As discussed in previous blog posts, a prominent theme in the play is that of lost youth, particularly in Chance and the Princess. But how does one "lose youth"? Williams offers a number of quotes where the characters themselves allude to their own ideas of what it means to age.
Heavenly: "Scudder's knife cut the youth out of my body, made me an old, childless woman. Dry, cold, empty, like an old woman".
The princess: "Well, sooner or later, at some point in your life, the thing that you lived for is lost or abandoned, and then... you die, or find something else."
To me, the intersection between the three characters ideas is that at the moment being described, they've lost their purpose. Heavenly, who is clearly nothing more than a sexual object throughout the play, has the purpose of most of the women in St. Cloud: to marry and have children. Therefore, her infertility aged her. For the Princess, her exit from the world of acting and subsequent failure to return were her moments of aging -- she admits without that world she has nothing to live for except drugs.
Chance, however, is a little different. While it is apparent to us that he has lost both of his dreams (acting and Heavenly), he is in complete denial about it and clings to them both as tightly as he can. This is because he knows that they are the two things that keep him young, and the reason for that is that if he gives up on both acting and the girl he truly has nothing to live for, and that will make him old. When asked why he had to stay in St. Cloud despite his imminent castration, he tells the princess "Something's got to mean something, don't it, Princess? ... Something's still got to mean something." Once the Princess pulls the plug on his big acting shot, Heavenly is truly the only thing he has left connecting him to his vitality and giving him a purpose. He would rather be castrated than give up on that hope.
William's interpretation of aging, in summary, is that one becomes old precisely at the moment when they no longer have a reason to get out of bed in the morning, so to speak. It's a very intriguing definition that can be applied to Black Swan and Long Day's Journey into Night, and puts the self-destruction of the characters in these works into a new perspective. After all, if nothing in reality can give you a reason to get out of bed in the morning, you simply have to give yourself a reason in any way you can (including but not limited to morphine, a perfect performance, and sex with a girl named Heavenly).
--Christine
Sunday, February 9, 2014
The Ultimate Symbol of the Loss of Youth in Sweet Bird
In his introduction to Sweet Bird of Youth, Lanford Wilson criticizes theatrical adaptations of the play for straying too far from Tennessee Williams' original work. Specifically,Wilson mentions that on stage, the word "castrate" was omitted completely, which he deems to be "unlike Tennessee to not be more straightforward." I have to agree with Wilson; Sweet Bird of Youth is very straightforward. I was actually taken aback at first by the repetition of "castrate" throughout the play. At the end of the day, it's as though each of the most significant characters is castrated, the ultimate sign of the loss of youth.
Castration is at the center of each of the characters' roles in some way or another. Heavenly has to undergo "a whore's operation" in order to cure herself of a venereal disease she catches from Chance, a black man is castrated at the hand of Boss Tinley, Chance faces castration as punishment for his "sin" against Heavenly, and even Princess Kosmonopolis states that "age does the same thing to a woman..." (93), for she too, will face infertility and the certain degradation of old age.
The painful, heart-wrenching loss of youth serves as the central pervading theme of Sweet Bird of Youth, and hence, castration becomes a representation of that definite loss. In Act I Scene I, the Princess and Chance wake up and discover that it is Easter Sunday. Although I wouldn't go so far as to call Chance a Christ figure, there are some parallels... Chance accepts castration as punishment for his sins willingly; he sacrifices himself at the end of the play when he leaves his world of dreams behind to re-enter reality.
-Kayla
Friday, February 7, 2014
Battle of the Sexes in Williams Adaptations (Spoiler: Gay Men Lose)
The changes from Williams’ plays to their film versions are telling in their gender discrepancies. Williams was gay, and some joke that his most famous characters can be categorized as either (a) a woman embodying the Old South’s decay; or (b) a man whose thinly veiled homosexuality is made manifest as sickness or physical disability. Some of the adaptation changes, though:
A Streetcar Named Desire: Few changes from stage to screen…. Stanley is a sweaty, sexy brute; Blanche and Stella are fragile.
