In the play, Broderick’s character (Philip) is a mild-mannered (he defines the term, in fact) linguistics professor at an English university. His nature makes him a natural giver; he is quiet, he listens, he gives his time and attention to everyone that comes to visit his home. But how is he viewed? Each time he does a good deed, or says something nice, his guest takes offense. The rest of the cast is hard-pressed to believe that Philip is being honest and kind, and they assume that he is taking sly, subtle shots at them. Is this how philanthropists are viewed today? Is every good deed, every dollar, viewed as a quid pro quo, rather than as a purely philanthropic act, by those who are at the receiving end of the deed?  I think the answer is yes; sometimes. With big businesses giving money to charity for tax breaks, and some volunteers working to build up their resume, I think people have grown skeptical of the philanthropic act.

Furthermore, Philip, despite his giving nature, isn’t very good at understanding where his guest is coming from, and what they might want. Instead, he just says what he would want to hear, and this contributes to the guest’s frustrations. This symbol, too, can cross over into the philanthropic world. Too often, those who choose to give don’t pay attention to who it is that they’re giving <em>to</em>.  This is frustrating for all parties involved, and winds up being ineffective for both parties.

So the moral of the play, and of philanthropy in general? We, as donors, have to listen to the parties to whom we are giving. Really listen, rather than just hear. And then, we have to give without any strings attached. Only then, I think, can the world begin to view philanthropy in a less skeptical manner, and give the act the credit which it deserves.

Cross-posted with www.philanthromedia.org

As you may have read before, I hold a particular esteem for what goes on in most British theatre, and this group was brought to my attention by a recent New York Times article. DV8′s new piece, “To Be Straight With You,” is based on interviews of 85+ people living in London, on the topics of sexuality and religion. The foundation of this play is reminiscent of methods used by author Studs Terkel, who revolutionized the study of history by using oral histories to build real, unadulterated views of certain eras and events. Like Mr. Terkel, Mr. Newson, rather than casting the play, realized that the best way to convey his message “would be to actually use the words of the interviewees, and that meant people from black or Asian communities, as well as white Christian communities, who had some connection with homosexuality and religion to tell their stories and give them a voice.”

Like all good social intellectuals, Mr. Newson’s piece illustrates multiple viewpoints, allowing the audience to understand various sides of the issue and form their own opinions. This method is extremely effective for theatre, as it inspires a dialogue about the work that lasts long after the show, transforming the piece from a theatrical event to a form of progressive social engagement. Further, Mr. Newson fully understands and takes advantage of the power of theatre, stating “when you know that one word, say calling a teddy bear Muhammad, can cause such rupture worldwide, then you know the power of language.” He uses this language wisely and effectively, and as donors we need to encourage art forms like this. Try looking around your own town, and seeing what local theatre troupes are doing, and supporting them by at least checking out a show or two!

As cross-posted on www.philanthromedia.org

Since my return from a spate of living London in 2004, I have been gnashing my teeth at the lack of a national theatre in America. London’s National is a monolith of play production, producing both old and new experimental theatre at an incredibly fast pace. It compliments the West End, which is comparative to New York’s Broadway, with one key difference: pricing. For twenty pounds, a student can get a front row seat to virtually any show of their choosing through a simple rush process in London. The result is a flourishing theatre scene, where going to see a play is an easy and affordable alternative to a movie or museum. In addition, increased interest leads to competition among producers to keep audiences coming back. Hence the reason why London has been putting out so many smash hits, many of which have hit this side of the Atlantic with as hard an impact.

The high price tags associated with Broadway productions, in contrast, greatly constrains who can attend the productions. In my eyes, this has led to a vicious cycle. Tourists and members of the upper echelon can afford the tickets, but the majority of citizens are cut out of the loop (at least on an every-day basis); those who can’t afford the $120 price tag then define theatre as a snobbish event in which they have no interest. Frustrating, no? But yesterday, as I saw the vast range of fellow New Yorkers waiting on the line for Hair, I came to distrust the second half of my cycle. People- all people- still do love theatre. They’ll do a lot, at least, to see it for a low or no cost. The people want theatre. Now it’s our turn, as donors, to work toward that goal. The Public theatre is doing a great job battling the big Broadway producers for attention- check out some information here.

As cross-posted on www.philanthromedia.org

N.B. Letts even avoided the pitfall of using the sage Amerindian housekeeper as a moral figure- he deserves a Tony for that alone!

