Number One in Something- Henrik Ibsen's The Master Builder (Theatre Review)

Vol. 1 Issue 33

I went to see a production of Ibsen’s The Master Builder last night at BAM, that’s Brooklyn Academy of Music for non-New Yorkers. Not only was it a brilliant production, it also stared John Turturro, the actor of Coen Brothers film’s fame Barton Fink, O Broth Where Out Thou and about fifty others. And who could forget the greatest role of all, Jesus Quintata? “Nobody fucks with the Jesus!” Nobody is right! This guy is a very successful actor and director and everyone wants him do The Jesus, still, and Lebowski was 1998.

Last night though there was no Jesus on stage. Turturro was very good in his role here. As I think a good actor should, he played the character as it needed to be played, making the character seem more real than the actor himself, something Will Smith or Tom Cruise could never do. Maybe that’s why Turturro is not as famous a Will Smith or a Tom Cruise, but he’s hardly a victim of his own success. According to ImDb he has more that ninety credits just in film alone.

Normally I’d just as rather read a play than see it. The whole idea of live theater always seems to come off as very contrived. As I sit in the audience watching I’m always aware that it’s all an act. I keep thinking, “Why are they acting like that? Nobody acts like that or talks like that in real life.”

It turns out that I’d just never seen a really good play before! This production of Ibsen’s was so natural it was like watching real people. The actors were mesmerizing which is a lot for me to say considering I almost always notice overacting, exaggerate it, and allow it to ruin the whole damn thing for me as I just mentioned, but not this time.

The production was super tight and well rehearsed. The actors were accompanied by a musical duo each of whom covered multiple instrumental parts throughout the show. The music linked up so well with the stage action that it was well, basically flawless.

As a former musician it almost made me nostalgic for the days when I use to play for production shows, but then I remembered that all the shows I played for were mostly awful, and not even real pit orchestra work in New York but on cruise ships. I did audition for Cirque du Soleil once. It might sound impressive but actually anyone can send in an audition tape. I didn’t get the gig obviously or I probably never would have started writing at all, let alone this blog (and that would have been tragic, I know).

I’d have been too busy playing Radio City, touring the world and making thousands of dollars. Like I said though, I was almost nostalgic. The musicians were there to accompany the actors, as they are in Cirque, as it always shall be.

Even the set was cool. It’s centerpiece a huge metal stove and chimney encompassed by a slanted, angular metal structure serving as the household; too, a nod to the Turturro’s character’s modernity and dominance in the field of architecture. But the Master Builder points out that he is not an architect. True, an architect would design buildings for a living just as The Master Builder does, but an architect can leave her architect-self at the office door. An architect designs and builds for a living, as a trade, for an income. The Master Builder exchanges his buildings for money, yes, but also more. His buildings are pieces of himself. Erected all over the land as symbols of love, but with the laying of every brick his liquefied soul drips away. It all ends very badly.

I can honestly say this is the best piece of theatre I’ve ever seen. That’s not saying much. I’ve probably only seen a few dozen plays in my life, but for the sake of this production, there is least one guy in the world that places it as his number one in something.

Know Your Demons Part 1- Flann O'Brien meets Nietzsche

Vol. 1 Issue 32

So I recently read The Third Policeman by Flann O'Brien. I though about what would happen if a character from this novel The Third Policeman met Nietzsche's demon from the Gay Science. First I list the real demon passage. This is followed by half of an attempt to fuse the two together. 

The greatest weight. —What, if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: "This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession and sequence—even this spider and this moonlight between the trees, and even this moment and I myself. The eternal hourglass of existence is turned upside down again and again, and you with it, speck of dust!"

Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous moment when you would have answered him: "You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine." If this thought gained possession of you, it would change you as you are or perhaps crush you. The question in each and every thing, "Do you desire this once more and innumerable times more?" would lie upon your actions as the greatest weight. Or how well disposed would you have to become to yourself and to life to crave nothing more fervently than this ultimate eternal confirmation and seal? (Nietzche GS AP-341)

“Know Your Demons” Part 1

So it was one night, just like the night before, and the night before. I was walking home, taking my usual route from the pub down Brikenbrack lane, through Hydsdale Square and just as I had turned down Conifer Way I was met by a strange figure.

