A Woman Scorned

Entry #14
Work: Japanese Nō Drama
Kinuta -- The Fulling Block

Another wrongful clinging theme: woman, in her clinging to the hurt and hate of abandonment, rages even on the side of death for that which she has lost. The introduction to the play is very helpful, though I don't see how the play could be deemed complete with only the first part, as Tyler indicates is believed by many critics. There is no release without the second part. I think back about Ray Bradbury's advice to the writer: sicken me not without leading me to the ship's rail. Zeami does that when he allows the ghost to face her husband, or vice versa. No one wants to think a spirit is doomed to hell, and by facing her husband, there is a sense of transcendence.

On to the next play...

Till later...

Some fragments of conversation...

Entry #13
Work: Japanese Nō Dramas

Last night, I had the pleasure of speaking with my friend, Delbert, about Japanese Nō (or Noh, as he expresses it). He taught the discipline to drama students and actually went so far as to consider going to Japan himself to more closely experience it.

He characterized the performance as factual for the Japanese -- that when they see a nō character upon the stage, they truly believe they are seeing a ghost of the actual person. He related the meditation state that a shite must find before a performance so that he may truly be in character, become the character. I wish I had taken a tape recorder because, though we were talking first in a cold parking lot and then in a crowded pizza parlor, what I sensed from him was an intensity and a passion about the art that I could not convey with mere words here. I would have to transcribe his comments, as well as his body language in order to do it justice.

If one were to meet Delbert and not know his background, it wouldn't take too long before theater would be the first guess, and it wouldn't have much to do with luck, either. He erupted into spontaneous nō movements several times, and I was struck how closely I could identify them with the film we watched in class. We made a friendly pact to grab tickets if any plays were performed nearby.

One last thing: he mentioned that the intensity of the performance is often too much for the acting student to handle. Likewise, even the audience is deeply affected by it. This I can believe just from the few minutes of viewing in the classroom on a small television with poor sound. I really hope that we can follow through on the pact.

On to the rest of the plays, which we will be discussing on Tuesday...

Till later...

Two days of Reading, Finally Posted

I'm playing catch-up on actually posting my posts:

18 February 2007
Entry #11
Work: Japanese Nō Dramas

Plays/Pages Assigned for First Class:
General Introduction
Funa Benkei -- Benkei Aboard Ship
Kantan
Matsukaze -- Pining Wind

The introduction to Japanese Nō Dramas is a little confusing to follow, most likely because of the Japanese names and terms and necessary historical information included. My eyes tend to skim across those hard syllables requiring that I do a lot of back peddling when I realize that in order to understand a term further along in the text, I need to have absorbed one that came before.

My inner rebel soon reared her head when I read the line (under "Discussion of theme and meaning"), "Although nō plays are works of art, not religious or poetic treatises, they evoke important religious or poetic themes" (5). My instinct tells me that what is called art (the aesthetic--beauty, wonder and awe for its own sake) is essentially the same though occurring on a higher plane than that which is called religion, and that which is called poetry can exist on either plane. But that's just me pitching a fit before getting started.

My second resistance to nō is the small corner that women occupy in the discipline. Again, it's my own rebellion.

As a writer, I was intrigued by the description of "Persons speaking for one another; inconsistencies of grammatical person" as a narrative technique. I imagine a masked face with lips that do not move, disembodied voice coming from somewhere else. Or a half-mad actor, speaking of himself as he acts. The effect must have been extraordinarily eerie.

