Last night, my wife and I took my mom to see Hair at the Ephrata Performing Arts
Center. After taking her to dinner at the Brickerville House, it was a nice
early Mother’s Day present since we will be in Virginia Beach next weekend
celebrating the end of the teaching part of my spring classes (though I’ll be
grading classwork until Tuesday due to the need to take late assignments).
As
always, local theater is spectacular for doing what it does (the following review is not of the actors - they were great, but more of a cultural analysis of the story they were telling). This action of
taking large shows and bringing them to theaters close to home is always a hit,
and we get some unique things in the Sharidan Bigler Theater. From Lion King Jr. to King Lear this year alone there is a variety to
choose from (my wife sees a lot of things – I only saw Shrek). Here, Hair fits in
nicely by bringing sex, drugs, rock and roll, and rebellion to Amish Paradise,
Pennsylvania, which doesn’t really seem like that kind of a place, though we do
have a guy in town who wears a GG Allin jacket.
Unsure
what to expect with the R rating for full frontal nudity, drug use, language,
and constant sexual talk and actions, we went wondering what the scale of full
frontal nudity would be in one of those, “Whose nipples, orifices, and
appendages am I going to see with my mom (or her mother in law, with regard to
my wife)?” The answer ended up being far less than Motley Crue’s “Girls, Girls,Girls” video and more like a bunch of people of both sexes stripping out of
hippie clothes while standing in shadows for slightly less than a minute.
Here,
they successfully showed that the body in all of its forms is beautiful and
nothing to be ashamed of, though I think to myself with all of the pre-existing
conditions that the 3 of us and many other people have, how concealing we
should be of what our bodies have done. As I think of this, I hope for a fight
in the Senate or at least enough leg-dragging that a new House and Senate don’t
accept this, but even I personally don’t think they can last 2 years. Better
hope for the aliens to come instead.
Anyway,
when the human bodies in their birthday suits were done being displayed, the theater
went dark. At that moment, the end of the humorous and fun half of the show
ended in an intermission that gave way to a New York City blackout and the seriousness
of Claude’s decision to go to war or to skip the draft. Sure, there was the
hallucination scene, which was a little surrealism and racial politics mixed
with current events and a more accessible form of Trout Fishing in America (I still don’t know what that was about –
maybe I need to ask the ghost of Richard Brautigan), but it felt like 2
different plays at that part other than having the rampant hedonism and
youthful visions of a better world on display from a different perspective.
For
me, I liked the first half, but I got lost in the second half, which
occasionally felt like an opportunity to throw every current issue and the
kitchen sink into one play. As an author, I have always felt that all writing
should lead to somewhere… i.e. necessary points. I am big on background and
character building, and frankly, for all of the background of characters given
in the first half, it was like they were forgotten in the second half. Then
again, maybe that was intentional since it didn’t feel like many of the
characters went anywhere deeper. Well, Claude gets a moral decision, but nobody
else does. Instead, it’s continuing to pine over unrequited love, getting
stoned, sleeping around, and scaring tourists. If that’s your deal, more power
to you, but I’m personally past considering that as a place I want to be in
life.
In Hair, life seems groovy and fun at
first, and it ends there with the sun shining in and the whole cast and some of
the audience dancing, but as a whole, there are a couple of points where the
writer reveals that all is not so perfect in Utopia. Between begging for money,
jealousy and exclusivity in some relationships that should have been free love,
and being based out of mind all of the time, it just gets old for this part of
the audience and the cast themselves.
And
maybe it’s because I am old, but even in my younger alternative / indie / punk /
grunge rock days (the picture above is a 1-night only event - New Year's Eve 1989 when my girlfriend and friend took my hair up to do the Robert Smith thing before I shaved it all off the next day to get ready for the Air Force the following April), there had to be some kind of a purpose, even if it was just
to search for whatever the hell it was. Sure, music and happiness goes a long
way and so do charismatic, youthful, and attractive friends, some of whom might
be nice for sweaty, naked moments, but there needs to be some kind of a point
to all of this and to even have conversation after the body fluids part is over.
Thinking back on all of
the rebellion and discovery of youth, what bothered me the most in growing
older and wiser (theoretically) was the lack of personal connection beyond just
enjoying some of the same music and going to the same clubs that I had with
some people (though other people were awesome and life-altering). Even having
similar political and philosophical values was something more positive than
just “dancing the night away” (as 7 Seconds would sing), but in the late 80s /
early 90s, everyone was seeking to find themselves as something (I’m sure this
is any period of time). For those of us who came together in places, we had some
things in common, but then came the subdivisions. For me, I left for my Air
Force days in what I always felt was the nick of time as people started to
break off and divide different ways. Other people stayed while more waited
until graduation to move on toward their futures.
“It just isn’t the same,”
I could hear inside of my head. It made me wonder how many of the Tribe felt
this way, too.
Back in the show, there
was a point where Claude reached that with a giant FU to everything, which was
right before he accepted his destiny and went into the draft. Before that, it
seemed like all he wanted was someone to hold onto.
“Screw Canada. Give me
a real friend.”
Hell, he even said that
in so many words, but the best answer he got was “tomorrow, we’ll protest for
you.”
I just sat there in my
45 year old self saying, “But I need you tonight. Tomorrow is too late. Go run
off with the cool guy who treats you like crap. I see where I stand, so the
Hell with you.”
I think of the words
from Michael Franti’s “Music and Politics” and realize “that the personal
revolution is far more difficult and the first step in any revolution,” and I
want to shake the character Sheila and say, “What the hell?”
Then again, maybe I’m just
too old, and I need to let life and theater take its course.
And that’s where I just
remembered how even my younger self felt lost with some of the hippie message,
though he would have given some of it more leeway than my older self does.
Sure, there is music the older me likes, and some of the fierce independent
spirit and commitment to things like love, philosophy, causes like being a
person first and the Earth matter to this me, but looking at it from history
shows why Woodstock, Manson, Altamont, Kent State, and the 1970s happened. From
disco to punk to stadium rock onto Nixon, Ford, and Carter and through to gas
lines, muscle cars, political changes, cultural stagnation, and the Cold War,
we were living in the war between worlds that showed what Watergate, Vietnam,
and OPEC had brought to America.
Who the hell were we?
Someday soon, will
someone write a musical on this time we live in now as we wonder who we are as
a society with partisan, economic, cultural, religious, and philosophical distinctions
and changes in our time? How will Trump, the death of Obama Care, transgender
bathrooms, vaccine fights, Afghanistan / Syria / Iraq, global warming, millennial
friendly eateries, social media, hip hop, long-term insurmountable debt, evil organizations with the word BIG in front of them, and
manipulated media from all sides figure into it (having never seen American Idiot, I’m not sure if someone
didn’t try to write some of this before)?
Sometimes, I just think
I’ll end up being Eugene O’Neill’s Hairy Ape, when the time comes. Personally,
I see that as how Claude felt when he laid there on the American flag at the
end as the snow fell down and the lights dimmed.
And that’s when the
current me wonders just where I need to fit in with following the rules of the personal,
economic, physical, political, and philosophic systems I’m embedded in and to
not call the frustrations with them corruption, entitlement, a "Dead Generation" (since we're so much more than "Lost"). or permanent rage.
Frankly, I’m still just
wondering if there is such a thing as a solo ethical revolution or if it’s all
just Berenger refusing to capitulate, but maybe that's just my trip.
No comments:
Post a Comment