Monday, April 20, 2009


One of my greatest passions, situated even beyond napping and twentieth century pop culture, is theatre.

It as an art form serves as my life-source, it is what keeps my heart pumping and my body from melting into the ground. I am in the midst of the run of a show, which is the honors thesis project of my very good friend, Martin. Martin is pictured here in the middle with the glasses, choking two boys:

The play is called "Landscape of the Body" by John Guare. It's a very difficult play, and a very ambitious leap for someone like Martin. But I feel like sometimes we, as people, need to bite off a little more than we can chew to work our artistic muscles. The play focuses on a woman who is being convicted of her son's murder after their abrupt move to Greenwich Village in the late 1970s. My character is Margie, an annoying 14 year old girl who hangs out with her son (the play is episodic in structure, so there are flashbacks before the boys murder). Eventually, the rest of the children get into a large amount of trouble and my character, being herself, wants to stick her nose in the middle of their business without thinking of the repercussions.

I like playing children, especially ones that are still a little idealistic about the world. As Margie says, "Children are protected in this magic circle. Bad things happen to grown ups but children are magic." Obviously, this play observes that this statement is completely untrue, but still the blind trust children have in the world is awe-inspiring. I've always been a bit paranoid myself, but I remember feeling much safer in the knowledge that my parents are at least a ten minute drive away.

And that's what I love about theatre. Not only examining, but discovering on a first-person basis individual human condition. Being able to feel as though you are invincible for a while, even if its intended that you end up with blood on your hands (literally). Just fascinating


LaurenAshley said...

The part that makes me jealous is that you still look 14 :)
Two more weeks. I can't wait until you get home

Anonymous said...

Um. You'll have blood on your hands again next year.