Science Fiction Theatre (no, I'm not talking about the tv show with the robot where they watch cheesy movies and comment on them)

I don't have a ton of experience with the science fiction genre, although I can certainly enjoy science fiction/futuristic books and movies as long as they have strong plots and well-developed characters. I've read the obligatory novels (1984, Brave New World, etc.) and enjoyed them, but not dabbled in much else. For me, however, the most exciting trend in theatre these days is the science fiction play. Something about the blend of strong, atmospheric, (often) surreal stories with social commentary and (if done right) compelling and nuanced characters seems to flourish in the format of the stage. Of all of the plays I've seen in the Bay Area in the past year, easily two of the most provocative ones (in form and content) have taken place in a future, post-(and mid)-apocalyptic world.

The first, Monster in the Dark (by local group FoolsFury), creates a world that focuses on three means through which we understand our lives: government, religion, and consumerism, and crafts a society subsumed by these three forces. As we watch archetypal characters (teacher, dictator, artist, prostitute, wanderer, salesman, religious zealot, atheist, housewife) encounter increasingly disturbing events (the first act begins with an unnamed man's suicide, and the second begins with an apocalyptic tidal wave), we become more and more aware of how our society attempts to gain a sense of comfort and "control" over the inscrutable future through similar constructs. The play had a near-perfect first act, full of strong visual imagery and interesting characters. It concluded in one of the most visually stunning stage pictures that I have ever seen--there was a huge opaque scrim-like sheet of plastic (almost like a giant opaque shower curtain) hanging from the ceiling stage right, with a "dictator-type" person standing behind it and a strong low diffused backlight that cast a huge, expressionistic shadow on the plastic. In front of the plastic, there was a group of people looking towards the dictator (whose voice boomed over the sound system), fervently clapping rocks together in approval of his message. I feel the second act of the play was far less successful than the first, hindered in part by static staging (it took place primarily on a platform with wheels attached to it (to indicate a boat or piece of driftwood). Aside from this, the primary problem with the second act was that the characters were reduced to mouthpieces for the ideas that they had (quite clearly) symbolized up until that point. Without dramatic action in the second act, tension was sustained by lengthy arguments between the Zealot and the Atheist, which amounted to little more than "God exists, he must" and "No he doesn't, you idiot!" (the dialogue may have been dressed up a little). However, Monster in the Dark had more than enough brilliant moments to counter those that didn't really grab me, and was the first play in the Bay Area that really got me excited about the potential of professional theatre to say something meaningful about our current society without sacrificing plot or experimentation, and without being overly didactic.

My second (more recent) encounter with science fiction theatre was Crowded Fire's production of Liz Duffy Adams' new play, The Listener. The Listener takes place on a ruined Earth, inhospitable to all but the few who inhabit "Junk City" (literally--a city made of trash)--these survivors make up a small, rigid caste society. The most respected position in the society (at least, that we are introduced to) is that of the Listener, who stays in her house all day, periodically broadcasting a message ("The Listener here can you hear me come in can you hear me can you hear me the Listener speaking can you hear me come in") and listening for a response. At the bottom of the society are the Finders, who root through trash, searching for new, or "unnamed" objects; above them, the Jimmies, who put the "found" objects to use in various ways; and above those in terms of power and authority is the Namer, who (as his title might imply) names things before sending them on to the Jimmies to be put to use. The static lives of these inhabitants are suddenly thrown off-balance by the arrival of John, a naive-but-well-intentioned citizen of "Nearth" (New Earth; The Moon) come down to earth to "rescue" those left behind (who have absolutely no desire to be rescued). John is immediately treated as inhuman and understood as a threat to the established order of things. The Listener unfolds as a surprisingly nuanced exploration of colonialism, the human need for a scapegoat, loneliness, sexual politics, hope, belief (and the development of creation myths/a societal narrative) and the constancy and inevitability of change.

I am excited to see how science fiction theatre and futuristic plays will continue to bend, challenge, and exploit the theatrical form. Ironically, just as I am developing a growing interest in the science fiction play, I am writing a history play based on the antics of a violent Greek Dictator--but more on that later :).

Figaro

Lest we forget this is actually supposed to be a blog about theatre (whoops!), I want to talk a little bit about a production which, most likely, none of you have seen or ever will see.  That production is Figaro, a collaboration of the Berkeley Repertory Theatre and the Theatre de la Jeune Lune (based in Minneapolis).  Aside from the achingly beautiful singing, the most notable part of this production is its use of live-action film to complement the stage action.  The focal point of the stage is the large white screen at the back of it, upon which is projected live-action video taken of the actors from various angles on the stage.  

I've seen film used in theatre before, but it's never been live footage of the action already happening onstage, and I've never seen it so effectively and artfully handled.  Extreme close-ups of actors during monologues creates a surprisingly personal atmosphere in which every detail, even the smallest twitch of the eye, shares meaning and emotion with the audience without obscuring the unique intensity of the theatrical experience.  The use of film also grants the director (Dominique Serrand) the ability to convey meaning through an unprecedented (at least in theatre) degree of detail.  

The most thorough example of this is Serrand's focus on hand imagery throughout--an expansion and re-envisioning of the expression "to have one's hand in marriage," no doubt--to indicate power (or loss thereof), ambition, love, lust, passion, violence, and (very occasionally) tenderness.  Such imagery would have been impossible without film, and with it, the phrase (which occurs late in the second act) "taking one's hand in marriage" takes on entirely new meaning, as does the tone of the play itself.  The filmic hand imagery lets Serrand take a story that focuses on the ridiculous sexual exploits of the rich and famous in pre-revolutionary France, and focus our attention on the political implications of the play (in a pivotal moment, the powerful, lusty, and wasteful Count balls his fist as he faces the camera, evoking images of Hitler asserting his power before a crowd of German patriots) as well as the unsettling nature of the sexual norms and displays of violent masculinity in the original opera.

Figaro left me with a strong desire to see (and explore) the potential of film (particularly live-action film) and theatre to act together, to create and refine tension, and to capture (and at times compete for) the focus of an audience.