stay long enough to tour the Grand Ole Opry at the very least.  But enjoy some photos I took while I was there...

the line just to be dropped off at the airport was ridiculous

tasty barbecue, but I'll be honest - the pork needed a little more seasoning

hello, there was a replica of the Parthenon across the street from our hotel

of course I made my boss drive us over there

everywhere we wanted to eat had a long line

so we ended up here

I couldn't decide what I wanted, so I just got it all

unexpected stop for soft serve

the weather was gorgeous, so I took a little walk to the farmers market

a farmers market with a lobster food truck in front

too early

teaching a quick course

looks like Noshville got their bagels in the Bronx

Review - Master Harold...and the boys

I believe I've stated repeatedly how much I enjoy the plays of Athol Fugard - I find his work incredibly powerful.  I saw his entire legacy season at Signature (a review of just one of the plays is HERE ), and I've been waiting anxiously for this revival of maybe his best-known play, Master Harold...and the boys. I'm so glad I got to see it (spoiler alert: unsurprisingly, I loved it), but it seemed particularly timely to see the show last night with all of the horrible race awfulness that's going on in this country right now.  I couldn't imagine I would cry more than I normally would at a Fugard play, but of course I did.

Master Harold...and the boys depicts a seemingly normal afternoon in the life of a teenaged white boy in South Africa alongside two black men who work for his family.  At first, you think this is a day like any other day - the boy comes in from school, he has a snack, he talks to the employees, they have a friendly rapport, they discuss schoolwork, life, complex topics.  You can see the warm and familiar relationship they have with each other, especially the boy, Hally, and the older of the employees, Sam.  They have a terrific rapport - the scene between them about 'men of magnitude' is simply spectacular. But, every now and then, a bit of racist/classist commentary sneaks into Hally's words. We the audience may be stricken, Sam simply smiles and moves on.

But when Hally gets a phone call from his mother that his alcoholic father will be coming home from the hospital, all internal hell breaks loose.  This seemingly affable boy becomes more than a sullen teenager, he becomes the young personification of racism and hate.  It is brutally hard to watch, before, during and after Hally lashes out at Sam.  The anger, horror, sadness, fear, regret, on ALL the characters' faces, is truly heartbreaking and terrifying at the same time.  It's theatrically wonderful how the air is completely sucked out of the room and your heart breaks for the relationships that have been forever changed.

The acting is superlative - all three performers are truly at the top of their game and they complement each other beautifully. Leon Addison Brown may be the first among equals, though, as Sam.  He finds so many layers of dignity, innate intelligence, empathy and finally quiet rage and a struggle to forgive, it's spectacular to see.  I had forgotten that this play is autobiographical (I'll talk more about that later) and it's clear that Fugard has written Sam as a plea for forgiveness.  Basically writing about yourself and insidiousness of institutional racism is a powerful thing to do, and Fugard is masterful in getting that below the surface throughout Master Harold...and the boys, but we're still completely shocked and horrified when it bubbles up to the top. I knew what was coming, having seen the play before, but that doesn't mean I was prepared for how I felt. Again, the tragedy of apartheid is here mixed with the terrible race relations in this country at this moment in time - it was particularly harrowing.  At least to me.

photo credit: Richard Termine

Seat neighbor-wise, the group in the row behind me came in late, with all their rustling bags.  Then they left early.  With all their rustling bags.  They were extremely rude.  The gal sitting next to me braided her hair during the entire show.  THE ENTIRE SHOW.  I guess I should be grateful she didn't leave as well. Everyone else in the house, though, seemed very engaged and there were quite a lot of gasps throughout.  A good portion of the audience stayed for the talkback afterwards, which was nice to see.  We could probably still be there, with all the questions that the moderator never got to.

