Yeah, But Is It Art?

The following is a long and rambling post, with a few tangential off-shoots...Here's hoping it's not totally incoherent.

So, 2007 is starting out somewhat promisingly (if slightly daunting; and mood-altering lingering sickness notwithstanding). This last Monday, I dove head-first into directing a new play: Katrina: I Too Am Worthy.

This would be the second show in a row, since my hiatus, that a) is a new, untested work, b) written by a Seattle/NW black playwright, and c) deals specifically with the black experience.

These three identifying markers really shouldn't be that big a deal, and the fact that it is such a beast should tell us all we need to know about the nature of race relations, not only in the Pacific NW, but in Arts and Academia in general.

Let's think about this: Since the Harlem Renaissance in the 1920s, it could be argued that African Americans have not had a major impact on the Arts world, with a few exceptions. Music is probably where it's been felt the most, followed by Literature, and the Visual Arts.

If you bend the rules to include Film and TV, the picture becomes even more depressing...Blaxploitation aside, it is only in the last 20 years that folks like Spike Lee, the Hugh Bros. and John Singleton have come to the forefront, while others meddle in mediocrity (Vondie Curtis, Ernest Dickerson), and others struggle in obscurity (Carl Franklin, Charles Burnett). It's telling that the success of low-middlebrow fare like Diary of a Mad Black Woman is seen as a breakthrough to reaching a new untapped audience.

The rest could be summed up in two words: Wayans Bros. White Chicks, anyone? How about Little Big Man?

This same malaise could be applied to TV, where, for every Roc, there's a Homeboys in Outer Space, Martin, or Bitch Be Crazy in the offing.

But nowhere is this deficiency more prevalent than in the world of Theater, specifically in the playwrighting realm. Could you name a contemporary to August Wilson? Or anyone who has that promise, or even as critically lauded as him? (If you have answers, please oh please share!)

Now, considering how little is known of this sub-genre of the arts, one would think that an attempt to understand what's happening within any given story would be necessary. How does the piece communicate to its intended audience?

Alternately, does everything have to be universal? And if not, could it still be called Art?

I suppose this could all be very academic; and I'm not suggesting that we turn off all critical demands upon a work. But, must everything be held up to the same scrutiny one would give Mr. Wilson? As usual, I'm open to debate.

I'll tell you what's driving this entry: I fear we're losing the ability to tell, and listen to, a good story. That, in demanding these higher expectations on a work, we lose sight of the story that's being told. We seem to have forgotten that even Shakespeare has written more than his fair share of pulp during the course of his career. What's wrong with pulp?

Take, for example, the reaction to Book of Nathan, by Joseph Mitchell. This is the piece I acted in at Theater Schmeater this last fall.

The reaction, by and large, was pretty positive, with the exception of some niggles and one largely negative review by an older member of the press. The nature of the niggles varied, from disliking the structure of the show (one half focused on a caustic father-son reunion, in which the characters re-lived their violent past, with the influence of racism not that far off; the other half was more of a modern day Greek chorus in which the numerous racial and class-based inequities of the world were openly discussed) to finding the religious talk of the former half a bit trite and biased.

I'm not about to discount the validity of these niggles, but feel compelled to point out that in a community where most discussions of religion end with an "Amen," the fact that there was any religious discourse is a promising sight. The same applies to the structure, where the majority of what's seen from this corner of the world rarely deviates from an "A leads to B leads to C" approach.

That aside, the story being told in the father-son half of the show, specifically that of the father, who was coerced by an Intelligence Operation to snitch and turn on his own people, is one that does not see the light of day often, if at all. Rarer still, the results of such activity on a man and his family. Yet, this aspect seemed to be waved away with a "well, of course that happened" kind of comment. I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Passe', but this isn't exactly common knowledge.

Do I need to stress the novelty of seeing such a thing on stage more than I have done so? The reaction of black audiences to the show was a palpable thirst and undeniable joy at seeing it take place.

At this point, which is more important?

Yes, ideally, any such work would be able to transcend any barrier. All I am saying is that in the still-somewhat-barren world of Black Theater, there needs to be room for growth and improvement.

"I did not write [Book of Nathan] for the [elder members of the press] of the world," is what Mr. Mitchell said upon reading that review, and I admire that stance.

Which leads me to Katrina.

Written by raw newcomer Donte Felder, Katrina falls prey to many of the pitfalls that befall any young new writer: Repetitive, on the nose dialogue; a reliance on coincidence; the insistence on a wrapped-up-in-a-nice-bow resolution.

There are a number of things the script has going for it, however: Regardless of the on-the-nose quality, the dialogue between characters is very natural and free-flowing; it doesn't belabor the obvious points; and, frankly, it contains a story that has to be shared.

A fraction of the show takes place in Seattle, but the bulk of it takes place on a roof in New Orleans in the immediate aftermath of the Hurricane Katrina-related levee breakage. Felder's characters and situations are a composite of events that did take place in that place and at that time (Felder has family in NOLA, and talked to them extensively in the weeks and months afterward).

A sort of Lifeboat in New Orleans, except it really happened. Yes, Bush is mentioned. Yes, helicopters fly by and don't offer aid. Yes, people die, and sacrifices are made, and noble efforts ensue. But, for a short while, you are there, experiencing what these people are experiencing...In other words, it's a good story.

Sensationalistic manipulation, or a story that must be heard?

And really, what's wrong with a little sensationalism?