Reviews - hypnagogicfun

Quiet Dignity

John Williams‘ Stoner is a novel well worth time and consideration. Originally published in 1965, the book was well-reviewed but far from a best-seller. After falling out of print it was reissued in 2003 and has been steadily gathering attention, praise, and sales. A gift from an English department colleague, it is a book for writers and academics. It is not a flashy book. Stoner lingers, its quiet simplicity raising very hard questions.

The plot is biographical. A lifelong academic, Stoner, enters the University of Missouri as a student and becomes an English professor there, teaching until his death. The product of poor, taciturn farmers, Stoner’s life is quiet and marked by frustrations, some realized, others just endured. He has an unhappy marriage, a difficult relationship with his daughter, and a brief affair that gives him a window to passion and joy. Williams treats Stoner with dignity.

Passive in many areas, life happens to Stoner. He is not a planner. What marks Stoner’s existence is his teaching and his connection to literature. It is, in many ways, a novel about the life of an academic teacher. In sketching out that existence, Williams expertly highlights the petty cruelties and the culture of constraint that accompanies life as a professor. There are few victories and more defeats. The steady toil of class after class, semester after semester, is reminiscent of the cadence of farm life and its steady, unyielding demands. Unflinchingly honest, Stoner paints a grim picture.

The beauty of the book comes from its prose. It is deliberate without being fussy, crafted like a small intricate box without screws, nails, or glue. It coheres and shines, even as the arc of Stoner’s career and life shrink.

David Potash

June 16, 2014 Reviews

Transcendent Crew

As a young man confused about the sputtering direction of my career, I was granted a meeting with a very successful senior human resources manager. The interview took place in a luxuriously appointed mid-town New York office building. Wise and patient – and probably briefed by a family friend, the HR professional began the meeting by asking a provocative question. Many of us, she said, can think of a time in our lives when we were at one with the world. A time when cares faded away and we had a sense of something special, something magical taking place. She asked if I could describe such a time.

The question caught me off-guard. I was expecting a conversation about skills, jobs, and ambition. I paused, gathered my thoughts, and a relatively recent experience came to mind. I rowed while in graduate school and I thought of a particularly outstanding race. My boat was “in the bubble” and the feeling was powerful. There was no real awareness of crowd or noise or competition. The eight of us, along with our cox, were tremendously synchronized and boat felt as though it was rising out of the water. All of us were very much locked in even with an absolutely intense effort. It was a very special few minutes, made possible by months and months of work.

Rowing is a team sport that demands complete coordination. The slightest variation in stroke or movement costs. Perfect alignment is impossible and an ever more distant as fatigue sets in. It is exhausting and painful. And very rewarding. Rowing resonated with me. The HR professional smiled as I recounted the story, nodding and looking at me seriously. Once I finished she told me that such experiences are windows into who we are as people. They tell us what really resonates with us and give us clues about our values and where we will be happier and most at ease. Her question was not about career; it was about self.

My special moment, I learned, spoke to my competitive nature, my belief in teamwork, and my enthusiasm for hard work. All of this and much more came flooding back when reading The Boys In The Boat by Daniel James Brown. The story of the US boat that won the 1936 Olympics, Brown’s book is beautifully written and intensely compelling. It tells of a time when amateurism was real and character seemed to matter. With the evils of World War II hanging over the story, Brown deftly moves from person to team to institution to broader social forces – and back again.

The story of the University of Washington’s varsity crew’s rise to Olympic champion is well-known in rowing circles. What Brown brings to the table is a keen eye for detail and a perspective – the story of one of the oarsmen, Joe Rantz – who overcame emotional and financial hardship. Cast out by his family in the depths of the Great Depression, Rantz found a calling in crew. It was his ticket to an education and it turned out to be much, much more. He struggled, as did many of his teammates, and found success and strength in teamwork. Working class and in many ways representative of American character and grit, the University of Washington crew found many transcendent moments on the water and with each other.

