Again: I really like song lyrics (and other phrases in various contexts, really) that can be interpreted in different ways! Today's lyric:

I'm yours to ruin
don't ask me why

So it's the second line I find most interesting, but let's look at the first line first. Already we're presented with two choices:

1-1) "I'm completely and entirely yours, such that you may even go so far as to ruin me should you wish to do so." This is the "sweeter" read -- there's genuine affection and trust underlying this interpretation. One might even hear in it a quiet plea for the beloved *not* to ruin the singing lover.

1-2) "I'm yours specifically for the purpose of being ruined by you." Pretty self-explanatory, I think, at least in terms of intention? I don't know precisely what "ruin" entails here (could be sex, could be emotional pain, could be a punishing match in Jurassic Park: Warpath), but the singing lover is very much here for and desirous of being ruined by the beloved.

*There is also my initial read, where I interpreted the "to" as "until." As in, I'm yours until (the) Ruin -- that is, the period of dust and desolation that will follow the collapse of civilization, as featured in many a post-apocalyptic property -- so effectively a declaration of enduring devotion. (I think this is not a properly "legitimate" read, though, in that it's unlikely to occur to people who are not me. ^^;)

"Don't ask me why" is more interesting to me. (more...)

I just ate 20-plus?-year-old salt. I found the packets in the pockets of my old 90s trench coat, which I'd unearthed for the Salome finale and which I suspect I last wore in the early aughts if I didn't occasionally dig it out for goth nights later than that. Anyway. Apparently salt is eternal, so I shouldn't die from eating spoiled salt. But having tasted the stuff, I have to ask...

Was salt saltier back then???

I'm not sure I've posted about it in the context of Salome yet, but I'm sure I've admitted this before: I have difficulty with suspension of disbelief in theatrical settings. I can respect, for example, all of the effort that goes into a well-choreographed stage fight or intimate moment, and I've found it interesting to participate in those sorts of scenes. To the extent that audiences believe them, I can even sort of grasp the appeal and impact of those sorts of scenes. But for me... they just don't do anything?

And I understand that that's a me thing. I really do. (I also find car chases in movies boring AF, and I have fallen asleep on many an action movie final fight between two very similar CGI things chaotically slugging it out.) But it definitely feels not great to be unable to appreciate such deliberately integral elements to so much media? And depending upon the emphasis people place on those elements and how much their appeal derives from their relatability -- particularly when it comes to intimate connections between characters -- it feels not good to be the sort of person who can't appreciate those things. (more...)

As I keep pondering this, it occurs to me that we should define what it means to "just do the play"... because, depending upon what we mean, we pretty much never just do the play. (By some definitions it would be impossible to *just* do the play, since taking on a playwright's work from a different perspective in a wholly different context with crew and actors who also bring their own individuality to the work is necessarily a reinterpretation outside the bounds of the author's intent, even with dramaturgy and casting and an approach designed to remain maximally within the bounds of authorial intent and expectation. And arguably there is *some* room for this sort of reinterpretation to occur and still rightly be "just doing the play," as that is the nature of plays and a playwright who expects their work to be performed must allow for the necessary idiosyncrasies of individual productions.)

But if one means that we should approach classics with a purist's attitude, serving as mouthpieces for the playwright's words and story and morals with minimal alteration or editorializing, then we pretty much never do the play. Even without altering the text at all, staging a production in a different time period brings context with it (and potentially loses other context) that the author neither intended nor imagined. Costuming -- even if it is convincing period costuming -- may similarly add unintended commentary to a production.

And since we rarely perform Shakespeare uncut, what we cut and what we keep is also commentary and deliberate manipulation of the text by the director/dramaturg/etc in order to produce specific outcomes. Even "just do the play" folks cut scripts with specific goals beyond just making it shorter. Specific lines are cut to change how the audience responds to a character. Specific scenes and characters may be cut to alter the relationships of the ones who remain. Lines spoken by one character may be given to another. All of this is not what the author intended and necessarily changes the story. (more...)

(Context -- I recently directed Oscar Wilde's Salome: Rude Mechanicals 1990s Edition. It was my directorial debut and, though no production is without hiccups, ultimately went really well! I remain super proud of it -- though it's been less than a week since we closed, so that's unsurprising.)

Okay, hear me out: The Importance of Being Earnest, but as staged by aliens who weren't entirely up on Earth/Victorian customs. Maybe the cucumber sandwiches are whole-ass cucumbers on hoagie rolls, and maybe Algernon nom-noms them in sprays of (craft foam) bread crumbs and cucumber chunks. Maybe Jack's home in the countryside is scary for no goddamned reason, and maybe Cecily is a haunted doll and Miss Prism a nun charged with containing her. (Maybe Horror Earnest should be a separate thing.) Maybe there's some *other* reason the name Ernest is important, like maybe it's obviously necessary to power-on and take control of the death ray that's been onstage the entire time but never mentioned. I'm just saying -- there are possibilities here.

So what got me tangentially thinking about that was a thing I was told back when I was developing my concept for Salome: "It's okay to just do the play." And -- sure. I've enjoyed productions where the director's intention was to stage a play in as close to its original presentation as possible given our limitations. Period dress, affected accents, furniture of the day and/or conscious attempts to avoid anachronisms in staging. I've been part of these productions (though admittedly not many). It's okay to do them. (more...)