metaDRAMA: Copywrong?

I can't say I've been in the same shoes as Eleanor, but personally, if an artist like Jason Robert Brown (or, scratch that, any artist) were to kindly ask me to stop infringing on his rights, I would. You can read his whole back-and-forth here.

However, I find one of his examples a bit problematic. He's all for letting a friend borrow a book that he owns, so long as they return it. It's just the permanent copying that he's not cool with. To extend this metaphor, then, it would be acceptable to download, say, a CD from a friend--so long as the original CD was then wiped from that friend's computer. Such action might help to cut back what I suspect JRB has a real problem with, which is that Eleanor isn't borrowing from a friend, but from an infinite number of strangers, enabled by the Digital Age's negation of privacy and distance. In other words, with the supply limited again to the number of people who have actually purchased the object, it would be harder to "borrow" it at whim, which would result in more people deciding to buy it. Might also make for some interesting new friendships, as people are united to share their love of, say, esoteric films (ala Criterion); they'd not only be increasing their exposure to art, but to each other.

I also find the argument itself to be somewhat moot in a digital age. Some libraries trade in e-books, all have digital archives (if not themselves, then through Google), and they will eventually allow users to "borrow" material through their own servers. What's important, then, is finding a way for the artist to continue to share their work for free--especially for students--but still get paid, ultimately, for the ownership of that work. I hope that's the direction in which our government trends its legislation; I would hate to see a harsher enforcement of copyright lead, ultimately, to an infringement on art.

Irony Alert

ConEd wants me to help save energy . . . by installing air-conditioning. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the best way to save energy to not have air conditioning? According to my calculations, the single fan that I use -- only when I'm at home, and only roughly four months a year -- costs at most 1 kwH a day ($0.13). A single window unit uses 20 to 30 times as much energy. Oh, and ConEd's "energy-saving program" requires participants to install at least two window units. I understand the principle of taking baby steps, sure, but they should be toward dependence on A/C--they should be away from it.

Well, at least all this mistaking-trees-for-forests will come in handy once we no longer have any forests.

To tie this into theater news, by the way, I must congratulate the Brick on getting a new A/C system just in time for their Too Soon Festival (and to prevent overheating during their upcoming Game Play Festival). But I will say that whereas audiences have sometimes been uncomfortable in the summer heat of the Brick, I was totally freezing the last time I was there. I warn you all in advance, since their shows are still totally worth seeing.

Freed

Charles Smith's history play, Freed, is often slow, repetitive, and creaky, but the story is of such importance and--at times--elegance, that these flaws can largely be overlooked. It tells the story of John Newton Templeton, a freed slave who, in 1828, became one of the first African Americans to graduate college. More importantly, it tells the story of a man who was content to learn what he was allowed, but who grew to demand that he be allowed to think for himself, rejecting the "Claims of Liberia" speech that he had written for the American Conservation Society, and refusing to be a puppet figurehead for their movement--which wanted to return these men to Liberia, Africa. (Damn the natives, too.) Most importantly, it tells the story of a man who, as of Monday, June 28, 2010, at 2:50 PM, does not appear in Wikipedia, and is therefore in danger of being revised out of our country's problematic past.

Lest that lead mislead you, Smith's play is as much about the man as it is about the story, and thanks to Sheldon Best, who plays Templeton, that's actually where it shines brightest. Best's experience working with the manic Vampire Cowboy Theatre Company (he played a talking teddy bear in their recent Alice in Slasherland) has only enhanced his range, and he's able to bring both a mature, thoughtful solemnity and a youthful, brash anger to the role. Both are needed, for while he starts out as an eager pupil content to rely on the kindness of his "rescuer," Robert Wilson (Christopher McCann), he slowly comes to realize that Wilson is not so much helping him as using him, a fact that's pointed out all too often by Wilson's bitterly oppressed wife, Jane (Emma O'Donnell). Moreover, since there are only three actors, the majority of the key moments are recounted as memories, and Best brightly relives those moments, from the way he trembles at the understanding of what "Mongo the Monkey" represents to the horror on his face when he recognizes his own unintentional actions against the "renegade" Native Americans in the area.