The Glass Menagerie: In a 1987 film version, there is less emphasis on the gay male lead (Tom, Williams dramatized) than in the original play.
Suddenly, Last Summer: Explicit references to homosexuality are excised from the screenplay, but the implicit suggestions are none too subtle. The play’s cannibalistic climax is retained, but most of the film focuses on psychological trauma that Sebastian’s mother and cousin suffer in the wake of his death.
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof: In the play, Brick’s “football injury” keeps him from sleeping with his wife, hypersexy Maggie the Cat. In the final scene of the film, however, Brick tells Maggie to “lock the [bedroom] door,” and we’re left believing that he’s suddenly magically not gay.
Sweet Bird of Youth: Most drastically, instead of ending castrated in a hotel room, cinema’s Chance Wayne*** has his face cut (presumably leaving a ruggedly masculine scar) and is free to leave St. Cloud with his beloved Heavenly.
In short, Williams’ male characters that exhibit anything “un-masculine” or gay are rewritten, but the women stay the same.
What do we call this? Homophobia? Unwillingness to accept anything less than Stanley-Kowalski-esque maleness? A Mulvey-style sexist trend in Hollywood narrative cinema, by which women can go crazy, be punished, be weak (because “that’s what girls are like”), but men can’t be punished or feminine (because “guys are tough”)?
[***Interestingly, Paul Newman originated Chance Wayne in theater, and he played the role on screen (he also played Brick, and directed the Glass Menagerie version I mentioned above).]
kz
A Streetcar Named Desire: Few changes from stage to screen…. Stanley is a sweaty, sexy brute; Blanche and Stella are fragile.
The Glass Menagerie: In a 1987 film version, there is less emphasis on the gay male lead (Tom, Williams dramatized) than in the original play.
Suddenly, Last Summer: Explicit references to homosexuality are excised from the screenplay, but the implicit suggestions are none too subtle. The play’s cannibalistic climax is retained, but most of the film focuses on psychological trauma that Sebastian’s mother and cousin suffer in the wake of his death.
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof: In the play, Brick’s “football injury” keeps him from sleeping with his wife, hypersexy Maggie the Cat. In the final scene of the film, however, Brick tells Maggie to “lock the [bedroom] door,” and we’re left believing that he’s suddenly magically not gay.
Sweet Bird of Youth: Most drastically, instead of ending castrated in a hotel room, cinema’s Chance Wayne*** has his face cut (presumably leaving a ruggedly masculine scar) and is free to leave St. Cloud with his beloved Heavenly.
 |
| Not what they meant when they said they were going to "cut him." |
What do we call this? Homophobia? Unwillingness to accept anything less than Stanley-Kowalski-esque maleness? A Mulvey-style sexist trend in Hollywood narrative cinema, by which women can go crazy, be punished, be weak (because “that’s what girls are like”), but men can’t be punished or feminine (because “guys are tough”)?
kz
By the Transitive Property of Impersonation
The Old Vic Theatre in London is currently running a production of Sweet Bird of Youth. Though as a live production, it has no true previews, I found this interview because I thought it would be interesting insight into how the actors themselves interpret the play.
Interesting. From the get-go, Kim Cattrall seems to have fused with her character of the Princess Kosmonopolis, or Alexandra Del Lago if you prefer, speaking in first person: "I made the choice to fall in love with him...because I realized he was as broken as I was." Perhaps this issue of identity stems from the fact that as an aging, ex-Hollywood star, Cattrall very well could be the Princess, which she herself acknowledges. That's helpful, though, because by the Transitive Property of Impersonation we also hear the voice of the Princess Kosmonopolis, which I felt sometimes Chance smothered.
I think the Princess is lonely. How often she clings to Chance, even expressly asking him, "don't leave me alone," (although he inevitably does). And as Cattrall notes (still in first person), even if it were a fantasy, she sees that "[Chance and the Princess] could...have a relationship of sorts." The Princess is dying for some kind of connection--which is where her addictions come in, for drugs remove her to some other world where she cannot feel the pangs of loneliness, and sex makes her feel intimately connected, even if only with strangers.