It was a particularly dark part on the street. The streetlamp must have been burned out because I can recall having difficulty distinguishing the figure, thus adding to its strangeness.

The figure seemed to appear out of nowhere, and as I approached, it accosted me, asking “Arthur?”

Since that is my name I said, “Yes.”

“Arthur Peabody?”

“Yes.”

“Hello.”

“Hello,” I said back.

We stood in the darkness of the deserted lane, silent now. I could not make out whether the figure was a man or a woman. It appeared to be wearing some kind of cloak that made it look almost translucent, kind of blurry in fact.

The silence began to become awkward. I detest awkward silences.

“I too detest awkward silences,” said the stranger.

“And who might you be, may I ask?”

“Indeed sir. I am not a who, but a what. I am a demon.”

“A demon?”

“Yes, a demon.”

“I’ve never met a demon before.”

“Well, truthfully sir, most people haven’t, and when they have, it is almost certainly their first and only encounter.”

“Very interesting,” I said.

“I’m glad you think so. Are you not frightened?”

“I don’t know. Should I be?

I thought about this for a moment. I walk this same route home from the pub every night, and occasionally I may run into Joe McIvers or Sam Godfrey on their nightly strolls, but never have I met a stranger, and certainly never one who claimed to be a demon.

It said, “Well sir, demons are well known for being particularly evil. Fear is not an uncommon occurrence in our presence, but whether you choose to feel afraid of not remains your choice.”

“If it makes no difference to you, I’d prefer to stay as I am thank you,” I said.

“Very well then, but I have to say, I am very surprised. Most people are terrified, some even horrified by us demons, but you choose to be neither. This is most interesting.”

“Well, I think one problem is is that it’s dark, and so I can’t be sure, but it appears that you do not have horns. I always thought a demon would have horns.”

“Some of us do, some of us don’t. It depends on what kind of demon we are.”

“Also, I’d expect you to have very pronounced head, perhaps like the head of a bull with a big ring pierced through your nose. Then I might be more frightened.”

“Sir, you obviously know nothing about demons. Bull-Headed demons are a totally different kind of demon. No wonder you’re not scared! You don’t even know the different types of demons!”

“Should I?” I said

Apparently, as I would later learn, this was too audacious a comment to make to the demon. The demon stretched itself out to its full height of over eight feet, and roared in a more typical, evil, demon-like voice, “Not being afraid is one thing, but not knowing your demons is another thing entirely. If I had been a Bull-Headed demon sir, I would be eating you right now. You are lucky I am a different type.”

“I apologize for my ignorance. I will remember for next time,” I pleaded.

“Next times are very rare. Have you not even been paying attention at all!” roared the demon.

I cowered now. The demon was right. He had told me that most people only meet a demon one time, and even these times were rare. Why hadn’t I been paying proper attention! WHY!

“As I can tell that you are ashamed, being that I am a type of demon that can read the thoughts of human beings, I will forgive you.” The demon lowered itself back to its pre-enraged height, and went back to speaking in a non-typical demon voice.

“Have you not wondered yet why I have accosted you here this evening Mr. Peabody?”

Truly, I had not, but I figured that if I said this it might anger the demon again so I said, “Yes, I am very curious.”

The demon just shook his head. “You just thought about saying yes so as not to anger me.”

“No, I’m really curious,” I said.

“Why do I even bother with you humans?” It motioned to what served as its head, “Remember, your thoughts sir.”

It’s true. It was a kind of thought-reading demon and I had tried to trick it. By this time the demon had had enough of my lack of knowledge and my memory lapses and pushed the purpose of our meeting forward.

“Very well Arthur Peabody, I am going to tell you why I have accosted you this evening.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

The demon moved forward and kind of motioned its version of a hand in a way as if to persuade. I, realizing that this must be some kind of enthusiasm-driven demon answered, “Great! Please tell me why you have accosted me here.”

