Law v. Life: Theatre

With a gun - Even if you fail.

Sara Jane Moore was paroled from prison yesterday after trying to assassinate Gerald Ford on September 22, 1975. I never understood why someone would have cared enough to try to kill Ford. At least Squeaky Fromme had the whole Manson thing, so it didn't make sense, but there was an "explanation."

It's weird to think about presidents being assassinated. To me that's something of other generations. It's material for a musical. But less than a week after the assassination of Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto, and with constant news of murdered journalists and peace workers around the world, today it seems real. There is so much killing around the world, and in the United States, that I usually just think of the special headline stories as just another part of that. In some ways the death of one individual is nothing compared to all the rest, and in other ways it can have so much greater of an impact and even lead to far more deaths.

Okay, that's enough depressing talk for the new year. Maybe this will be the year that we move a little closer to world peace... Or maybe we will at least get another great Sondheim musical soon.

Sunday I saw Threepenny Opera, performed by Opera Columbus. It wasn’t exactly an awe-inspiring performance, but it was decent and therefore very enjoyable anyway. Brecht is definitely on my top five list of playwrights and Threepenny Opera is less esoteric and easier to watch than many of his plays. Thus the word “enjoyable,” rather than provocative or inspiring or challenging. Not that it wasn’t those things too, but a little light opera helps a didactic play be a little more palatable.

From all the literary criticism I’ve read, neither Brecht nor Weill considered it a true “opera.” It is based on John Gay’s Beggar’s Opera, and is more a standard musical blended with social critique. And who doesn’t love social commentary set to music?

Plot-wise, it deals with poverty, corruption, crime, and love in a world permeated by those things. But more than that, it is a commentary on the theatre. It starts by calling itself an opera, thus setting audience expectations, and then not being at all what it intentionally led the audience to believe it was. My friend was going to see it and she called to ask me what to “wear to the opera.” Too many movies showing extravagantly dressed couples in box seats with mother of pearl binoculars convinced her she needed a new dress. Well maybe that was just her excuse. But going to the “opera” created a specific set of expectations on her part. Once I arrived, I was surrounded by people with an average age of probably at least fifty, and that’s being generous. I have no doubt that many of them had attended Aida and Hansel and Gretel earlier in the season, and probably have seen numerous operas. So they thought they knew what to expect.

But then the lights dimmed. And a man casually dragged a microphone from the middle of the stage. Then a half-naked woman started walking around on the stage. And gradually other actors appeared, many of whom were clearly prostitutes, most of the rest of whom were men seeking their services. A rack of clothes were brought on stage, people milled around a little, the actors continued to silently engage in sex acts. And the woman next to me whispered to her friend, “What do you think they’re doing? Are they trying to set up the stage? Do you think this is for atmosphere? When is it going to start?” And this is exactly what Brecht wanted. Before the music even started, the audience was questioning what they thought they knew about opera.

And then the music did begin. And the songs were vulgar and the music was jazzy and there weren’t any arias and the whole concept of opera had suddenly transformed into something new and jolting and intriguing. The people sitting around me never quite seemed to settle in and accept that they were in for a different sort of opera, but they began to enjoy themselves. Because, like I said, how can you not love social commentary set to music? I could see them gradually get caught up in the love triangle (Square? Decagon?) and become invested in how the plot would unfold. They might not be quite sure about this beggar’s opera, but at least they wanted to see what happened.

But that new semi-comfort zone of thinking “Well, this isn’t my idea of how opera should be, but this is a nice little romantic musical” would be too easy. So Brecht ends his opera by turning the plot upside down. It ends with a completely illogical, impossible plot twist because you can do anything you want in an opera and they should have happy endings. This is of course a completely unsatisfactory explanation for the story you have just invested three hours in ending abruptly and absurdly. And so, the audience leaves, on some level at least, questioning what opera is, what theatre is, what music is, what plot is, as well as the issues of poverty, corruption, crime, and love that Brecht has bombarded them with while they were trying to figure out the art form itself.

It may not have been the best performance ever. Macheath (Chuck Gillespie) lacked the charisma needed for the role. Mr. and Mrs. Peachum (J. Chris Baum and Jody Kidwell) had excellent and not-so-excellent vocal moments. None of the women seemed to have any chemistry with Macheath except Jenny Diver (Jean Stilwell) who was the highlight of the performance. But when it’s Brecht, even a less than perfect performance can be effective, and those flaws can even serve his purpose. I’m not sure I’m going to be getting season tickets to the opera anytime soon, but let me know if you hear about a performance of Caucasian Chalk Circle.