I found the talkback to be fascinating.  The first question by the moderator was a bit crazy - he asked the two actors who participated if they felt doing this play after the election was even harder than before.  One of the actors gave a beautifully eloquent response that made me cry in the moment, but of course I can't remember specifics. Actually, most of the actors' answers made me cry.  I've enjoyed Master Harold...and the boys for years and, as I said above, I never really acknowledged to myself that it was autobiographical.  When the actors were describing what really happened in Fugard's life that triggered the show and how the inciting incident really played out, I was heartbroken.  But there was still a bit of a ray of hope - out of this awful, ignorant, racist incident grew a man committed to ending the racism in his country.  He endured being exiled from his homeland, yet still persevered, detailing the horrors he had witnessed and he (and his plays) must have played a part in the abolishing of apartheid.  An artist and his art did that.  Our artists must be even more committed moving forward to fight the ugliness and hate that's taking over our country right now.  Afterwards, on my way to the subway, I even saw a homeless person, asking for money with a sign that said "Donald Trump won the election, I need money to get out of the country."  I mean, come on.  This must be stopped.  I call on artists to stop it.  Athol Fugard's plays, always welcome, are now even more urgently needed than before.  Please go see this production.

The Morning After the Morning After

So...I'm still rather wallowing in despair.  I haven't had my ugly cry yet, but I know it's coming.  I feel tired and sick to my stomach and my long-suppressed migraines are returning.  I can't understand how a country supposedly built on 'all men are created equal' can elect someone who is such a racist, a misogynist, a xenophobe, a homophobe, an anti-intellectual and a divider.  How WOMEN could vote for such a horrible man, a man who speaks about his daughter in sexual terms, a man who is proud of the fact that he can be a sexual aggressor and not be criticized for it.

Actually, the saddest part is I CAN understand it.  In a way.  I can just see my relatives, those who disagree with me on everything, not just politics, who are gleeful at this moment, crowing at their victory and thinking that justice has prevailed. What I want to say to them (and we'll see if I have to when I go home for the holidays) is 'Congratulations.  You have been so threatened and so horrified to watch this country succeed under the leadership of a black man that you were bound and determined to get a white man into office, never mind that he is the worst white man on the face of this planet.  I hope you're proud of yourselves.'  

And they will be.  They'll never understand my despair, my fear, my outrage.  They will never think about anyone other than themselves.  They'll wrap themselves in their whiteness and in their bibles, while at the same time daily, continually, breaking the Golden Rule. They will never comprehend that people I know, people I respect, people I love are in danger in the supposed 'land of the free, home of the brave.'  Their own white privilege matters more than the civil rights of anyone else.  How will I be able to look them in the eye the next time I go home?  That makes me cry almost as much as everything else.  Normally, we can agree to disagree, but this goes so much deeper than that.  Their votes have completely repudiated nearly everything I stand for.

The hatred that has been unleashed is truly terrifying.  It has only been two days since the election and already there are reports of Muslim women having their head scarves forcibly torn from their heads, of people yelling the N-word and telling people of color to 'get out, go back to where you came from.'  Of swastikas painted on buildings at schools. There are reports of transgender teens committing suicide because they're so afraid.  As a straight, white woman, I know my privilege can shield me up to a certain point, but when the President of the United States talks about grabbing any woman by the p*ssy and there are no real consequences for that, more and more men will consider it their right to grab women wherever and whenever they want.  Because they think that's what powerful men do and they know they can get away with it.

I see evil.  I see pain.  I'm having a hard time seeing onto the other side of it.  I guess my trip to Italy is coming at just the right time.  While I'm there, I'll hopefully be able to disconnect from the nastiness back home and revel in the beauty and splendor of my surroundings, and in spending time with my dear ones. Staying in Italy has repeatedly crossed my mind, though that's completely unrealistic and will never happen.  Intellectually, I know that my work, my family (well, those of whom I can still look in the eyes), my friends, and my art, will get me through, but at the moment - the light seems so far away.

ABT 2016 Fall Season - Monotones, Symphonic Variations, Daphnis & Chloe

In the interest of trying to save a little bit of money to take with me to Italy (only ten days before blastoff!), I only made it to one afternoon of ABT's fall season at the Koch Theater, and it was an uneven one, but I enjoyed myself nonetheless.  I enjoyed some fall weather scenery, and I wandered around the theater to get some photos (you'll see some at the bottom).  I was tickled by the ushers and seat neighbors (more on them later) and I did really enjoy the first two pieces of the afternoon.  The last piece...not so much. But maybe I need to see it again to understand it...