(Added later:)
*Dr. McCarthy explained in a later class that this can sometimes occur because a character is involved in a dance and require that the chorus or another person speak for him or her, though now I will say, after having read a number of the plays, that it is a little unnerving to hear a speaker suddenly begin speaking in the third person. My youngest son does that--he even has a myspace profile as "the3rdperson"--and if it will heighten the drama at the dinner table, I would imagine, masked & in elaborate dress, it would most definitely be effectively dramatic on the stage.*

In the play, Benkei Aboard Ship, I don't quite understand the power that Benkei seems to have over Yoshitsune. Yoshitsune is played by a kokata, as the introduction explains, portraying him as small and perhaps vulnerable. He allows Benkei to make the decision (attributed to him) to turn back Shizuka, his lover, who is very passionate in her love and desire to remain with Yoshitsune. But Yoshitsune and Shizuka never come together to discuss the news delivered by Benkei. He is the liaison throughout. I'm not sure if this dispatching of Shizuku is too trivial a matter for him to handle (She obviously thinks it's a big deal) or that his faithful servant is more wise in these matters (though too humble or knows his place too well to admit responsibility in the decision).

He surely lacks no power of decision in the second part as he slays the evil spirit of Tomomori. His chorus proclaims him "wholly untroubled"(94), and he has asked, "what harm could [evil spirits] possibly do?" (93) How the first part and the second part relate to each other, I'm not quite sure. Perhaps it is a testament to Benkei's wisdom that a woman should not have been present at such a violent moment, though Yoshistune seemed to have the situation in hand.

Kantan offered a bit more meat--in my opinion. To sleep on the magic pillow, to see that a life of riches and power pass away as though in a dream ("frittered away") and to be satisfied that he has seen what he came to see and can now return home is more of an answer than many who seek ever find. Oh, to have such a pillow!

I do question one thing, however. In his first speech, Rosei says, "Kantan, once simply a name,/lies before me, for I have arrived" (135), and I must wonder if "lies" is one of the pivot words that are mentioned in the introduction. Is what he sees in his dream upon the pillow a lie? Or is his journey a lie? His aspirations? *I will have to remember to ask Delbert or Dr. McCarthy about this.

Pining Wind is sad as hell. I can feel the dampness of saltwater-soaked and tear-stained sleeves. It seems the sun never shines on the shores of Suma, or it didn't in my imagination in the time it took me to read and reflect on the play. The music is sad (in my imagination), the beach is cold, and the landscape is dreary. Again, my rebellious inner child rears her head while reading the introduction and Tyler states, authoritatively, that "[Pining Wind's] yearing for Yukihira has nothing to do with transcendence. It is the quintessence of human love" (189). Perhaps this is true, but I prefer to interpret in my own way, from my own experience.

(Added later:)
*After speaking to Dr. McCarthy and spending some more time in reflection (in a non-rebellious state), I have come to agree with Tyler, though I think it's all the more reason to deem this a horribly depressing play. Love stinks and all that--and one who has spiritual aspirations, who desires transcendence and persists in clinging to the past, to that which is lost, is horribly stuck. And that may very well be why it's called "the human condition."

*sigh**

Till later...


21 February 2007
Entry #12
Work: Japanese Nō Dramas

Plays Assigned for Second Class:
Atsumori
Aya no tsuzumi -- The Damask Drum
Chikubu-shima
Sumida-gawa -- The Sumida River

I'm tired, so I will save any long commentary for later.

Again, though I know that Japan is a beautiful country, I have a cold feeling as I read these plays. They have a very spare feeling. Perhaps it's just the art form. Perhaps its the culture or the time.

Atsumori is another lonely play. Boy, left behind, retrieving his beloved flute, and big bad barbarian warrior strikes him down, sees the brutality of his actions (I can almost see Frankenstein carrying the poor, drowned little girl), and in repentence, changes his name and devotes his life to helping the spirit find freedom. The boy, attached to the flute. The man, attached to his guilt. The two of them at the end, cleaving unto each other, a yin and yang and a perfect balance for each other. So, even though a young boy is beheaded (after all, it was an act of mercy, as Kumagai did not trust the other murderous warriors to accept the responsibility for the spirit of Atsumori), a happy ending was received by all!

The Damask Drum got under my skin. Problems on both sides: The Old Man, so foolish to think that he could recieve the love of the Consort, and the Consort, so insensitive to the feelings of a foolish old man to hang a drum that she knew would not require her to fulfill her promise. He learned the hard lesson of being made a fool, and she learned the rath of a vengeful spirit scorned. Possession, whether by infatuation or by that of the self, closes one off from the spirit and invites sorrow.