But is this really actually loneliness? Or is it just that for the first time she notices the disparity between extreme fame and anonymity, as misses that fame as though it were her friend, her family, her lover and her whole world? Her description of her fame near the end of the play proves the latter true: "Out of the passion and torment of my existence I have created a thing that I can unveil, a sculpture, almost heroic, that I can unveil, which is true" (120). Not only is fame near and dear to her heart, but it is her idol; she admires it like Narcissus in the Greek myths as "almost heroic." Despite the Princess' self-appreciation, though, fame still takes a crowd. What she is truly missing is an audience whom she can dazzle into adoring her.
So it makes sense to me that Cattrall imagines those three lapsed hours to be full of posturing foreplay, for it would cater for the Princess' desire for an audience. However, I don't see evidence that Chance is an easily enraptured sycophant, so I'd be curious to know more of Seth Numrich's interpretation of the dynamic between the Princess and Chance.
-Becca Weber
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Doppelgangers, Reflections, Alter/Split-Egos in "Black Swan"
At the beginning of the movie, Thomas tells Nina
that she doesn’t have it in her to play both the white and black swan. Her
fragility and innocence render her the perfect fit for the white swan, but she
lacks the passion and sensuality needed to play the black swan. Thomas tells
Nina to lose herself, and directs her attention to Lily. “I just want to be
perfect,” Nina says, to which Thomas responds, “Perfection isn’t just about
control.”
If one thing’s for sure, it’s that Nina heeds
Thomas’ advice. Throughout “Black Swan,” we see Nina lose herself to the point
of no return. It also becomes pretty evident midway through the movie that Nina
does in fact have the divided consciousness that the role of the Swan Queen
necessitates.
Nina begins to see her alter ego everywhere: in
the subway, in the mirror, in Lily… etc. These visions share much in common
with the passive and active roles of the black and white heroines of “Swan
Lake.”
As a dancer, Nina spends a large part of her time
looking in the mirror. It is in this mirror that she sees both the ideal and
flawed versions of herself; striving for perfection requires a sort of
self-obsession, one which Nina definitely acquires.
The first thing that came to my mind when Nina
saw her first doppelganger in the street was that perhaps the director had
wanted us to see Nina as she could have been without dance. A dancer in Nina’s
position has to give up everything for dance—dance becomes of you. It was the
same with figure skating, and it was why I stopped. There comes a point where
you have to make a decision; either you can give every ounce of your being to
your art, or you choose to abandon it altogether. For me, because I am such a
perfectionist, there was no happy medium. So, I left. Nina is a perfectionist
too, so she stays, at a huge cost to herself (her sanity and eventually her
life).
The Art of Self-Destruction
There have been several things occurring in my life recently that have pointed my mind in the direction of the artist and his art. Just closing a show, watching Black Swan, just generally being a theatre major and studying this subject practically every day, and then the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman have kept my mind on very little else.
The death of Hoffman earlier today hit me pretty hard. I've enjoyed his performances in every movie of his I've seen, and the best piece of theatre I've ever seen in my life was him opposite Andrew Garfield in Death of a Salesman on Broadway. Having seen him in this performance, the loss seemed more profound than many of the other stars that had gone out during my lifetime. There is an intimacy that the screen lacks for me, and that is the ability to see an actor in the flesh on a stage. That proves that there really is a real person there, and it makes Hoffman's life (and death) all that much more real to me.
There's somewhat of a societal idea that bounces around our collective consciousness sometimes that for an artist to be truly great, she must suffer. The depressing thing is that this is often affirmed by our greatest artists. Even just in this class we see Eugene O'Neil, Tennessee Williams, and Ernest Hemingway all had lives racked consistently with unhappiness, and I'm sure there are even more examples in our reading list that I'm not familiar with. It's a rather bleak concept for myself to believe in, and it leaves little room for hope for myself and those who aspire to share my profession.