photo credit: Marty Sohl

I was up in the third ring, in an aisle seat off to the left side.  It was an excellent seat to see all the action, along with all of the terrific lighting design.  First up was a piece I saw, and adored, last fall - Monotones I and II, choreographed by Frederick Ashton to music by Erik Satie. When I see this piece, I think of the quote attributed to Balanchine (badly paraphrased by me): you should hear the steps and see the music in ballet.  I definitely do see the music when I watch Monotones.  The first portion is two women and one man, in light green unitards with beanie-type hats, that make them all look rather otherworldly. They move in unison throughout space with such grace and control, it made me hold my breath.  There is such power and delicacy in each step, beautifully moving through space and time in perfect unison.  In the second portion, we see two men and one woman, whose body is manipulated through extensions and incredible lifts.  They're wearing the same unitard/beanie combo, only their outfits are white.  There's such a wonderful, ethereal quality to this ballet, as if it happens throughout eternity, in all time and all space.  Such loveliness.  

(not the cast I saw)

The second piece was another choreographed-by-Frederick Ashton ballet: Symphonic Variations, with music by Cesar Franck.  I didn't know this ballet or this music at all, so it was a gorgeous surprise to me.  There were six dancers, all onstage throughout the ballet, three men, three women, all artfully placed geometrically in the theater space.  At first, the ladies were dancing alone, with the gentlemen all standing quietly. Then, one man started to dance, first alone, then with one lady, two ladies, then all three.  The use of quick steps then total stillness, as if we're all always observing someone, was lovely. Again, it was beautiful movement through space, no story, per se, but you still felt a sense of the relationships between the movement.  The main duo was Devon Teuscher and James Whiteside and they were fantastic.  Beautifully matched and oh so powerfully delicate.  Skylar Brandt was also sparkling and terrific, as her usual. Apparently, ABT hasn't done this piece in about ten years - I hope they bring it back soon. 

photo credit: Agathe Poupeney (not the cast I saw)

After an intermission, the third piece of the evening commenced. It was an ABT premiere of a new Benjamin Millepied ballet, Daphnis and Chloe, with music by Ravel.  Ravel apparently wrote the music to be done as a ballet, but I'm not quite sure this is the most successful treatment of the music.  The dancing was quite nice, but it was so diffused, I never knew which way to look. People were running back and forth, and there were oddly colored geometric shapes that kept flying in and out of the piece.  I don't know, maybe this was a little too busy, and a little too long, for me.  Every time I thought, 'oh, that's a pleasant pas de deux for Daphnis and Chloe, it must be near the end,' there would be another one.  There were at least three endings, in my opinion.  Oddly, I got a little offended that the gentlemen all had different costumes, so we could tell them apart, but all the women had on the same style dress through the first third of the ballet.  We weren't supposed to be able to tell the women apart?  I don't know.  Stella Abrera was her usual-lovely self as Chloe, but I didn't get to see her do much herself that wasn't in relation to what the men were doing. I guess this ballet would not pass the Bechdel Test, though I guess Cassandra Trenery, as the temptress, did have some nice solo work.  There goes that theory of mine.  : )

Maybe I just didn't get it, which is always possible.  I don't think I'd rush to see this ballet again, but if it were on a program with other pieces I like, I'd be willing to give it another shot.  I did enjoy the music, and I also enjoyed the chorale passages. And the dancing WAS pretty, it just didn't make sense to me, so maybe that's just on me.  Going back to the beginning of the program, the ushers were just not taking ANY guff from anyone. One usher would not let a gent in without a ticket - he kept trying to push his way in and she wasn't having it.  They also threw out a young person who refused to turn off their phone and stop texting once the program started. Hurray for the ushers.  There was a trio in front of me - the woman in the center kept talking to the person on her right, then the person on her left.  Finally, the man on her left (her husband?  I couldn't tell) just leaned away from her so she would leave him alone.  The woman next to me was so excited to be seeing ballet again (she said she'd been living in Ft Worth and hadn't seen ballet in awhile).  I guess she didn't stay that happy, since she left before the last piece was even over.  And there was someone in front of me, to the left, who apparently knew all the music, because they were humming along, a little too loudly (I mean, if I could hear it...).  God love a Sunday matinee.  I just got my new ABT season brochure in the mail, so I can't wait to pick and choose which wonderments I get to experience next spring.  Hopefully, after I get back from Italy, I'll still be able to afford the tickets...