IT was last Thursday, the day Ellen Stewart died. So, thinking about Stewart and her amazing, inventive, avant-garde work at
La MaMa for all those decades, I was feeling more open than I normally would be to experimental theater forms. But my experience of the Living Theater's "
Korach" went way, way, way too far.
When I'm in critic or award-nominator mode, I always try to be kind and to keep an open mind. So I thought positive thoughts as two dozen or so actors performed the story of Korach (rhymes with low-back) and his followers, who apparently
broke away from Moses during those 40 years wandering in the desert because Moses became too authoritarian, stayed away too long receiving the Ten Commandments and wouldn't let most of his people inside the temple. O.K., I thought, that's clever when Korach and all the Korachites emerge from the stage floor. Nice touch with the changing colors of the black and white costumes. Yes, it all seems
painfully 1960s, but who am I to make harsh judgments about playwrights and actors and actresses who need work and a form of self-expression?
But the actors kept seeming to try to
catch my eye. The theater on 21 Clinton Street (F train to Delancey Street) is tiny and plays are performed in the round, so a lot of the time, there were actors as close to me as my computer screen is right now.
Now I had been forewarned by my colleague Eric Grode's review in The New York Times ("
A Man So Stubborn He Wouldn't Listen Even to Moses"). "The audience-performer divide blurs at the end," he wrote, "as cast members
cajole one and all into standing, dancing, joining hands and vocalizing." I should have paid more attention to his final thought, though: "It takes moxie," he continued, to end a theater piece about dissent "with enforced participation."
I was determined not to be grumpy and uncooperative, but what I didn't fully understand from the Times review was the nature of this vocalizing. The cast would sing a line, something like "Gosh, we really like diversity" or "It's good to be in touch with the spirit" (not verbatim examples, but you get the idea), and we were to sing them back. And
not just one or two lines. This thing went on. And on. Moxie? I'd say this whole thing took colossal nerve.
I tried. I really did. But as this young moon-faced blonde kept smiling at me inanely and expectantly, I finally said quietly, "
I really hate this." She looked at me with sympathy and an expression that suggested I just wasn't open and spiritual enough to appreciate this uplifting moment. While the elderly scruffy-bearded man to my left
was. I think the actress may have touched my shoulder. The look in her eye -- and the eyes of many of her fellow cast members -- reminded me of something. But what?
A day or two later, I was doing a search on "Korach" (which, to me, sounds like the name they gave
Captain Kirk on that planet where he had amnesia and everybody dressed like 19th-century American Indians), and I came across Jacob Gallagher-Ross's review of the show in The Village Voice ("
The Living Theatre Inflicts Korach on Local Ticket Holders").
He wrote of the company's "antiquated theatrical tricks" and wondered if anyone involved had seen any other piece of theater in the past 30 years. He described the hideous ending: "The proceedings go from kitschy to insufferable" as cast members "smiling beatifically" and offering "
uninvited touches" began "singing banalities about unity in diversity" and forcing the audience to join in. What the production gave us was a situation in which "helpless spectators obey strangely cheerful minders."
"There's a word for this kind of arrangement," he concluded. "
It's called a cult." (I immediately went to Facebook and friended Gallagher-Ross.)
I don't mind a dash of audience participation, the sort
Dame Edna does when she throws good-natured insults at audience members about their hair or clothing ("Affordable"). And possibly invites one person onstage to be mildly embarrassed. I don't mind this as long as that person is not me.
But things may really be getting out of hand. At "
Play Dead," the magician Teller's otherwise very entertaining scary show at the Players Theater in the Village, starring the light-bulb-eating Todd Robbins, one poor male audience member is invited to lie down in a coffinlike box and is promptly turned into a skeleton. (He is returned intact to his loved ones at the end of the show.) A couple of others are ordered onstage to operate a
Ouija board and call forth spirits. Harmless, I guess, but it does make one fear to take an aisle seat. The crew also throws sticky, moist things at the audience in the dark and tells them that they're entrails.
And then there was "
Blind Date," Rebecca Northan's improv show at Ars Nova in December. Ms. Northan, playing Mimi, a sexy Parisian clown who wears a red nose, chooses a male audience member at the beginning of the show and keeps him onstage for the entire 90-minute running time to play her blind date. It's pretty entertaining, true, but what does this poor guy get? Maybe for some men, it's the
experience of a lifetime, but surely others feel that they've been cheated. They paid for a ticket and then didn't get to see a show. What if this is the beginning of reality-show theater? Producers will just hire and pay one actor, then fill all the other roles with audience members. Well, maybe we'll at least get our Equity cards.
WANT MORE THEATERGOSSIP? Scroll on to read about eight big shows, including Tom Stoppard's "Arcadia" and the South Park guys' musical "The Book of Mormon," opening on Broadway in March. Then search to read about herds of stage stars, including David Duchovny, Tracee Chimo, Laura Benanti, James Earl Jones and Christopher Tierney, the "Spider-Man" accident guy.