Brown weaves a full cast of characters in the tale. Leni Riefenstahl, Hitler’s cinematographer and public relations genius, shares the stage with George Pocock, an English immigrant to the west coast of America. Pocock was an outstanding waterman and a genius in the manufacture of racing shells. It is a well-paced book and the drama is cinematic. The book has been optioned, too, and may be made into a motion picture.

Like Seabiscuit, another Depression era tale of a gritty underdog achieving victory, The Boys in the Boat is highly entertaining history with a happy ending. Sometimes you cannot ask for anything more.

David Potash

June 15, 2014 Reviews

At The Intersection of Science and Journalism is Humanity

Rebecca Skloot’s The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is more than a non-fiction work of science and journalism – it is a cultural phenomenon. Showered with praise when first published in 2010, The Immortal Life remains a best seller lists. It is read in high schools and colleges, in reading groups and in families. Millions of copies have been sold and it is reputed to be one of the most popular choices as a common reader in first year groups at college.

Skloot’s subject is Henrietta Lacks, the cancer cells that came from her and have been harvested and continue to grow today, and Skloot’s efforts to meet and understand Lacks’ family. Tightly structured and extremely well-written, the book moves briskly, raises important questions, and crosses genres and fields of study with clarity of purpose and direction. It is a gripping read.

Lacks, a poor black women with five children, sought medical help from Johns Hopkins Medical Center in 1951. Lacks was suffering from cervical cancer that would soon kill her. Doctors at Johns Hopkins took a sample of the tumor and without Lacks’ knowledge or consent, harvested the cancer cells for research. The cells grew and replicated at an amazing rate. The cell strain, known as HeLa, were shared freely and readily with other scientists. Many important discoveries were made possible because of HeLa cells, and they continue to be used today.

The history of Lacks’ life and the science of HeLa are both interesting. What makes the book compelling is the collision of the two worlds as experienced by Skloot and the Lacks family. The differences in culture, education, opportunity and world views are extreme but not unbridgeable. Skloot is a determined researcher and she brings to her task the deep curiosity of a journalist. Her questions matter and over time, her commitment enables communication and sharing from Lacks’ family.

From the family’s perspective, Henrietta’s death was a severe loss. Her children in many ways never recovered. Constrained by racism and poverty, the Lacks’ family struggled with some successes and some failures. Little was shared in helpful or systematic ways from the white medical establishment about HeLa. Until the work of Skloot and others, distrust best characterized the family’s relationship with modern science.

Skloot is careful not to present herself as a hero. She does not pretend to have all the answers. She explains and describes. In doing so honestly, she does Henrietta Lacks and her family a great service. Despite their differences, Skloot is a friend to the family and in particular, to Deborah Lacks, Henrietta’s daughter.

In striking that tone and in living up to her values, Skloot’s book transcends science, journalism, and history to be something more. The Immortal Life gives us an opportunity to see how antimonies can be bridged: death and immortality, science and faith, white and black, rich and poor. At its essence, it is a book of hope. And it is that belief that opposites can be resolved that will ensure many more future readers.

David Potash

May 12, 2014 Reviews

Repaving the Road to Charity

The Road to HELP: The Revolution in Charity, Philanthropy and International Development is a clear-eyed critique of the twenty-first century international charity/aid industry, an enormous cultural and political phenomenon that it is difficult to define. The book is also a memoir of work in the aid field, told with wisdom, perspective, and a bit of romance. Taken together, HELP is a plea to be aware of the very deep challenges that come with the idea of doing good elsewhere in the world. It is an interesting and troubling book that raises more questions than it answers.

Author Miles Wortmann, a seasoned participant in the world of international development, makes a compelling argument that the business of giving has changed profoundly in recent years. He draws attention to a “religindustry” that has been fed by tremendous private wealth and reshaped and restructured by business and management consultancy. Charting the interconnected growth of simple focused charities into an enormous sector combining celebrity, megawealth, foundations, and professional expertise. HELP is a contemporary cultural and economic leviathan.

