Yawazzi Fish Tank

Is it ok to not like a show that you see?

And if that is okay, (and if that is in fact my right as an audience…) then is it okay for me to say that i do not like it?
to say that i hated it?

In the Cape Town theatre culture, there seems to be this notion that if you do not like a show, you talk about it in whispered, hushed tones (because the director/cast member/ designer/lighting technician/stage manager/usher… might be within earshot and you would need to work with these people in the future). This is if you talk about it at all. Sometimes you just say “Thank you” and head over to the free food, or even better, dash for the food and stuff yourself so when they ask you what you thought, you are way too busy trying to remove the chicken kebab stick that is sticking out your throat (ask them to help you or at least call an ambulance, call for a doctor, etc…)

On the few occasions where people have said or written strong criticism of a show, they have encountered a “How dare you criticize?” attitude or “What is wrong you?” or “What did you do?” or “How dare you?” from almost everyone else in the industry. Are we so precious about what we do and so united that an attack on one of us, is an attack on us all? Is there really an us?

Or are we all just scared and trying to apply the “you come see my show, i see yours” theory to our opinions?
The theory is of course the one where one feels obliged to go and see a show of someone who has come to see your show. Now in this case, do we feel that if it suddenly becomes allowed or even accepted (God forbid) to criticize a show, then the next time you work on something, the person from the show that you just watched will feel empowered or even obliged to give you a critique? Are we all just saying how great everything is because we guarantee the same will be said about our show? Is it fair to apply human decency to your opinions of other people’s work?

No that anyone has to be rude about it… I can go through all the shows that I have watched and thrown into the bin and tell you exactly why I did that…and I don’t think i would be too rude about any of them. But being decent should not be synonymous with liking the show. In fact, it should be the opposite, if i am a nice person I should be able to tell you that I did not like your show and here is why…

I think i could accept that…people coming up to me and telling me what they did not like in what I did…and i think I would like to hear it, and discuss with them, tell them what i tried to do, and they could tell me why they think i failed, or why it was a bad idea…we might even get some kind of discussion…this discussion could give me ideas for future work, we might value each other’s opinions, we might even decide to work together…it could make us better artists, it could make us better people…

but no, we will say it was great, and we will say thank you…some people do think that everything they see is great (and yes to a certain extent almost every show has something great within it) but really not everything is magic…we have to see the bin in order to see the magic… the number of times i have seen bin-worthy material has made me excited about life when I see the magic…and made me feel like i am doing what i was born to do…

but there has to come a time when all us theatre practitioners can say what we feel and lose the preciousness of our work…we are not each other’s crutch…
we should be each other’s spark.

Over the course of the last weekend in Cape Town, we took time to remember Yvonne Banning. The two memorial services, one at The Little Theatre and one at the Methodist Church Hall in Observatory, became a sharing of collective memories of this wonderful woman who had managed to leave her mark on so many people. Such a mark, that all of us who knew her, will keep with us for the rest of our lives.

I first worked with Yvonne when I became an accidental actor in Geoffrey Hyland’s Hamlet of 2004 at UCT. She was helping out with voice, and very soon she had to deal with Bosnian-Canadian who was trying to appear completely natural speaking Shakespeare (while playing Polonius) on the Cape Town stage. She must have liked me from the start, because
I was going to write about how i first got to know her, and how supportive she always was, and how she always encouraged me… i would take you through the details of our encounters, but it doesn’t feel quite right.

You see, over these last two days i had a chance to hear so many incredible testaments to the woman and the effect she had on people…all of them who were her students. there is nothing more that i can say about her that will change this. She was a teacher, the model of a teacher, one who got through to you, one who made you think and feel that you could do whatever it was that you had thought of. She was also one who could unite people over an idea, or a project, bring out their creative best and then revel in the fruits of their labour.

But i will always remember her for one simple word…”Smile.” It is what she said to me a lot during my first few years at UCT, when I was so concerned about doing things right and by the book. She was persistent in trying to get this melancholy Bosnian to smile. She was one of the few people who did manage to do just that, and with that simple word.

I will miss you Yvonne, but I am a better teacher, theatre person, and human being in general for having known you.

Hvala.

At this year’s National Arts Festival, I went to see a production entitled Ma Ravan (a review from a Cape Town performance here, done by Theatre Talipot from the Reunion Islands. It was a stunning performance. I did not find it a play, with a clear storyline or dialogue, but more an incredible stirring collection of physical and aural images. The combination of these two, together with the raw performances of the four actors/musicians/dancers, took you on an emotional journey that did not need comprehension. It was uncomplicated and powerful and almost trance-like. The moment in which one of the performers started playing the instrument (resembling a kora) tore plucked away at something inside me. It was the one of my two top shows at the Festival, and one of the best I have seen in my lifetime.

Coming back to Cape Town, I read that the company had moved on to Johannesburg to perform their show. In this press release, they also listed their previous productions, one of which caught my eye. It was called The Water Carriers (read a review here, and it had been performed around the world in the late 90s. I then remembered that I had seen this production as teenager living in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia in 1998 (I think). It had been performed at the Alliance Francaise, and the audience were all seated on the floor in this little hall (which I think had been the dining hall). It was my first time watching a play in that particular style – minimal props, use of live sound, strong physical performances, storytelling…and it was magic.

Looking back at it, I think it was the first time that I realized how magical the theatre space could be. Up until then I had watched plays rooted in realism and comedy shows, but this was the first time I had seen magic created on stage, where my imagination got activated and took me outside of my own world. And it did this without relying on text. It was quite an experience for a 16 year old. At that time, I am not even sure that drama was a strong interest or desire. I would like to think that in watching this work, my desire to work in theatre began.

The experience of Ma Ravan had scratched at that old memory of their first show that I saw. Honestly, I can’t say that I had thought much about The Water Carriers in the last few years, I had forgotten it. However, a link was made, a memory retrieved, and it made me realize why I am in this theatre world. In both cases, after watching their shows, one more than 10 years apart from the other, my reaction was the same. It also left me with the same desire: to create work that is as powerful as theirs.

Thank you Theatre Talipot.