I like the role of woman in Chikubu-shima, even in the knowledge that women probably came nowhere near a production of the play. They are still treated with reverence, and that sits well with me. And the treasures--if I understand rightly, they are comprised of a key, a rosary and a bamboo tree. They are spiritual and symbolic treasures, much like the painted pine on the back of the stage. And I like that.

I could say much about The Sumida River, but it seems that much has already been said about it from reading the introduction. The grief of the mother, as she realizes that the child under the mound is her own, is wrenching. The tension is palpable. My heart felt broken along with hers as I read.

While reading the play itself, I was wishing that I knew more about Japanese poetry. I most enjoyed the chanting at the end and could hear it resonating in my mind as the final scene came to a close. Though it is not clear that the mother has found peace at the end--after all, she has had but a moment to feel the hope turned into grief--I found myself praying that she had.

Till later...

Comedy in The Frogs

Entry #10
Work: The Frogs by Aristophanes

Just some random thoughts on The Frogs...

I've thought about the interaction between Xanthias and Dionysus. There were elements that felt familiar to me, and not until I was drifting off to sleep last night did it occur to me what they were.

Their relationship is a common theme in cinematic comedy. It's the "smart butler, dumb master" bit. The example that springs to mind is the butler, Dobson (played by John Gielgud) and Dudley Moore in Arthur. There are variations which mimic this dynamic more closely where the servant is the trickster or the true master of cynicism, but Arthur will do just fine. Dobson is obviously more intelligent than the man he serves. It begs the question -- how does a god such as Dionysus find himself so often the foolish one?

Also, the clothing switch when they arrive at the inn is reminiscent of a Marx Brothers skit. Or a Three Stooges skit. Or some other vaudeville slap-stick comedy. One just knows, in the reading, that this identity shift is not going to benefit Dionysus. He's portrayed as such a buffoon that it must turn out badly.

As I said, random thoughts. "Turning the tables" seems to be the primary comedic device in The Frogs, and though it is humorous, I have to say that after reading first The Bacchae, I must say I felt sorry for the treatment of Euripides by Aristophanes.

That being said, I'm happy that I'm finally beginning to place these Greek authors into a historical context.

Till later...

Finally, some thoughts on The Frogs

Entry #9
Work: The Frogs - Aristophanes

I have been remiss in not making entries as I read, and then a virus kept me from even looking at a computer screen long enough to make an entry. Hopefully, I will be able to make up in quality what I lack in quantity.

I’ve found The Frogs to be the most difficult reading so far in this course. I have found much humor in it (though I won’t pretend to understand all of it), have only a vague grasp of what it's trying to say, and in the end, I don’t know that I could adequately offer a synopsis. One of the most interesting things, in my opinion, is its similarities to a comparative retrospective study of two writers of the past (at the time of Aristophanes’s writing, that is) that very well could have been written in modern times.

As I said, I found this to be the most difficult reading thus far. I don’t know if it’s the comedic element that is distracting or the references to works with which I’m not familiar, but it was difficult. Having said what didn’t work for me, I’ll try to tackle now the elements that have made an impression of the favorable or at least familiar sort.

First, the humor struck me as British—Monty Pythonesque, if you will. I’ve always felt that the Brits were more cultured (generally) in some ways that we Americans, so perhaps those feelings spring not from complete ignorance. Correction: perhaps my impressions are based upon good instincts. I have no real knowledge of the education of the British.

Second, and also regarding the humor, at one point I had to wonder if Arlo Guthrie had a classical education (and I will, at some point, investigate to find out for sure). As I read the lines:

“When Euripides came down, he showed off
to the clothes-grabbers, to the
purse-snatchers,
the father-killers, the house-breakers—“
(771-73)

I couldn’t help but think of Alice’s Restaurant. All that was missing was “veins in my teeth,” though if Aeacus, the gatekeeper’s rant is considered, I suppose that the sentiment was present.