“Ahh very well, with pleasure sir. As I notice you have at least begun to recognize and individuate the types of demons, I will tell you, instead of sending you through the soul sucking vortex I am so fond mustering and utilizing in many a instance.” It took what can only be described as a demonic deep breath.

“I have come to bring you news. It is news that you may want to hear, potentially the greatest news ever brought upon human ears, but, this news could perhaps bestow upon you a most horrible feeling, indeed the most intense feeling of dread that is possible for a human being to withstand. Either great joy it will bring, or sorrow so deep you will drop to your knees and curse the sky forever having been created. I give you the option. Would you like to hear the news?”

The demon was silent. I was trying my best not to think of anything at all, but knowing that the demon could read my thoughts this proved futile. I didn’t want to think yes, but I also didn’t want to think no. It was quite a predicament.

“I know what you’re trying to do, but humans cans only hold a truly blank mind for mere seconds. I’ll just stating counting down from ten.”

The demon began. “Ten, nine…

This Guy! A Sketch stolen from Jorges Luis Borges

Vol. 1 Issue 31

Weird! I wrote an intro to this entry so that you'd have some idea what the hell I was trying to do here but it disappeared. I just noticed May 18th. This posting has been up since May 13th. Does blogger.com have moderators that edit out the shit they don't like? Part of my posting seems to have been edited out!

Anyway, the following is an exercise I did based on Jorges Luis Borges's "Borges and I." Here is a link to the Borges so you can see how this type of exercise if supposed to be done by a real writer.

http://www.sccs.swarthmore.edu/users/00/pwillen1/lit/borg&i.htm

This Guy!

There’s this guy with a real long last name that’s hard to spell but easy to say. He’s supposed to be around, getting this name of his called off and checked off the appropriate lists every-so-often, but these times are rare, in comparison. The importance of this calling and checking is debatable. I get always get dragged along with him for logistical reasons.

            Rare in comparison to what? Well, when I do get dragged along with him, I would say it takes up as much of a quarter of my week’s time. The other three quarters of the week, my time, are spent dealing with the effects and consequences of what he did in his quarter of the week. But even after dealing with all his fall-out I’m still left with plenty of time to waste. I cook. I drink vodka. I sleep a lot.

            Every-so-often he calls others with similar last names just to check-in, to confirm that yes, it is still he, and not I. He talks about the pages that he wrote. What would happen if he stopped the routine name checking, the calling to confirm? What would this do to I? Nothing, but there are others, the ones that must called; they would be affected. They may sense that perhaps he has become I, of course, they would have different terminology.

            He, representing a perfectly all right, mentally sound and jolly-as-can-be individual. I, being quite the opposite. So in reality, the calling and the checking-in is not for I, nor for him, but for them. This is a whole other realm.

            Both of us agree on this - pages don’t mean pages, so all those pages and pages of words that he wrote, pages that belong to us, again for logistical reasons, are getting really heavy to carry around. They are baggage There is nothing that he would like more than to have someone else take away these pages and pages, only preferably someone more photogenic, someone with more pizzazz, someone with a last name that is easier to spell. So what are pages then? Well, all I know is what they are not.

            It would be like converting all of your assets into gold bricks and then carrying these bricks around with you everywhere. Have you ever tried buying a soda at a bodega with a Fort Knox style gold brick? I have, well actually it was a Red Bull, but still, it was difficult. Even worse was trying to get back correct change. Believe me.

            It would be like this if the pages and pages were assets, and worth their weight in gold, or lead even. But they are not. He pretends they are. I wish I could, but I know too much.

“For what does not exist cannot will.” This is what Nietzsche says. “Only where there is life is there also will (TSZ 2^nd Part). So then, if there is will, then there must be life. If I will, then I must exist.

            But he, the other, he wills and wills all day long. Has we proven Nietzsche wrong?

            “What already exists, how could that then will to exist!” It cannot. I cannot will myself into existence, and yet he never gives up trying.

            We both struggle with deductive logic.

            A bad review of his work, two-thumbs way down, a group of people standing around talking about how obnoxious he is, or that he smells bad; “I had to sit next to that guy, man he stinks so bad. He ruined the entire movie for me.”