This is also where the play falters. Smith is forced, time and time again, to put offstage actions into onstage words, and this leads him to repeat himself. This is particularly the case with McCann, who reduces the role to such small-minded objectives that at times he's hardly distinguishable from the simple wooden wall that makes up Joseph J. Egan's set. It's not until he's spurred to anger toward the end of the play--which is also where he stops dropping his lines--that he acts with intent and reveals his narrow-mindedness as blind arrogance. O'Donnell, of the inconsistent accent, also suffers from information overload, although she's at least given an inequality of her own to fight against: She is not permitted to ride her own horse, as it would be unseemly, nor even to attend her husband's college. She's also allowed to speak to the tragic weight hanging in the background--the death of her son--and O'Donnell makes the most of this opportunity.

There's no denying that Freed is shackled by Smith's laborious pacing and his tendency to have characters over-explain themselves and their situations. But those chains cannot hold a story like this--or an actor as irrepressible as Best--down, and in some ways, the struggle of the actors against the play itself is almost as captivating as the subject matter.

TV: Hung

Maybe it's partly because I--like many others--am about to become unemployed right after the COBRA subsidies are repealed (because I guess nobody is getting laid off any more), but I found the second season of HBO's sly cure for depression, Hung, to be a delightful diversion. My innuendo filled review is up at Slant, so check it out, especially if you're hiring.

Jeannie's Abortion

Eric Bland is a genius. Not the best playwright, but certainly one hell of an observational, poetic, philosophical hipster genius. His rambunctious new show, Jeannie's Abortion, feels a lot like Waking Life--plot is never a pressing concern; the ideas are--and his writing is best summed up by the way his characters describe themselves: as ironic (in the "weird and indifferently extravagant or aloofly quirky" sense) and "Post-" (perhaps the Post-Beat Generation). The play is also neatly balanced between light and charming dialogues ("You ate like all the waffles." "Bullshit." "Bull-fact.") and deep digressive monologues ("The body is like Patrocles was to Achilles.... The mind is like Sex and the City, a friend or a good lover...") If you've ever wanted to hear someone talk about Pedro Almodovar and The Legend of Zelda in the same breath, this is the show for you.

The slice-of-life structure of Jeannine's Abortion (subtitled "A Play in One Trimester") follows the serious Morgan and her too-cute lover, Emily (Morgan Anne Zipf and Emily Perkins); the chill Daniel and his sweetheart, the charmingly lush Lindsey (Daniel Kublick and Lindsey Carter); the unshakable Jeannine (Siobhan Doherty); the cultured Sarah (Sarah Engelke), who is off in China; and the deadpan loner, Jeff (Jeff Lewonczyk). The synopsis, however, may be a bit too on the nose: "They exist with one another, and Jeannine has an abortion." That is, the characters are fun to watch--it's like hanging out at a house party--but the play is exactly what it is: three months in the lives of your peers. It's an exercise in, or a reminder of, normalcy. When the show is on--especially in the scenes with Daniel--you want to grab a drink and join in; when it's off--unfortunately, many of the distant scenes with Sarah--you feel like you've outstayed your welcome.

Thankfully, Hope Cartelli's a very welcoming director, and if anything, she's played up the sweetness of the show, allowing actors (like the aptly named Perkins) to round out their roles. You're bound to like this cast, even when they're idly stuffed into the background of scenes they don't belong in, like a sour and out-of-place dream sequence or an angry, unnecessary flashback of a road trip to the Jersey Shore. It boils down to something Daniel says early in the show--and no, not his cereal-box metaphor for choice, or the lack thereof, though the play could stand to be more active. "I'm not just caffeinated. I'm serious," he says. Which begs the question: what happens when that buzz wears off? For some, Jeannie's Abortion may be too chock full o' ideas.