Wortmann worries that the massive foundations may overwhelm democratic processes. Their great wealth and freedom to function without democratic or public accountability enhances their power. They also limit the effectiveness of government by supplanting public good. Wortmann argues that big philanthropy crowds out effective public and government action. The foundations may issue report after report, have initiative after initiative, but see little long-term gain. Wortmann believes that data and history prove that meaningful improvement for the world’s poor comes from the steady development of local culture, systems, and government. In other words, the best path for the poor is often through the development of their own public agency and systems. Wortmann offers this critique while also acknowledging that big philanthropy does have successes, employs many well-meaning people, and often does strive to make the world a better place.

Of great concern to Wortmann is the commercialization and commodification of charity. He bristles at campaigns that reduce complex problems to marketing slogans. From ending world hunger to finding a cure to this or that disease, we are awash in private foundations calling for support to address public problems. Even more galling to Wortmann is the place of moral privilege granted to foundations. Questioning their campaigns comes with great risk. To not support an effort is to deny the impulse to do good.

Wortmann’s experience grants him awareness of how big philanthropy operates from within the system. He tells of meetings, consultations, trips and endless reports. The picture he paints is one of meaningless acronyms, large sums of money, and a weird admixture of high-level morality and deep cynicism. It must be an extremely frustrating way to try to effect meaningful change in poor parts of the world.

Some describe hypocrisy as the tribute that vice pays virtue. I wonder if HELP, Wortmann’s mega-religindustry, is the tribute that free market capitalism pays to morality. Wortmann’s book outlines a problem that is well worth time and consideration.

David Potash

May 4, 2014 Reviews, Things someone who grew up in NJ might write

Aerotropoli – A Glorious Future, Now Please Remove Your Shoes

Air travel in the 1960s was different from today. I remember going with my mother and grandmother to pick up my grandfather, an executive for the Continental Can Corporation, from LaGuardia and Newark airports. Terminals had polished floors, dramatic lighting, and viewing pavilions to see the planes taxiing, taking off, and landing. One dressed up to travel by air. I thought that air travel was very exotic and I remember my first flight. The food was good and the cutlery was metal. Over the decades Newark’s airport has expanded dramatically, as has the nearby container shipping and the highways.The piers of New York City, which I also visited as a child, are no longer part of the picture. What remains is a massive transportation hub, the economic engine that keeps much of the greater metropolitan area working. Three overtaxed airports serve New York City and none of them make a positive impression. Air travel lost its glamour years ago, but it remains a sure way of distinguishing the haves from the have-nots.

John D. Kasarda and Greg Lindsay, authors of Aerotropolis: The Way We’ll Live Next, argue that airports play an outsize role in economic growth, particularly urban economic growth, and that their importance will continue to increase for the foreseeable future. It is a sprawling, messy book, filled with gems and a meandering structure that makes finding those nuggets something of a challenge. Their overarching claim that the future of cities is the airport is not convincing. Nonetheless, if you are interested in urban growth and economic development, it is a book worth considering. Airports, they persuasively claim, are central to our 21st century global economy.

The authors emphasize that airports serve markets, not cities or people. Markets are what make for successful airports. In serving those markets well, airports profit their surrounding areas and enable all manner of innovation and opportunity. What makes this happen – and happen so quickly – is that in our global economy distance is measured not by miles, but by time and cost. It is a different way of conceptualizing connectivity. Time most definitely can equal money. Kasarda and Lindsay offer multiple examples of regular commutes of hundreds of miles. Air travel not only makes them possible but efficient. Further, the growing digital connectivity of people has a constant consequence: people who communicate with each other electronically have a heightened desire to see each other face to face. We all want to see our video-conferenced partners and Facebook friends for real. It makes sense, too, for our networks, no matter how technological, are still about people communicating with people.

The book chronicles urban and airport development around the world in short chapters and vignettes, highlighting the growing relevance of aerotropoli to our thinking. The writing is long-form journalism in need of editing. Some sections tend to the historical; others are first person accounts. All are short on data and long on adjectives. Individually, no one story is compelling. However, accounts of Dulles, Heathrow, Chicago, Los Angeles, Dallas Fort Worth, Memphis, Louisville, Stapleton-Denver, Bangkok, Abu Dhabi, and Dubai read collectively give Kasarta and Lindsay’s book and ideas critical viability.