As I said, I don’t exactly understand the social significance of the play, and I do find it strange, though not unreasonable, for one to wish that the talent of a deceased artist to return and carry on. In contemporary times, I think of James Dean, Jim Morrison (by virtue of his poetry rather than his eccentric rock and roll presence), Sylvia Plath, Pigpen from the Grateful Dead, Hank Williams, John Belushi, Stevie Ray Vaughn…I could go on. And on and on. All died young, all were incredibly talented in their respective disciplines, and many, I’m sure (myself included) would love to have seen how their talents would have developed. But those disciplines were not left barren. There were others to pick up the torch. Knowing nothing about the climate for artists in the time of Aristophanes, it may be perfectly reasonable for him to send Dionysus on a quest for “a skillful poet.” As Heracles grills him about those above ground, he has an argument for each and why they do not meet his needs (or wants). I suppose it tells me that art is important enough in the times to seek out at all costs, even if it requires a trip into Hades to get it.

I’m told that I missed a good lecture on the context of the humor on Thursday. I’m hoping that someone saw fit to take notes (not my strong suit). I’m not confidant about a quiz on this work, if only because it took me in so many different directions, I’m not sure I have a true understanding of the events. Before test time, I will need to have a re-read, but for this evening, commentary on what I think I understand is enough of a challenge!

Till later…

Reconciliation

Entry #8
Work: The Bacchae

I've titled this entry "Reconciliation" because I find myself having to reconcile my first impressions of a work with the time or culture in or perspective from which it was written. It happens all the time. I am angry with or disgusted by characters in a book or play, and eventually, I'm able to find some empathy for them. Most of the time, anyway.

I'm trying to do that with The Bacchae.

I have said earlier that I found it difficult to be sympathetic with either side or even have the ability to discriminate between the white hats and the black hats. Pentheus seems to me to be a controlling egomaniac and Dionysos, a vindictive, punishing god. There is no balance between structure (Pentheus) and freedom (Dionysos). And perhaps that's the point.

I brought it up in class today. Dr. McCarthy made a comment while I was searching for a line, and I didn't catch all of it. He was suggesting the causes of alcoholism, or a higher prevailence of alcoholism in certain cultures, and I'm not quite sure what point he was making (because of my searching, not because of his lack of clarity). I would suggest that repression by human forces, the rejection of the spiritual and the absence of outlets of creative expression could contribute to what I've come to believe is the spiritual void that underlies alcoholism. That, combined with opportunity (availablility of alcohol or drugs) and a predisposition (the physical compulsion/craving and inability to metabolize alcohol in a "normal" way) makes alcoholism almost sure to manifest in a person. Any of the first and last, and it's still very likely.

I strayed from my point, which is that Tieresias' refutation of Pentheus' claim that the booze made the broads loose--as they would be loose only if they were prone to being loose, a claim with which I'm not in total agreement--got me thinking about the "main" characters of Prometheus and Dionysos and my inability to find a good guy in either of them. I believe I was looking in the wrong place, as I was looking for a black and white, and the answer was in the grey--more specifically, and quite literally, in Tieresias. He's the old prophet. He's the one who's been around since before Dionysos and Prometheus were born. He's seen the race of warriors spring forth from a crop of dragon's teeth. He watched as Semele's reputation was defiled as she carried, then was martyred for the union of human and god. That's what we're really looking for here--a union. Not a divide. Prometheus is all "establishment" and Dionysos attempts to be all "god." Semele was the one who had both blended within her, and Tieresias sees the wisdom of that.

There are holes in that thesis, I know, but given enough time, I'm sure I could purge them. Dionysos is a character, that's for sure: part human, part god, and pissed off. His mother killed by his step-mother, his father having to hide his illegitimate spawn--if that's not a timeless story, I don't know what is. Just cruise any grocery store checkout line, and the tale is told over and over in the tabloids.

I'll chew on it some more.

Till later...