            He doesn’t know that a bad review, or even a fuck-you, is more than he should expect. He doesn’t see the justification and joy that being hated and ridiculed could bring. You cannot will hatred into existence. Hatred must be willed from existence.

            He wants cosmic fly-overs on this birthday, galaxies to be re-arranged to his choreography, atoms to dance to his garage band remix. He sees things on a grander scale. I’d settle for having someone learn how to spell our name properly.

Can I Get a RaMen- Part Two

Vol. 1 Issue 30

I’ve been reading a lot of Nietzsche (1844–1900) lately. A LOT. The things about his writing that seem to be sticking with me the most are his condemnations, which means pretty much everything, since all seems to do is condemn stuff. His condemnations match up pretty consistently with everything that I myself dislike i.e. sentimentalism, facileness, falsity, thus my own beliefs are fortified and I am made to feel better. Is this a good thing? Yes, I guess, but most of his views are hardly the kind of views that should ever make any body feel better.

It’s true that he could help one think of things in new ways, or question things that one may have otherwise just accepted without having ever thought otherwise, such as morality or religion, but it’s one of those scenarios where the bad makes me feel good, and then makes me feel bad again out of realization. He does seem to offer at least a glimmer of a chance for change and improvement. His writings might be negative, but I don’t think they’re hopeless; however I am reading them translation, so maybe truly they are…

Unfortunately it seems the people that really should read Nietzsche, like the extremely religious, the overly vengeful and aggressive, or the just plain over-zealous, do not. Or maybe they do, and they just don’t agree, which is fine, but I have a feeling that those Jehovah’s Witnesses who spent hours handing out The Watchtower and condemning everyone else who is not a Jehovah’s Witness to hell, albeit they are usually at least doing their condemning with a smile on their face, never bothered to read Nietzsche’s ideas about the soul, that it’s an invention of ancient creditors to collect debts from the indebted, even in the afterlife (Genealogy 64 Vintage).

I’m also assuming they also didn’t read their Joseph Campbell or else they’d know that what they are preaching is more or less exactly the same thing humans have been preaching since they began effectively expressing themselves with the dawn of consciousness: deity worship. Why for some reason every two thousand or so years a new wave just so happens to come along, and that this new wave just so happens to be the true one, invalidating all past religions which would have done the same thing to their predecessors, and their predecessors to their predecessors, etc, etc, I do not know. If I knew the answer we would have a religion that worshipped Chris instead of Jesus, and for simplicity’s sake, we'd even be able to keep the same name: Christianity.  

Instead, I worship His Noodliness, The Flying Spaghetti Monster. Can I get a RaMen?

Anyway, Nietzsche’s reality is only bad in comparison to our reality. The bad is realizing how much better things could be in a perfect Nietzschian world. I’m no Nietzsche scholar, and probably misunderstand much of his stuff, but I do wonder what the world would be like if instead of worshipping the Bible and Jesus, people starting worshipping Zarathustra, the character from Thus spoke Zarathustra.

Oh yeah, also Nietzsche and I have the same birth date, only 137 years apart.

So anyone who is anyone knows that I am very interested in subjects such as sucking at things, being unpopular, failing at stuff, and so on, so it’s probably no surprise that when it comes to love and relationships, where all three of the previous adjectives could be accurately applied to my reality, I have found in Nietzsche the justification of my horrendicity. But that will have to wait until next week.

What Are The Chances?

Vol. 1 Issue 29

Even one of my instructors told me that my workload this semester was ridiculous, and this workload has once again reduced my blog writing time. I have a job too, but this job pays for school credits and so is necessary, and this makes it impossible that I will ever not have a ridiculous workload. Not, at least, for many years.

I remember getting really drunk one night in Paris with some Belgians and an American. I left Paris the next morning, extremely hung-over to go to Nice in the south of France. Turns out this American guy’s computer got stolen conveniently around the same time I left Paris. I didn’t steal the computer, but that didn’t stop the guy from coming to Nice to track me down and accuse me of stealing it. I actually did run into him in the train station. He searched my bag, and I guess he was convinced, or at least disheartened enough to accept that I didn’t steal it because he was pretty non-confrontational.

That’s my story for this week.