Swimming To Hell and Back: or Performing In and Under Water
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| Eurydice, Second Stage Theater, 2007 |
The play that immediately jumped
into my head after reading Mark’s prompt is Sarah Ruhl’s Eurydice. I was first introduced to Eurydice when I saw it performed at Curious Theatre Company in
Denver in 2009. I remember being completely transported by the production. It
was the first time I’d ever seen a Sarah Ruhl play. It was the first time I’d
really heard of the Orpheus myth. And it was the first time I’d seen water used
onstage in a way that wasn’t merely decorative (I saw Mary Zimmerman’sMetamorphoses years later and was equally blown away- maybe it’s a water thing).
So many of Sarah Ruhl’s plays
already contain a shimmering, other-worldly quality that almost makes them seem
impossible to fully bring to life within the confines of a traditional theatre.
The set description for Eurydice – if one could really even call it that – is
as follows:
“The
set contains a raining elevator,
a
water pump,
some
rusty exposed pipes,
an
abstracted River of Forgetfulness,
an
old-fashioned glow-in-the-dark globe.”
If that’s not begging to be re-imagined in an unconventional
theatre space, then I don’t know what is.
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| Maybe something like this, but less spa-y |
In my dream
staging of this play, I imagine an old, indoor swimming pavilion. Not an overly
sterilized, public pool situation, but a more romanticized location complete
with soft Metamorphoses, I imagine
the action taking place in and out of the water. For example in the opening
scene, Orpheus and Eurydice could venture in and out of the shallow end, or
maybe do no more than dip a toe in the pool. Full submersion would be saved for
the end when SPOILER ALERT Eurydice’s father “dips himself in the river. A
small metallic sound of forgetfulness – ping” as a way of choosing to forget
everything, his own daughter included. *cue loud sobs, hearts breaking, etc.*
mossy (or maybe mildew walls) and shifty, wavy lights distorted by
the water’s movement. It’s a place that is at once soothing and slightly eerie.
Similar to
While this
idea fits Schechner’s idea of “The Theatrical Event Can Take Place Either In A
Totally Transformed Space Or In A ‘Found Space’” (I would argue my idea is a
little of both: a “found” swimming pavilion that is “transformed” into a
version of Sarah Ruhl’s underworld), I would also love to explore the
relationship between the audience and my found space. For example, what if the
audiences’ “place” is seated around the pool with their legs dangling in the
water. Obviously they would not have to remain in contact with the water at all
times (I mean who wants pruney ankles, am I right?) but asking them to interact
with the element that in the world of the play that Sarah Ruhl has created has
the power to wipe away all of our memories, good or bad, would make for an
interesting experience. I like Schechner’s observation that when the audience
is involved and directly interacting with the space around them, “The action
‘breathes’ and the audience itself becomes a major scenic element.” In a play
that speaks to love and loss in such a profound and beautiful way, it seems
appropriate to involve the audience on a more visceral level.
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| Orpheus and Eurydice, Rodin |
This was my first encounter with Eurydice, and I can say with confidence that I am moved. With the help of this succinct Ted-Ed Video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RhaepLsP5eg) I was able to piece together the gist of the play. The focus on water is so inventive because water emerges in your description of Sarah Ruhl's play as an important production element. Your description of the "otherworldly quality" surrounding Ruhl's production implies that the water was allowed to speak its own language under the banner of Schechner's fifth axiom. Even though it is less a production element and more a scenic tool, under the umbrella of scenery as a device of production, the water whispers into the performance qualities of coolness, wetness, nourishment, cleansing, dousing etc. Going forward with your re-imagination of the performance, it appears that the language of water will be given the opportunity to rise from a whisper to a strong and steady tone. It is so easy to forget that "water is life", and that without it all of humanity would cease to exist. By bringing the audience into contact with the water you would not only be allowing them to invade the space and establish themselves as a mobile scenic device, but you would also re-establish the ancient language that exists between two human beings and a cup of water.
ReplyDeleteI really love the ideas and mental images which can emerge from tentative feet and swirling currents. I am reminded of that moment before I take the plunge into a pool; a cross between sheer terror and absolute delight. Did someone pee in the pool? What if I drown? Is the water clean? Who else has been in it? How long has it been here? These questions and more drive would drive me as an audience member over the hump of predetermined rules surrounding "good theatre behavior" and into the circle of "What if?" Picking a leaf from Schechner's descriptions of various environmental productions; what could an underwater camera add to this production? What if a mirror image of the pool was projected upwards onto the ceiling? Or perhaps a camera midway into the water projected onto the far end of the room? What would it mean if the audience was given the opportunity to watch themselves watching the performance watching themselves? Sorry, got carried away there hehe.
All in all, this really is a lovely idea and I would pay to see it!