Aerotropolis is strongest when it dives deeper into an economic system and its relationship with air travel. The “cool chain” that makes it possible to grow flowers in Africa and sell them profitably throughout Europe through Amsterdam’s flower market is fascinating and a clear example of how global systems operate. And as amazing as that system might be, experts in logistics and technology are always seeking a faster and less expensive way to move goods. Logistical chains driven by market needs are always subject to change.

Sustainability and ecological issues pose questions that Kasarda and Lindsay struggle to answer. Yes, airplanes and airlines are damaging to the environment. While pollution from air travel is not as damaging as coal, it still is a major problem. Worse, almost all in the industry are reluctant to change models to improve outcomes. The authors highlight an initiative by Virgin’s Richard Branson as a potential solution but have no real answers.

Lastly, what Kasarda and Lindsay miss amid the flurry of anecdotes about urban development, office relocation, and runway expansions is that air travel as currently practiced around the world is inherently unpleasant. We endure airports and airlines. We tolerate expensive fees and prices in terminals, grudgingly accept long waits, erratic schedules, and uncomfortable seats. We have come to accept intrusive searches and a culture of distrust in the name of safety. The result is that no one looks forward to the process of air travel. Airports and airlines have very few advocates.

In contrast, many cities have found success renovating train terminals. Whether or not railroads are economic engines of growth, there is often public support for the investment in urban train terminals as an attractive public space. However, to address the challenge of growing call volumes with SEM, without fundamental changes in the way that the entire air industry serves and interacts with the public, economics alone will not guarantee the creation of a successful aerotropolis.

David Potash

April 19, 2014 Reviews, Things someone who grew up in NJ might write

So Where Do Good Ideas Come From?

Steven Johnson is a smart, prolific, and thoughtful writer on science and media. He asks big questions in interesting and unexpected ways. When I picked up his award-winning 2010 book, Where Good Ideas Come From: the Natural History of Innovation, I anticipated a study of cutting-edge brain research and finding out what areas light up when we are creative. Instead, the book asks something more accessible and interdisciplinary: why are some environments are so much better at creating, nurturing, and sharing innovation than others? It’s a brilliant question that demands that we think about things in different ways. It is also a question that almost calls out for action.

Natural science is Johnson’s touchstone, so the book regularly references Darwin and biological concepts. He starts off drawing parallels between between coral reefs, biological diversity, and cities. It is a powerful way to think about interactions and the changes that come from proximity. Johnson calls is the “adjacent possible.” While popular culture may have cast the inventor as a solitary figure, Johnson takes great pains to make sure that we know that most innovations come from interactions. He observes that the atoms that allow for more interactions – carbon, most notably – are more important. Connections matter greatly.

Johnson also argues that things are more innovative and relevant when they are in the edge of chaos, not too ordered and not too anarchic. A famous example of this are the tremendous ideas that came out Building 20 at MIT, a temporary structure that brought brilliant minds together in an unstructured environment. It isn’t just the idea, either; context is vitally important. Johnson looks at the hunches surrounding the World Trade Center bombings that never were followed through. The hierarchical and segmented environment that defined the FBI, CIA, and National Security worked against collaboration and the exploration and pursuit of a different idea.

Serendipity has a place in innovation, too. The word comes from a Persian tale called “The Three Princes of Serendip,” which recounts the adventures of three very clever innovators. Johnson’s point is that serendipity cannot be pursued, but one can prepare for it. It can be cultivated – in cities, in schools, and on the web.

Johnson introduces a useful concept from biology – exaptation – to explain the unusual paths that ideas often take. Exaptation comes from evolutionary biology and it describes an adaptation that is then re-repurposed. Bird feathers, for example, were probably an evolutionary way to maintain temperature. Only later did feathers become important to flight. Cities are where exaptation occurs constantly as people, work, ideas, culture, and concepts are constantly re-purposed. Popular music is dependent upon exaptation.

