Monday, September 28, 1998
Narcoleptic awakens to new respect for live shows, theater
COLUMN: Attending ‘Stomp,’ watching film classic ‘Grease’ rouses
interest, appreciation
Like many of my esteemed peers at UCLA, I’ve been blessed with
several remarkable talents. Besides being double-jointed and
possessing the mind-boggling ability to spew the name of every
American president in 30 seconds (yeah, be jealous), there’s one
that stands above the rest.
It’s a talent that I realized and honed in the nooks and
crannies of our cozy little campus. It seems that I have an uncanny
disposition for sleeping anywhere and anytime.
My narcoleptic tendencies are not just limited to long bus rides
and study carrels in Powell. My favorite slumber spots? Final exam
rooms and venues of live performances. How many people could boast
falling asleep at every (that would be four) final exam last
quarter and "resting my eyes" front and center … among the
ear-shattering chaos of the pit … at a live rock concert …
standing up.
Ruling out the possibility of sleep disorders, let’s just say
I’m a tired girl. With my run-around daily schedule, I find
valuable solace in every minute of delicious dreamin’ I can get. I
just happen to find it in somewhat inappropriate situations.
Until just months ago, I had yet to attend a live performance
without dozing. Of course, this could include concerts, but I
primarily refer to more comfortable, less participatory audience
experiences, such as theater (though not much can come between me
and Mr. Sandman).
As a child of 9, my fourth-grade class was chosen by a local
television station in San Francisco to be the token audience for an
intimate little storybook production. Actors would perform classic
fairy tales with 50 of us gathered around them in a circle,
watching in awe and giggling with delight. The following Saturday
morning, my mother called me into the living room to watch my 15
minutes of fame. I wasn’t on the screen much, but as the camera
panned by me, viewers saw a little girl nodding off in the
background. My family was proud.
In high school, I patronized our plays and musicals to catch my
friends in their moment of glory. Unfortunately, the moments were
short-lived … at least the ones I caught.
The list goes on.
I once paid big bucks (well, $36 is a lot on a
peanut-butter-and-jelly-sandwich budget) for tickets to the
acclaimed musical "Ragtime," only to sleep through the first act. I
managed to snag prime seats for "Tap Dogs," the Australian tap
dancing show, and again, I didn’t make it.
These shows weren’t necessarily bad. Some were well worth my
time (the parts of "Ragtime" I saw were amazing), yet I found
myself checking my watch frequently and feeling a brow-wiping sense
of relief when they were over.
It was like church. I subjected myself to the two-hour
experience simply to better myself, but the second it was over, I
was ready to hit the real fun. Sure, it’s enlightening, it’s
enriching; I know it’ll be good for me in the long run and I feel
productive for having gone. But hey, would I choose to memorize The
Ten Commandments over watching "There’s Something About Mary?"
I basically approached theater with the wrong mindset. Sometime
during my life, I developed the notion that theater was an academic
institution that could only be appreciated by a true thinker. So as
with my bittersweet relationship with books, I generally shied away
from any intellectual stimulation in favor of gratuitous cheap
thrills.
Who knew that theater could be a cheap thrill of its own? God
forbid that it could actually be … entertaining.
I trudged on through show after show, not exactly knowing why
but convinced that my determination would lead to some sort of
cultural payoff. I continued to test my sleep threshold, one time
lasting until 20 minutes from the end of the show before nodding
off. With each new theatrical experience, I began to foster a
growing interest in the elusive art form.
I must admit, however, that my breakthrough did not come in the
form of a spiritual revelation or deep cerebral insight. In fact,
it was quite basic (in keeping with my gratuitous cheap-thrill
theme): I fell in love with a couple of mainstream classics.
I remember hearing about "Grease" throughout my life and
remotely hearing the songs color the backgrounds of my
consciousness without ever really knowing – or caring – where they
came from. I was never a fan of musical theater, viciously
accosting my best friend every time she broke into a medley of her
favorite showtunes.
I had a plethora of opportunities to view "Grease" on
television, with countless tributes and marathons airing on random
cable networks such as TNT, TBS and VH1. But I had no desire to
commit myself for two hours to watch a bunch of over-the-top actors
harmonize their lines in cheesy, forgettable songs. Why do that
when I could be watching The Culture Club on MTV?
I resisted the under-whelming temptation for years. It soon
became my decisive victory in "I Never" games, an astounding
Louise-trivia tidbit, my ultimate protest to the feeble genre.
When "Grease" returned to the big screen last spring, my defense
finally broke down. Upon coercion and obligation (thanks a bunches,
Daily Bruin), I was forced to ramma-lamma-ding-dong with Danny and
Sandy. And it was the most fun I’d had at the bane of my winter
quarter existence.
It was then that it hit me: Musicals can be entertaining! Until
then, I had concluded that this genre was written solely for a
niche audience – a niche that couldn’t possibly include me.
Despite my revelation, I thought that its saving grace was that
it was a movie. I never had a problem with film. I rolled in my
seat for all three and a half hours of "Forrest Gump," and I was
plastered to the screen throughout "Titanic." But how would
"Grease" match up live, without the close-ups, without the
seamlessness?
I continued my slumberous theatrical experiences until I saw
"Stomp," a unique dance and rhythm show, this past summer at Royce
Hall. At first it did not offer much promise. No, my friends and I
did not get nosebleed seats; we got the ones beyond the far right
aisle – you know, the cluster of wooden stumps between the men’s
rest room and the fire exit.
To add to the adversity, I worked all day and ran a marathon to
get to Royce on time. I sank comfortably into my seat, ready for
the inevitable nap.
But the spectacle captivated me. I was thrilled by the live
energy. I could feel the performers’ hands throb during their
endless clap routines; I was exhilarated by their stamina as they
climbed and leaped all over the stage; I was slightly disgusted –
but in a good way – when sweat droplets whipped off their tired
heads.
To my surprise, it was its seamed quality that drew me. The raw
intensity of an original performance with its potential for the
unknown was a factor that film severely lacked. Yet in all the
shows I had seen previously, I had preconditioned myself, based on
theater’s traditional stigmas; I went into each one, knowing my
reaction before there was any action.
It may have been the awe-inspiring performance that evening. It
may have been the bean burrito I bought from a mysterious gentleman
outside the venue. But whatever the factors, I dispelled those
stigmas that night.
OK, so "Grease" is a big-budget movie, and "Stomp" is a
theatrical anomaly. After adequate theater experience, I know that
both are hardly representative of the genre as a whole.
But "Grease" simply introduced me to the wonders of its
composition. Originated on Broadway, it proved that the writing
behind theater is capable of appealing to mainstream tastes.
"Stomp" facilitated my dormant (excuse my pun) appreciation of
another aspect of theater – the live aspect. The show taught me to
find charm in the excitement of live performance.
Both put together, you get a new theater fan.
With these startling realizations, my narcolepsy was cured –
well, I’m still working on the finals thing.
Chu is awake and revved up for her exciting stint as the
1998-1999 Theater and Art editor. Send questions, comments or
general hostility to lychu@ucla.edu.
Louise Chu
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