Life is triggering. I am triggered constantly. You either choose to run away from that reality, be victimized by it, or lean into it by accepting the truth of your own experience.
There is pain, hurt, lovesickness for miles in every direction, emanating from this club across the country, world, and intergalactic beyond.
Nowadays I’m less interested in causing maybe a huge stir or making something achingly beautiful on the whole. Now it’s more like: take a sizable hunk out of the corner somewhere and maddeningly chew.
What makes this Oklahoma more than just smart is how it ruthlessly strips away the glaze of nostalgia that usually accompanies such restagings in order to uncover what seemingly must have always lurked there, submerged just below the musical’s glossy surface.
Payne keeps his audience from jumping ahead to any particular conclusion by deploying a second (bigger, metatheatrical) frame around Karma’s story, one in which the house lights keep coming up and we are rendered, without a choice, visible – to the actors, to the audience, and (most disturbingly) to ourselves.
Sad clowns, hobo clowns, birthday party clowns, crust-punk clowns, burning man hula hoopers dressed like clowns…juggalos! I don’t consider myself any of them.
Their movement allows them to take up all the space, filling the stage all the way to the frame.
What, for the theater, are our tablecloths, forks, spoons, plates and bowls that maybe aren’t actually serving us anymore? Is how we are making theater and performance the best way it could exist, or is there a better version?
We share our sweat, our humidity, our heat. We weather it, as Kelly does inside the box.
I grew up in a yellow house in West Seneca, NY, a suburb of Buffalo. My bedroom window was on the second floor in between the windows of my sisters, though I am the youngest, with a huge maple tree in front of it that made me feel like I lived in a treehouse.
Written and directed by Kyoung H. Park, PILLOWTALK (which recently was performed in Chicago at ConFest, the 6th National Asian American Theatre Conference and Festival at Victory Gardens) is a play that defies the tidy sum up. It’s a piece of art that demands an
This testing, naming, retreating, reframing; lifting to the light the grays and yellows and beiges and browns of inner worlds – is often the dance of the play.