love and a broken jug

Chicago, it is. The rain falls today as it did last night. A sound that lulled me to sleep. The variety here is great and this sound contrasts with that of bullets released to intimidate. That night-time melody had no lulling effect, as I recall from a few weeks ago. The aftermath of blue lights, armored folks, walking about with flashlights, investigating. A recurring event, the same spot. Variety is the  spice of life. Not far from here, there is a store I visit, with a warm-hearted woman, as sincere, beautiful, as any human. I see her, exclaim her name with joy, spread my arms, and we hug. She is a store clerk. She lives and works on the south side.

I had to venture past my block to make an appearance at that store. Another recent south side venture took me past my block to see the play, Broken Jug.  It was a thing that leads to thought, that leads to discussion. I’m not sure if anyone on my block saw the show so I will discuss it here.

Heinrich von Kleist’s name doesn’t come up from conversation much, but his comedy surfaced on the south side. The timing of this production hits home with the central character, Adam, a judge, a person of power, of respect, revealing character affliction analogous to America’s current political authority. The duality of one in a prime position of power and judgment while at the same time, a villain. What is real? tends to be the question in this microsecond and connects to this play. Kleist showed us in 1806 the folly of appointing such characters to positions of power. Where are we today? Oh yes, 2018.   Perhaps the most poignant piece is seeing the change in character of Walter, the brass that is reviewing Adam’s poor work performance, from ‘doing the right thing’ to basking in the temporary fun, power, luxury, of corruption.

This production, strangely, was performed and directed by those with little or no experience in theatre. Graduate students from other disciplines. So how does one respond?  Art has an important role in society as well as theoretical discourse. With that said, theatre is a place of drama and this production lacked performance and along with it, direction. The result was a play reading with a few props.

This is Chicago, and one of America’s great universities. What a great arts facility, built by donors. The study of theatre and more specifically, acting and directing, could blossom here with those who actually act and direct. Stage time is far and few in this unique discipline. How this gem could shine, how learners could thrive, how the community could benefit. I have seen south-side parks, with water spouting in the air all summer long, nonstop, to give kids an opportunity to play. Most often, unfortunately, I see no kids amongst these play fountains, but precious water going down the drain.

I love you Chicago. You can do better.