I find the subject of premature celebrity deaths, like Hoffman's, chillingly relevant to what we're talking about in this class. What is it that drives many of our most successful artists into drugs, crime and mental imbalance?
Nina's mental issues in Black Swan were very intrinsically bound to her craft, whereas deaths like Hoffman's (overdose) may be less directly related. But it's still worth considering. Of course there are many factors that go into such downfalls that are all worth considering on an even footing. Nina's mother was clearly a major impact on her mental health, with her insane impulse to control everything her daughter does. And forgetting Nina's drive to succeed no matter what the cost, the very nature of the ballet world with the expectations put on these young women are conducive to emotional imbalance as well.
But what is it that links the drive to success and suffering so tightly? It boils down to a question of the chicken or the egg. Does unhappiness cause a drive to find fame or does the drive to fame cause unhappiness? Perhaps it works on a case-by-case basis. Nina definitely had a lot on her personal life and hints about her upbringing that could have narrowed her scope of her future, making her obsessed with becoming a successful ballerina as the only means by which to obtain happiness. But the obsession with fame only reaps on more unhappiness as she shuts out all possibilities for real relationships and opportunities outside of her work, creating a vicious cycle that only spirals into self-destruction.
The especially sad thing about Nina is that her career had really only just started to take off when she presumably died. She'll hardly be remembered as more than a ten-second commodity, and has sacrificed everything to be a passing thought in the minds of ballet fans. At least some of the others I have mentioned achieved name recognition and artistic immortality before they died. But Nina did not. She failed to fail in any romantic or meaningful sense.
Luckily there are plenty of artists we don't hear about who haven't (at least publicly) led tormented lives. Perhaps there is hope for those of us going down that frightening road. At least, I choose to believe there is. We'll see if I'm right.
The death of Hoffman earlier today hit me pretty hard. I've enjoyed his performances in every movie of his I've seen, and the best piece of theatre I've ever seen in my life was him opposite Andrew Garfield in Death of a Salesman on Broadway. Having seen him in this performance, the loss seemed more profound than many of the other stars that had gone out during my lifetime. There is an intimacy that the screen lacks for me, and that is the ability to see an actor in the flesh on a stage. That proves that there really is a real person there, and it makes Hoffman's life (and death) all that much more real to me.
There's somewhat of a societal idea that bounces around our collective consciousness sometimes that for an artist to be truly great, she must suffer. The depressing thing is that this is often affirmed by our greatest artists. Even just in this class we see Eugene O'Neil, Tennessee Williams, and Ernest Hemingway all had lives racked consistently with unhappiness, and I'm sure there are even more examples in our reading list that I'm not familiar with. It's a rather bleak concept for myself to believe in, and it leaves little room for hope for myself and those who aspire to share my profession.
I find the subject of premature celebrity deaths, like Hoffman's, chillingly relevant to what we're talking about in this class. What is it that drives many of our most successful artists into drugs, crime and mental imbalance?
Nina's mental issues in Black Swan were very intrinsically bound to her craft, whereas deaths like Hoffman's (overdose) may be less directly related. But it's still worth considering. Of course there are many factors that go into such downfalls that are all worth considering on an even footing. Nina's mother was clearly a major impact on her mental health, with her insane impulse to control everything her daughter does. And forgetting Nina's drive to succeed no matter what the cost, the very nature of the ballet world with the expectations put on these young women are conducive to emotional imbalance as well.
But what is it that links the drive to success and suffering so tightly? It boils down to a question of the chicken or the egg. Does unhappiness cause a drive to find fame or does the drive to fame cause unhappiness? Perhaps it works on a case-by-case basis. Nina definitely had a lot on her personal life and hints about her upbringing that could have narrowed her scope of her future, making her obsessed with becoming a successful ballerina as the only means by which to obtain happiness. But the obsession with fame only reaps on more unhappiness as she shuts out all possibilities for real relationships and opportunities outside of her work, creating a vicious cycle that only spirals into self-destruction.