Against Jan Stoppard pins Max, an intellectual who makes the study of communism and proletariat revolt his life’s work, and Ferdinand, a member of the Czech resistance to the Fasco-communist regime of Husek.  A series of shouted battles ensue between Jan and each of his intellectual opponents throughout at 20-year span, during which the audience’s sympathy bounces between each of the characters’ struggles.  We want Jan to be able to hear his music.  We want Max to be able to live in a utopic world with square-jawed laborers and buxom ladies wearing kerchiefs.  We want Ferdinand’s letters to convince the Czech government to relax its policies of “normalization.”  So who wins? Who winds up changing history? If you’ve seen Stoppard before, you can guess- nobody wins…maybe.  Change happens, but neither Jan’s rock music nor Ferdinand’s letters makes it so.  Sure, there is the Prague Spring, the Velvet Revolution, and Charter 77, but as Max states in the final scene, those are cultural revolutions.  People’s day-to-day lives are no different from them.  Or are they?  Do we really ever change things, no matter if change is our aim or not?  Does history plunge forward, unaware of those of us yelling from the sidelines telling it to stop and turn left instead of right?  Yes, it does. It may take notice once in a while, but it never slows down to say so. And that is the tragedy.  That is the struggle of each of the characters in Rock. They all are searching for something, real or imaginary, in their past- something that has been taken from them by the progress of history. 

But what do they want? Enter Stoppard’s main theme, it’s binding element: the Pink Floyd song “Vera.”  This plays in between the final scenes: “Does anybody here remember Vera Lynn?/Remember how she said that /We would meet again /Some sunny day?/Vera! Vera!/What has become of you?/Does anybody else here/Feel the way I do?”  Suddenly it all makes sense. Syd Barret’s character as the “great god pan” has his meaning revealed.  He is Floyd’s “Vera Lynn,” the part of their past that they miss the most.  It turns out, all of Stoppard’s characters have their Veras.  Jan’s “Vera” is the Plastic People, Max’s is Marx, and Ferdinand’s is Havel.   All of Stoppard’s characters, who throughout the play fought for so many different things for so many different reasons, really just all want to go home. To their version of home.  And in the end, somehow, Stoppard gets them all there by the final scene- wiser than we found them at the opening of the curtain, and most definitely happier.  As for Stoppard? I say to him: I hope that we meet again, some sunny day.

The Jacobs Theatre’s production of Frost/Nixon was excellent.  The acting was superb, the use of video and audio technology inside the world of the play was done very well, and it was one of the first plays I’ve seen that had me on the edge of my seat the entire production.  Despite all of this, the most potent feeling I had leaving the theatre was one of alarm.  Alarm at how close Frost/Nixon had made me come to actually sympathizing with, and, dare I say it, liking the former President Nixon.  As strong an objector to this man’s actions as any other liberal history buff, I was shocked to find myself drawn to Frank Langella’s portrayal of the infamous leader.  The man did not appear to be a coldly-calculating, power-hungry giant, but instead gave off the aura of a charming, intelligent grandfather figure who had an unlimited valise of amusing stories.  For the first time in all of my studies of this man, I could understand how Richard Nixon was able to get the American people to vote for him.  When asked tough questions, he adroitly skirted the issue and twisted the conversation into a speech about his successes, or a funny tale of misadventure with any number of powerful world leaders.  While this technique was rather translucent, one could not help but be drawn into his tales anyway, forgetting the actual man, and replacing him with a charismatic storyteller.  This was Nixon’s power, and without a doubt, it is the power of most politicians today.  The key to unlocking the true meanings and actions of these politicians, as shown in Frost/Nixon is the use of research, analysis, and media.  When these three tools are combined, it seems that no politician, no matter how slippery, can escape the truth.

If you watch the American primetime news syndicates, what do you see?  News anchors with backgrounds in theatre and public speaking, asking canned questions to guests who are meant to be flattered rather than interviewed.  I have rarely seen a news segment on NBC, ABC, or CBS in which the interviewee was asked a question that at all challenged his/her intellect or made him/her stop, think, and respond.  Watching the private American news is like watching two computers play pong, and one can rarely learn anything from it.  This is a serious issue in a world where most people learn 90% of their information from television.  It is the combination of the lack of useful American news media with the political games played by all politicians, that has lead to the creation of a country crippled by misunderstanding and ignorance.