The power of exaptation and innovation is greater with an emergent platform. Platforms are more than ideas and environments – they are systems that enable innovation. Not only is the web a platform, structures within the web are platforms. APIs (application programming interfaces) are platforms that enable more changes.

Johnson brings all of his arguments together in his concluding chapter entitled the fourth quadrant. Borrowing from Boston Consulting Group, he arranges innovation into a simple 2×2 grid: Market/Individual; Market/Network; Non-Market Individual; Non-Market Network. The distinction between individual and network is clear. As for market/non-market, Johnson identifies an important distinction between those that sought to capitalize directly from their idea and those that let their idea flow. Admitting that his classifications are not iron-clad, Johnson proceeds to assign a slew of major innovations and inventions from the Renaissance to one of these four quadrants.

The fascinating thing about the quadrants isn’t what is populated in each – it is the changes in kinds of innovation over time. Five hundred years ago, most innovation was individual and non-market. Think of brilliant scientists in the Renaissance. By the 1700s, more innovation came from non-market networked environments. There will still brilliant individuals, but by this period innovations were more institutionalized and collectively pursued. For this period, consider the development of the smallpox vaccine. When we move to the last two hundred years or so, the proliferation of non-market networked innovation is overwhelming. The vast majority of what we have learned and created, from modern science and health to engineering and technology, emerges out of this quadrant.

Quite a lot to consider, isn’t it? It does help explain many things – from why collaboration breeds creativity to the importance of communication and tolerance. And it letting a little bit of Johnson’s chaos into our minds, I hope that it spurs some good ideas.

David

March 15, 2014 Reviews, Things someone who grew up in NJ might write

What’s In Style These Days

Stuck in an airport because of flight delays – an all too common experience – what to do? WiFi and work, of course, and there’s almost always miles and miles of shopping. Embracing the concept, Philadelphia’s airport is more mall than travel hub. But what if you don’t want to shop? Or if the carry on is full and that special something from Brookstone would need a bag check and an additional fee? The standby is reading a book.

Recently “trapped” in O’Hare I searched for a terminal and airplane read. My bias is against hardcover and popular fiction. What remains is non-fiction, business, and staff recommendations as my shelves of choice. With bad weather and the zeitgeist in cahoots at O’Hare, I felt oddly compelled to read Piper Kerman’s Orange is the New Black. A book and a Netflix series, this prison memoir is resonating in our collective cultural landscape. When in Rome . . . .

The plot and outline are well-known: upper middle class Smith graduate, Kerman hangs out with the wrong older crowd after graduation. She travels to Europe, becomes a money courier for a drug ring – almost accidentally in her memoir – then wises up and gets her life in order. All things seem fine until the police knock on her door years later and she is convicted as part of a larger government investigation. Kerman spends 13 months in a federal prison – not maximum security – and recounts her experience in this breezily written first hand account.

At pains to distinguish her situation from those of her fellow inmates, who are poorer, usually African-American or Hispanic, Kerman uses her position of privilege to do an almost-ethnography of life behind bars. She reads, she writes, she runs, and she learns about herself and other women in prison. She is also very fortunate. Her family and boyfriend are steadfastly supportive and there is the likelihood of a positive life after incarceration. Kerman regularly reminds us that she is well aware of her good fortune and her culpability. It is an easy read, without much reflection or difficult questions. I thought of “Life in a Chain Gang” light with yoga. Kerman knows that her experience was not “real prison.”

Even as I zipped through the pages from my own place of privilege in wide-body jets and shopping malls disguised as airports, Orange is the New Black annoyed me. Kerman’s account has been criticized for its upper-middle class white perspective, but that did not trouble me. We are who we are. It was only after Philip Seymour Hoffman’s death – and my own memories of people that I have known whose lives have been ruined or ended because of drug addiction – that my disappointment with Kerman came into focus. She admits – up front – responsibility for her actions. She also, briefly, seems to realize that her contributions to the drug trade may have caused others harm. But through the text there is no real appreciation of that, no real sense of ownership. She is sorry but not remorseful.

