My Seminal Three Lent Day 11
I have three degrees in Drama. I have watched countless plays in theatres all over the world. As a teacher I am both a compassionate audience member while at the same time an astute one. I can see when someone has tried hard to try and create something meaningful on stage but I am also seldom moved to my core by something.
There have, in fact, only been three times in my theatre going history where a production has come to an end and I have found myself truly rising from my feet in joy not to give a standing ovation but because what I have experienced has made me feel like I could fly. The heady alchemy that happens when a production is ‘just right’ is what keeps me returning to those darkened theatres. One is always in search of the next hit (pun intended).
So here are my seminal three productions...
The year finds itself somewhere in the 90s. I am probably wearing a disgusting TWC sprig and am still under the impression that if you have curly hair you must brush it every day. I am seated in the Hilton College Theatre. We have come to the festival. Mainly to perve. I distinctly remember signing up on a list outside my drama classroom to see some play called ‘The Well Being’ directed by Lara Foot. I’m now seated and ready to watch it. But also ready for it to end so that I can carry on perving.
The lights go out. And what happened for next hour or so still remains a mystery to me. Two men, Andrew Buckland and Lionel Newton told a story in a puddle of light on an empty stage, with minimal props - which included a whole lot of toilet paper - and I was spell bound. It was my rubicon moment. The moment I realised that I wanted to try and be a part of that liminal world forever. I cannot possibly go into the story but there was one moment that I can honestly say was the most poignant and harrowing theatrical experience I’ve ever seen - and I’ve watched ‘Waiting for Godot’ performed in the nude. One of the actors took on the role of a beautiful , innocent young woman stuffing toilet paper into all the parts of his costume that would resemble a woman’s curves and thus he transformed into a woman. She gets pursued by a young man and enjoys the attention at first but then is unable to stop his advances, things get out of hand and he rapes her.
The actual act was staged under a harsh spot light. The victim was held down and all the toilet paper which made her so beautiful and feminine was ripped from her body while she wept. I sat in stunned agony. The simplest gesture of ripping toilet paper that had been padded under a man’s T-shirt became the moment that would sway my entire career path.
A few years later I would find myself back in the darkened sanctuary of a theatre while doing the orientation rounds at Rhodes University. And amongst a sea of faces on stage (who would become beloved to me in time) I recognised that man, Andrew Buckland. I spent the next four years in the company of theatrical greats like Buckland and Reza De Wet. And it was through learning how they chose to tell their stories on stage that I learnt to tell mine.
I’m not entirely sure what led my mom and I to trundle down the road to The Playhouse Theatre to watch an oddly named play called ‘Abnormal Loads’. The director, Neil Coppen, was known by some family friends who recommended I watch the play. I hardly ever watch a play someone recommends to me. The same goes for books and movies. I like to discover things by myself. Drives Stephen mad.
What Neil hadn’t realised when he was fastidiously researching and writing his play was that he was just basically staging my family history. The moment the play began my mom and I were entranced. We literally had to nudge each other every two minutes as yet another detail of our heritage was replayed in front of us. Spanning in a pastiche of multigenerational turmoil from the Boer War to the modern day struggles of a small Northern KwaZulu-Natal village this play was like having a painful hug from my ancestors. Finally when the cantankerous old matriarch died and the hymn - ‘Lead me Oh Thou Great Jehovah’ (not the Josh Groban version) played my mom and I literally could not take it anymore and dissolved into floods of tears.
After the play we accosted Neil in the foyer and as with most theatre practitioners I knew that we would be friends. There is a kindred spirit in the theatre world unlike anywhere else. I suppose it’s because it’s the meeting place of dreamers who want to invite others in. Neil remains one of my favourite dreamers.
Fast forward twenty years and I find myself back in the Hilton College Theatre. This time there is no perving. This time I get to sit next to my husband and my mom and dad. One of the cast members is still one of my all time favourites. I can’t wait to see him working outside of his magical world of physical theatre. He is about to reveal himself (very literally) in the stark world of realism. I am about to watch Andrew Buckland in ‘The Inconvenience of Wings’ again being directed by the mercurial Lara Foot.
At its centre the play is about a relationship. But it starts at the end and rewinds itself to the beginning. It deals with the burden of mental illness, aging, intimacy and school cake sales. It is naked, exposing and deeply deeply painful to watch. But it is also intimate, kind and romantic. I think the only way I can actually seek to describe this play is by describing what happened after the several ovations that occurred at curtain call. No one moved. For a good few minutes. No one wanted to leave. Primarily because they didn’t want the moment to end and also because they needed to compose themselves after crying so much.
Three plays - all performed in varying styles, all with completely different narratives, viewed at different moments in my own history - and yet all coming together with my own story. Perhaps the young girl in me wanted so badly to rescue the poor young girl on stage, to fight for her, to give her a voice. Perhaps I found a play that told my family story at a time in my life when I was battling to understand it myself. Perhaps the playing out of a marriage from its ending to its beginning in the company of both my husband and my parents reminded me what it is that we fight for every day when we chose to love someone. Perhaps these plays met me at exactly the right time and the right place. Like falling in love. Yes, that’s it. I fell in love.
Comments
Post a Comment