Now, let us look at Britain.  Now, I’m not a political expert, but it seems to me that most politicians in the “western” world are of the same breed.  Most that become powerful, like Nixon, are excellent at skirting tough issues, and become experts at avoiding the negatives and shedding the spotlight on the positives.  What, then, makes the political climate so different on opposite sides of the pond?  As far as I can tell, the difference between Britain and America, the thing that makes Tony Blair step down and leaves President Bush in office, is the existence of a public media.  British media is ruled by the BBC, and the BBC asks questions. Their reporters are skilled, well-trained journalists and academics that care about issues and ask their country’s politicians difficult, important questions.  Access to its information is available at no cost to all British people (and even those outside, via the internet), and the BBC teaches its citizens that challenging its nations’ politicians is patriotic, not treasonous.  And as a result?  The British people learn to ask questions, to avoid political traps, to think critically about issues and develop opinions.  This is the element that is missing from American media, and what our country desperately needs to get back on track.  We can’t have 50% of people still believing that Saddam Hussein bombed the World Trade Center.  We can’t have another 50% believing that the Iraq war was started when we found WMDs in Iraq.  We can’t have the will of a few billionaire media tycoons determining what news and information is fed to the American people.  Television has turned into the American teacher, and we need that teacher to be smarter, more educated, and more worldly than the people to whom it is trying to educate.  Let us take the tools we have, the ability to reach everyone in our country with the flick of a switch, and use it for good. Let us give people all of the facts, and let them decide for themselves.

Ultimately, this is what Michael Sheen, as the British talk-show host David Frost, attempts to do in Peter Morgan’s Frost/Nixon.  He forms a band of four experts and builds an interview to challenge the former president in an all-out, no holds barred brawl.  Someone is going to win, and someone is going to lose, but no one is going to be placated.  No one is going to have their ego stroked.  It is the media versus the politician, and in this case the media wins.  The media uncovers the truth, and the politician, out-foxed, must admit he has been avoiding the truth.  Let us move toward this place again, where journalists fight for the people, and make politicians accountable to those that they are meant to serve and protect.

I have to admit it.  Every time I had a day off from high school or snuck a sick day, I’d tune in to the astoundingly annoying yet somehow alluring television mystery phenomenon, “Murder, She Wrote” at 11am.  Angela Lansbury is probably best known by her depiction of this snarky detective, but in my head Jessica Fletcher is far from the pinnacle of Lansbury’s career.  Personally I still marvel at Lansbury’s work as Mrs. Lovett in the original Broadway production of Sweeney Todd, and her skill in the original Manchurian Candidate.  It is such performances that compelled me to grab my mom and run to see Deuce while we had a chance to see the actor in…well, action.  I had low expectations for this metaphoric dramedy about retired tennis partners living their dreams for one last night together.  But with their natural poise coupled with an excellent script by Terrence McNally, Marian Seldes and Angela Lansbury blew any hint of my skepticism out of the water. (See the New York Times review) The duo skillfully avoided any hokiness, and refused to hit the audience over the head with metaphorical tennis rackets of times past and successes gone.  Instead, Lansbury and Seldes showed that they are far from shadows in the theatrical mind, and performed with such adroitness that one couldn’t tell them from the 30-year old stars they once were.

The staging of the play was very well done, as two levels of scrim with video footage of a crowd viewing a tennis match projected onto them surrounded the two actresses, emphasizing their separation from the rest of the viewers.  The two women seemed to visually “pop” out of the stage, and I very rarely found myself distracted by other elements of the set.  The sports announcers were spot-on, hitting the stride of the annoying, self-obsessed ex-pro as announcer (ahem, McEnroe) from the very beginning.  The play faultered when it came to the character of the male fan, who waxed poetic about the past greatness of tennis.  This part was the achilles heal of the show, as McNally succumbed for a moment to the preachy language of change that he so deftly avoided in the script between the two leads.  This resolved itself slightly when the man approached the two women halfway through the production, which allowed the audience to see a different side of the two women, as they interacted with someone outside of one another.

Overall, Deuce is- yes, I shall say it- a surprise smash.  It’s running for another month or so, and I implore you to check it out.  If you had a chance to see the Babe play for the Yankees one more time, you’d go.  So do the same for these two women- they, and every member of the theatre world, deserve it.