Moving Target--10/11

Masks operate everywhere in the theatre, albeit most of of the time not literally. Character can be conceived in terms of mask, costume can be used as a mask, the space can be talked about as a mask, even the text is a kind of mask. Mask, in this sense, is the “not self,” the modality, that an actor pushes energy and intention through. Masks often literally limit sight, matched by a metaphorical shaping of a point of view—opening up proclivities and attitudes and closing down others. The red nose was described by Jacques Lecoq as the “neutral mask of comedy,” which I take to mean that it is the mask of the “pre-performative” state of comedy—the readiness, the attention, the focus, the naivete, the state of play—that must exist before we even begin talking about character or given circumstances. Does that mean that the nose is an enabler? An expander of possibilities? Well, yes and no. In regular neutral mask work, there are many wrong choices. That is part of the point of the work—to help the student build a “clean slate” from which to build character or a dynamic, as well as learn better one's relationship with his/her body, break bad habits, etc.. The neutral mask also has generic limitations—as we learned at Lecoq, sometimes getting our fragile little artist egos bruised in the process, not all themes/situations are appropriate for the neutral mask. Most obviously, a situation where language becomes a necessity would be one. One might even argue that the neutral mask doesn't belong in ANY theatrical context, that really it is a pedagogical tool, and as such it belongs not to the realm of the theatrical but to the realm of the pre-theatrical. My fellow Lecoq alum, Kirjian, a very funny man in his own right, has gone as far as to say (and I have sometimes been swayed by his argument) the same thing about the red nose: that it is best used as a pedagogical tool, not in a performance context, but you can argue that point with him. My point is that the nose allows one to go certain places that would otherwise not be possible. But the nose demands respect in return. You have to play by its rules, otherwise the content of your work comes out ill-formed, amorphous. (This is not to say that you can't break rules, but you have to follow rules first in order to break them--sort of a yin-yang thing.)

Sometimes the performer uses the nose to mine herself for material. This is often the case in director Sue Morrison's collaborations. The states invoked in the highly personal training are used to turn an introspective process inside out, as it were, into a performative act. In a sense this kind of work is shamanistic—the nose is used to express an inner self that taps into a collective unconscious that resonates both personally and to the group. (I don't know if I'm speaking in terms acceptable to Sue, so please don't take this as an accurate representation of her process—I am merely speaking of my impressions.) This kind of work is also potentially very daunting because it is so highly personal. If the audience doesn't like the show, the contents of which are made up of your life, it may feel pretty close to the audience not liking your life (something you may already be up in the air about yourself.) I like the idea of this work very much as it has the possibility for metaphysical greatness. Rather than seeing a numero treated, like the great Georgie Carl and his microphone, the numero in this kind of work is someone's life.

This approach carries significant risks, however. There is sometimes a confusion of the part of the performer about the difference between expressing something that is “in the true” and expressing the “Truth” of oneself. A red nose is a mask. It may be more interesting than the social masks we wear at work, or at cocktail parties, but the things that come out of it are no more or less “in the true” than any other mask, for the question of being “in the true” is one of context, of convention. Now arguably, the things expressed by the clown are closer to one's personal “Truth” than the ones at the cocktail party, but I make such a claim not without suspicion. However, it certainly feels more like “Truth.” When one mines so deeply into oneself for material (and this is not an argument against such work) the result not only feels like “Truth,” but hard-worn “Truth.” It feels so valuable, so “pre-social,” so “Artaudian.” My suspicion lies here: sometimes I wonder if this privileged status we are tempted to give this work obfuscates the issue that the red nose is still fundamentally a mask, and while it may be a portal to a part of our being, it is not a portal to all of it. It is not all of what we are, however un-Romantic that sounds. Yes, Clown is more than personage. It may even be more than a persona. But it is not the whole “Truth” of a person, for part of the “Truth” of that person is the one who wears the social mask at the cocktail party. Or, if the Clown is so broad as to be conceived of as a person, it has to be, somewhere, a person who is partially “not you.”

Erin Bouvvy's new show, "Moving Target," is tremendously ambitious. It is personal, it is expressive. We see a clown in thritysomething crisis asking, “is this it?” The setting begins in a refreshingly aggressive fashion, in a hospital-like environment, with Bouvvy emerging somewhat monstrously from behind a makeshift gurney to a particularly grotesque number by My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult, circa 1989. (Gold star for effective use of MLTKK successfully in a clown show.) She is sick. Will someone take care of her? Where's the doctor? She takes pills throughout the show, littering the stage with empty orange bottles. (It might've been nice to see this device extended so that the show would've ended with thousands of discarded bottles covering the floor.) Or is she sick at all? Is this the latest (last?) refuge for a person trying to sort herself out? A cry for help? And if so, to whom? Herself?

Bouvvy engages in a stream-of-consciousness struggle for answers and clarity. Trying strategies, expressing despair, enacting daydreams, and then cruelly turning against herself and dashing those dreams. Her cruelty to herself becomes hard to watch at times, in a good way, as we nearly descend into the realm of the Bouffon, but with Bouvvy's clown being a shit to herself, rather than the audience.

The content of the show is Bouvvy's clown riffing on the memory-relics of her life: a job, a failed relationship, a sense of mortality, the burden of daydreaming after daydreaming has been recognized for what it is. Bouvvy finally makes an uneasy truce with herself, and her show has one of the best endings I've seen at the festival yet, involving animated a stuffed pet cat.

All of the pieces are in place for this show to be a moving, transformative experience. They are not quite well-enough glued together. And this brings me back to the demands of the nose. They were not adequately met for me on the night I attended. This was expressed in a little apprehension, a little lack of focus and precision and stillness. The highs were not high enough and the lows weren't open enough. The animal clarity that is necessary for the work was lacking in some parts. As I said earlier, the risk in this type of show is great. Because the work is so personal, and identifiably so, if it is not played through the nose (no pun intended), it seems more like therapy. And this can make the project seem selfish; after all, in therapy the expresser pays the listener, and not vice-verse.

Erin Bouvvy is not selfish, however. She is a very talented and brave performer at the beginning of a new and potentially brilliant show. You should see it when you get the chance because it will do nothing but improve.