The kneeling foursome.
I can’t remember–did Weil write this scene? Or did Gordon? How on earth did she envision such violence? Gordon has adapted it.
Scene is over. DL introduce Blasted/Artaud….Jon’s rundown on Blasted.
The bottles on the table are half empty.
Comments on Blasted:
It was not a theater where you could get up and walk around, the eyeball eating of Blasted, the references to Bosnia. This is not enough! The horrors of war–so Sarah Kane–she shot them?
Jess watched Blasted–people walked out of Blasted. She watched.
To throw shit at the audience as a way to activate the audience–Molly’s critique of this supercilious and boring perspective.
Theater as a question of bodies.
What good is that? That masochism. To make people pull a lever for democrats. Molly is heartfelt.
Grand Guignol. When does it stop being fun and start being political theater?
What about catharsis? Nietzsche…
Zachary starts up–he speaks! He talks about the bewilderment of going to Blasted. Zachary talks about the programmatic nature of the Kane play’s justification–it did not activate him. He had respect for the actors. He felt put off by the experience.
There was a content expectation–were we paying, at Blasted, to be induced to vomit?
The beautiful foreigner felt that her body was invaded through the state, by watching Blasted.
Someone says–then, why not go to a therapist?
She says here, in the US, she feels people do not feel “it,” she wants to feel her role in it.
DL seems to cotton to the idea of the woman being penetrated by the shock of Blasted. Did you feel empathy or disabled, able to act?
Molly says that the beautiful foreigner sounds like Simone Weil. You felt like you were at war–you felt the pain of others. It is obscure as to whether Molly means this as a compliment.
Yes, she also felt the pain of the person sitting next to her.
But why would you want to feel at war? Molly is deft with her edge.
Because we are at war!
It’s red blood!
We need the theater….so we can feel things.But I wonder, do we really have to feel everything, all at once, for it to be real? Isn’t numbness also a feeling?
Thank God–the hand signal has passed! The discussion, while fascinating, and while evolving somewhere interesting, is still somehow strangely exhausting. I am aware, as Audience, that I want someone else to control the form, to give my brain and my flying fingers a break, as much as I have Radical Empathy for the discussion. Only the Director’s resumption of his directive role, and his Hand Signal–the unbreaking of the hierarchical frame between performance and audience–can relieve me of the strain of trying to control what I cannot control.
I’m a journalist–so what would make her not get that feeling from journalism? The journalist is acting as therapist to the beautiful foreigner–we are very concerned about how the beautiful woman feels. How can we help her feel?
Fascinating to think how far-reaching the triumph of the therapeutic has penetrated–even to the journalist.
The Times reports on it, but we do not feel it, I do not feel it, even when I see the images. I had to see the images from other journals–Finland, Czech, Germany, all the languages I speak, beautiful incognita continues.
Why not Al-Jazeera. The journalist’s rejoinder. Hmm, maybe not so interested in being Beauty’s therapist after all…
Clearly more refined people don’t all feel it the same way, the subtext here.
Bearded man also weighs in about how some people feel some things, some don’t.
Gaza Woman is about to speak: let her!
The bearded man returns, though
–what do the people in power think? How do they notice us? How do we get power to pay attention to us? How do we get to them? Ask them to-make them–read our blogs? How can we act like those people? The people with power are different from us.
Ah yes, as the Beautiful Foreigner is different from us, too. Ukepay.
Gaza speaks–the value of feeling the presence of the Other sitting next to you.
The purpose of political theater is to go into a room with people who think like you and who are experiencing it with you..
Religion is political theater! There are even envelopes there so that we can give money if we are moved, like a Caryl Churchill play!
But religion does that through guilt. Has guilt come up at all in relation to this experience. Do we look at these images for purposes of suffering? Apprenticeship to suffering? Guilt?
DL rephrases: people go to see political theater out of guilt or to experience the pleasure of guilt and the pleasure of safety. A psychological and emotional and ethical double bind.
The conversation evolves: guilt and action. What kind of action does guilt inspire?
Guilt can inspire a sense of connection: Guilt has caused something. Can bad faith be useful? Can guilt cause the good?
We speak of layers of guilt. Who came here because they felt guilty–does it influence production as well as spectatorship?
What about form?
What about morality? Linda invokes Simone–they are on a first name basis, but she has sentimentalized Weil’s life. (No, she was not a political martyr! She was a very ill, hysterical, bright, tortured woman.It is we who want to shortcut through this and adopt her as an easy-bake do-it-yourself create your own political martyr. Read the Cahiers before you invoke sweeping claims like this about Weil!)
Elizabeth want s to talk about duty, and how it motivates us as a concept–the citizenship issue, as particular to Americans. A journalist is not a stenographer.
We move to discussions of what’s the difference. You feel something, but rarely do we ever feel empathy. If you see someone suffering, you feel waves of feeling, but you do not feel empathy. The empathy is an effect (or is an erasure) by virtue of form.
You are disempowered by paying money to theater.
What about to therapists. Are we disempowered by paying money to therapists? Are we disempowered by paying money for nourishing food? For iPods? Would barter be any better?
The question arises: Is Weil a journalist? The life gets in the way of the work: she can’t get out of her own way in order to write a better play–but who cares, when it is her commitment which was important. Makes me think of Hitler’s paintings.
Molly’s swain interjects: Can we talk about the scene we saw? (Many minutes ago now…)
And, in another radical move tonight–David allows us to swerve backwards in the discussion, another first–he is openly transgressing the predictions made earlier about the patterns of his own directorial behavior.
The word “waterboard” was used to make us feel implicated, guilty. We are Venice.
What if there were a scene where torture is needed (what does he mean?) 24. A few people raise their hands as having seen 24, violence.
Can we please get a nuanced view of torture, asks the general from West Point.
This conversation could go on and on, and could continue to engage and amuse and challenge us–it feels as if, tonight, there is so much to explore. Many of the forms constraints have been disregarded, and the organism, the polis of this room, has been able to populate itself with a richness of ideas. This is the point at which we could continue, for another few hours–what would happen if we were allowed to do that? What would this conversation become? Would all of us speak? Would I forget to write?