Kerman has monetized her experience extraordinarily effectively. The very same traits that allowed her to navigate a terrible experience so successfully – her focus on herself and her lack of interest in reflection – helped put her in prison in the first place. With success, however, comes an expectation of responsibility, or at least something more. Orange is the New Black is an interesting but not a thoughtful book. Absent is the state of grace that can accompany true contrition.

David Potash

February 13, 2014 American Culture Today, Reviews

The Sharp Edge of Comedy

My son and I recently saw the Chicago’s Shakespeare’s Theatre’s production of The Merry Wives of Windsor. I prepared by looking online and reviewing the plot (confessions of a former English major). Merry Wives is not produced all that often and I learned that critics tend to rank it as one of Shakespeare’s weaker plays. The story is an ironic look at relationships, love, fidelity, and ego, with disguises and mistaken identities. It is well suited for an opera with the wives perhaps more wise than jolly. Throw in a fat, aging, and cynical protagonist – Sir John Falstaff – and the play has a bit of a play on itself.

The Chicago production is set in post-WWII small-town England, with musical interludes and lots of antics. Think of Benny Hill doing Shakespeare. The play moves quickly, the jokes are broad, and the happy ending is inevitable. It was enjoyable Shakespeare light, done quite expertly.

That said, there’s something very uncomfortable about the comedy and its humor. It lingered with me. Falstaff appears in two other of Shakespeare’s plays where his character is more developed. Here, Falstaff is an opportunistic buffoon and an object of ridicule. Jokes are at his expense, and perhaps Falstaff’s most endearing quality is his ability to laugh at himself. Over the course of the play, an unexpected pathos worms its way into the barbs. Watching the pratfalls it was difficult not to squirm. I thought of the many ways that we marginalize fat people, the meanness that comes as we smile at the overweight. The good people of Windsor were ridiculous, too, but they enjoyed wealth, families, and bourgeois comfort. They were never in any danger.

Popular movies today are not without fat jokes, fat humor, and fat suits. But we are careful, mostly, to pull back from direct ridicule. When we make fun of the obese, it is often leavened with a countervailing message. Consider, for example, the movie Shallow Hal. Can 89 minutes of fat jokes be forgotten with an ending that argues that real beauty is from within? I wonder if humor in Shakespeare’s time was all that different from humor today and whether toiling in higher education for all these years has warped my sensibilities.

In higher education, appropriateness dictates that we treat the obese and anorexic, the able and the disabled, and all shades, creeds, colors, and faiths, with the same courtesy and respect. It is woven into our policies and rules – and is a hallmark of a well run institution. When we see cruelty, machinery and culture swing into action. The aim is acceptance and tolerance. We may achieve these ends only for a short while and in a physically circumscribed space, the campus, but it is an aim across higher education. We dislike bullying and meanness. The collective goal of a better society and culture has taken hold in a deep way in American higher education. Accordingly, if conflict is essential for drama, our demand for appropriateness and genuine acceptance and inclusion may be why there are so few good plays set in higher education.

And lastly, Shakespeare, consistently, wrote plays that make you think.

David Potash

January 22, 2014 American Culture Today, Reviews

Intriguing and Inspiring Fashion

Past the velvet ropes and the purple walls, it’s possible to catch a glimpse of high-fashion stylish mannequins at the Chicago History Museum. Text and image are on the walls, but reading the title – Inspiring Beauty: 50 Years of Ebony Fashion Fair – makes little sense to the uninformed. Wandering in, fancy dresses are next to outlandish costumes are next to beautiful gowns. It is more than the eye can take in. The clothes radiate expense and seem more like works of art than items for sale.