The especially sad thing about Nina is that her career had really only just started to take off when she presumably died. She'll hardly be remembered as more than a ten-second commodity, and has sacrificed everything to be a passing thought in the minds of ballet fans. At least some of the others I have mentioned achieved name recognition and artistic immortality before they died. But Nina did not. She failed to fail in any romantic or meaningful sense.
Luckily there are plenty of artists we don't hear about who haven't (at least publicly) led tormented lives. Perhaps there is hope for those of us going down that frightening road. At least, I choose to believe there is. We'll see if I'm right.
Reflections and Mirrors in Black Swan
Among some of Black Swan's excellent motifs, I think my favorite would have to be reflections--either reflections of yourself in a mirror or of yourself in other people, or, even, reflections you see of other people. I'm not really sure if "motif" is actually the right word, seeing as though its physical image is not as consistent as motifs or symbols usually are. Reflections can be physical, but they also provoke something that's more deeply psychologically ingrained.
The first occurrence of a reflection that struck me was around five minutes into the movie, when Nina's mother notices Nina's scratch on her shoulder. Nina looks into the mirror to inspect her back, and when her mother asks her, "What's that?", she simply replies "Nothing," shrugging it off. Her mother leans in to hug her, then glances back up to look at the mirror, and for a split second her expression turns--her eyebrows tighten, lips purse, and eyes glare. Does she see something in the mirror, possibly foreshadowing Nina's transforming shoulders? We don't know, because the scene cuts to Nina's reflection in the dark subway window. (Side note: I love the sound effects in this movie too, and if you listen closely you can hear wings flapping when she turns her head). When she turns, she spots another female who looks oddly similar to her (who is wearing black; Nina is wearing white) and is mirroring her actions. This reflection of herself is not produced through mirrors, but more of a projection of herself onto someone else.
Part of the reason why reflections seem so relevant to Black Swan is obviously the emphasis on aesthetics and visual beauty. But reflections also resonate with the movie's theme of identity. Many times, when Nina thinks she notices herself in another person, she's worried that her identity is being compromised; her uniqueness is on the line, and she hates the possibility that other people could be better than her. Reflections force her to confront herself upfront and mark changes in the way that she perceives herself. Two scenes come to mind: one in which she puts on the black camisole over her grey one in a bathroom, and one where her reflection morphs into her grotesque, evil side.
I think that the smart camera work Natalie Portman's talents really lent themselves to producing an excellently profound movie, which I think made all of us question, at least in some way or another, our own identity.
-Carrie
The first occurrence of a reflection that struck me was around five minutes into the movie, when Nina's mother notices Nina's scratch on her shoulder. Nina looks into the mirror to inspect her back, and when her mother asks her, "What's that?", she simply replies "Nothing," shrugging it off. Her mother leans in to hug her, then glances back up to look at the mirror, and for a split second her expression turns--her eyebrows tighten, lips purse, and eyes glare. Does she see something in the mirror, possibly foreshadowing Nina's transforming shoulders? We don't know, because the scene cuts to Nina's reflection in the dark subway window. (Side note: I love the sound effects in this movie too, and if you listen closely you can hear wings flapping when she turns her head). When she turns, she spots another female who looks oddly similar to her (who is wearing black; Nina is wearing white) and is mirroring her actions. This reflection of herself is not produced through mirrors, but more of a projection of herself onto someone else.
Part of the reason why reflections seem so relevant to Black Swan is obviously the emphasis on aesthetics and visual beauty. But reflections also resonate with the movie's theme of identity. Many times, when Nina thinks she notices herself in another person, she's worried that her identity is being compromised; her uniqueness is on the line, and she hates the possibility that other people could be better than her. Reflections force her to confront herself upfront and mark changes in the way that she perceives herself. Two scenes come to mind: one in which she puts on the black camisole over her grey one in a bathroom, and one where her reflection morphs into her grotesque, evil side.
I think that the smart camera work Natalie Portman's talents really lent themselves to producing an excellently profound movie, which I think made all of us question, at least in some way or another, our own identity.
-Carrie
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