The outfits are meant to be worn. Through video and photography, is possible to see the artifacts on models and as clothes. Read more wall texts and start to imagine the fashion fair, and the clothing and the show take on different meanings. Issues of gender, body image, class, globalism, race and racism reverberate. The exhibit looks at the introduction of high-end fashion to the African-American community from 1958 to 2009 through a traveling road show sponsored by the community’s leading magazine. It is fascinating, educational and not didactic. It makes clear that fashion can be much more than clothing and the Ebony Fashion Fair had significance well beyond consumption. Also, consider this sites at 레플리카 for more latest fashion trends.

The Fashion Fair was the creation of Eunice W. Johnson, who along with her husband John H. Johnson, created a very successful publishing company aimed at the African-American market. Benefiting from the rising circulation of Ebony, their most popular magazine, Eunice Johnson started the fashion fair to raise money for charities. She visited Paris fashion shows and designer houses across Europe and the US, developing a network of contacts and relationships. Back in the US, the fair was booked throughout the United States. It featured African-American models, bringing high-end fashion to African-Americans in an entertaining and accessible way. Attending the Fashion Fair was a major event. Videos and recollections of Johnson make clear that she was an extraordinary woman.

The show contains dozens exotic dresses and ensembles, ranging from the demure to the outrageous. It explains the context of the fair and gives a good sense of what it would have been like to attended. They were lively, theatrical events that spoke to the growing economic power of African-American women. The exhibit explains, postulates, and makes visible – and is grounded in the real. The clothing can engage without explanation or tags. It is that interesting and the explanations of the fair highlight a community that was little known by white America.

Collectively, Inspiring Beauty shows that clothing, above and beyond something interesting to look at, can have surprising social power. The right fashion can, indeed, inspire.

David Potash

January 20, 2014 Reviews

Authentic Artifice

Sometime in my late-20s, I noticed that the conventions of theater were no longer working for me. It was a gradual change, akin to failing eyesight. Others simply were able to see things on stage that I could not. Perhaps I needed glasses? Optometry has offered no relief.

I used to enjoy drama, musicals, and other kinds of theater. Now I find myself unable to engage “normally” with whatever is happening on stage. It is a strange phenomenon and I do blame Brecht. My mind wanders, raising questions of the structure, support, and the great collective effort that leads this person and that person performing in front of me to do whatever they are doing. I think about about the proscenium and the staging. I wonder if how this line was re-written or that line looks on the page. I evaluate lighting and sound. I restage blocking and the movement of the cast. It takes great concentration for me to engage with what is happening as an audience member, and when I can, it is fleeting. I sneak looks to the left and right of me – others in the audience, invariably, are engaged. The productions are not at fault. The problem is mine.

Theater still beckons and I still attend, but things are different. Enjoyment comes in other guises.

Bear this lengthy caveat in mind as I enthuse about The Hypocrite’s production of The Mikado. Currently showing at the Steppenwolf Theater Company, this is a fresh take on a somewhat ridiculous and lovely Gilbert and Sullivan classic. The Mikado is a comic opera set in a topsy-turvy Japan, replete with highly stylized characters and many jokes. Performed “traditionally” the Mikado can easily lapse into a stilted, dated racism that is more often than not meliorated with camp.

In this production, boundaries between performers and audience are erased. The performance takes place in an open room with areas defined by low-benches, platforms, rings and lighting. All of the actors play instruments, so the stage orchestra is also on stage. The audience is allowed – encouraged – to move around the space to engage as they see fit. The rules of the performance are simple: the actors and the audience should not pretend that they do not see each other. If an actor needs to get to a spot and an audience member is in the way, they will point or tap to clear a space. And the bar remained open through the show.

The Hypocrites are an interesting theater company with a mission to make “a Theater of Honesty” and a manifesto to “create theater as an artistic expression.” The company identifies the audience as part of that process. The Hypocrite’s Mikado was a delight to attend. The talent level was very good, but more importantly, it was what it was – and it did not pretend to be anything else. It was great fun. For this all too artificial opera, written in England 140 years ago about a love story in a fictionalized and absurd Japan, the Hypocrites found authenticity. I am impressed.

David Potash

November 29, 2013 Reviews

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