From on stage, back stage and the theater seats, the Performing Arts blog illuminates the intersecting worlds of dance, theater, and music.
To spark discussion, the Walker invites Twin Cities artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, choreographer Syniva Whitney and actor Will Courtney of Gender Tender share their perspective on Germinal […]
To spark discussion, the Walker invites Twin Cities artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, choreographer Syniva Whitney and actor Will Courtney of Gender Tender share their perspective on Germinal by Halory Goerger and Antoine Defoort. Agree or disagree? Feel free to share your thoughts in comments!
WILL: Does starting from scratch mean you don’t know anything? Well, they knew who they were…
SYNIVA: …they knew each other’s proper names. They were going by their real names.
W: They knew what a guitar was but they didn’t know what a computer was. No one mentioned their sex or gender.
S: They did all appear to be white….that’s my assumption.
W: This was a really unusual play. It was interesting how the performers had control of the technological aspects.
S: Did they? I thought there was a sense of another somebody or some bodies behind the curtain, or under the floor, following cues about when to do certain things. This was in the program info a quote from the artists in an article by Kate Bredesen:
…we decided to start from scratch. And this itself became the starting point for what would become Germinal. This would be a piece that would build itself.
S: The performance makers identify primarily as visual artists and in conversations about the concepts behind art making we can’t escape discussing creation…making and presenting art means knowing we will always be influenced by and compared with the art, histories and ideas that came before, the art of the now and what is yet to come. I felt an installation artist’s approach at play in a traditional theater space. They were embracing the cheesy nature and limitations of common elements found in black box theaters and the materials afforded artists in these spaces as though they were visual art materials (text, voice, song, movement, technology, props, effects). The black box was approached as a new kind of white gallery cube. I felt the influence of the cataloguing, titling and research tactics of the museum at play in the content of this work as well.
W: I’ve never seen somebody chop a hole in the stage with a pick axe before.
S: That’s true, I haven’t seen that before. What did you think of it?
W: It seemed really dangerous to me…
S: For who?
W: I felt like it was a dangerous thing to do. What if a wood splinter flies off? I’m sure they thought about these things. It seemed dangerous for us all. I was like “Don’t we need goggles? Doesn’t everyone need goggles?” Ondine was like a danger Gallagher. I found it very satisfying to watch.
W: I guess because it was really happening. Something was being destroyed for real. It wasn’t acting like you’re making a hole in the floor it was just the act of making a hole.
S: Isn’t performing just doing, talking, walking, kissing… aren’t we really doing stuff?
S: So why was this different?
W: I guess I’ve seen shows where people are miming digging a hole and they just aren’t. I’ve never seen an actual demolition of a built stage before.
S: It was weird…so meta. A demolition of a carefully wrought installation that was a fake stage over a real stage. When it first started and it was all light and space investigations I thought this might just be an installation on a stage run the same way as it would be in a gallery, or in the natural environment, that it might not have a narrative trajectory. That feeling wore away and it became clear this was carefully scripted, more like a magic show with a musical ending. And wow, audience members were laughing so hard through a lot of this. It was awesome to be around people that were entertained and enjoying themselves. I felt a bit awkward because I wasn’t finding it funny.
W: I thought it was genial but I didn’t find it to be hilarious.
S: People around me were REALLY laughing hard. I felt like Grumpy Cat.
W: So did they build a world? From scratch?
S: I don’t know. They made a play. My point of view as a queer black artist influences my take on this hardcore. Aren’t people always making their own worlds? Directly or indirectly, abstractly or literally, in fantasy or reality. When people exist outside the normative, the safe, the accepted, we have to create worlds for ourselves to move and make in, we have to fight for space for our histories to exist in.
W: Always. I read in the program the title comes from the title of a French book about people on strike wanting a better world by Emile Zola. Something about the desire to make a better world where none exists….
S: The tone of this in the show made me uneasy. It seemed like colonialist ideas about discovery were at play but it didn’t read as tongue in cheek for me…what’s underneath….yikes, such a heavy metaphor with that floor: the literal floor that they bust through to discover what is there they can use onstage like drilling for oil on stolen land. Human made resources underneath a built structure that has to be destroyed to access them. I kept thinking about burial grounds and decimated cities with new corporate developments being built on top of the survivors, their culture, their knowledge…
W: The underlying thing, the unspoken truth…the dark…
S: Yeah so, maybe it was a conceptual sign of our times. Knowing but not knowing…caring but not caring…
W: …funny but not funny.
S: We know there is always someone behind the curtain. Holograms exist…we know we are usually being deluded. We know people have made some terrifying stuff in the name of investigating what is technologically possible…we know people can make a black hole, a bomb that leaves no survivors.
W: It’s a TED talk…
S: …with a fake hot tub center stage instead of a red dot.
W:(laughs)…in a fake swamp.
S: Right, a TED talk! Germinal was part PowerPoint lecture…categories, groupings, labels, diagrams. Even though it was absurd the performers were soon experts at everything they investigated or presented even when it made no sense. Maybe this is French and Belgian humor lost on me in translation.
W: Was it supposed to be funny? It was presented with a lightness that was surprising but I had a sense from the visual elements that I’d be experiencing a super abstract and serious performance.I thought the performers were excellent, it was really good…but I didn’t think it was laugh out loud funny.
S: I found it melancholy…and everybody around me was laughing their asses off.
Germinal continues in the Walker’s McGuire Theater tonight (Friday, January 29) and tomorrow night (Saturday, January 30) at 8 pm. Halory Goerger will also teach an Inside Out There Workshop on Saturday, January 30 at 11 am in the McGuire Theater.
To spark discussion, the Walker invites Twin Cities artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, choreographer Syniva Whitney and actor Will Courtney of Gender Tender share their perspective on Riding […]
To spark discussion, the Walker invites Twin Cities artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, choreographer Syniva Whitney and actor Will Courtney of Gender Tender share their perspective on Riding on a Cloud by Rabih Mroué. Agree or disagree? Feel free to share your thoughts in comments!
WILL: My brain is doing flips about this performance. Is this a play? Is all of it true? Is all of it fiction? When I saw the stage set up with the table and chair off to the side, stacks of cassette tapes and DVDs and electronic devices on it and the big white movie screen set up I thought it was going to feel really choppy. When Yasser came out and began to play the films and tapes, to sing, to watch himself on screen, it became immersive. I loved the way these presented excerpts became a singular experience. The convergence of all these possibly un-mixable techniques became one thing. Was this style an attempt to create a performance about what it felt like for Yasser when he woke up in the hospital after he was shot, after he was in a coma?
SYNIVA: Was his brother Rabih there in the hospital?
Yasser (from the program notes and projected introductory performance text): This is my real story yet these are not my thoughts. These thoughts are mine, yet this is not my real story.
WILL & SYNIVA: Is the director intentionally using this mix of devices used to remember things (stories, songs, photographs, recordings) to create an atmosphere of remembering? We keep thinking about the things we are told Yasser did to come to grips with what pretending means.
WILL: Oh, like when he was talking about going to see plays and saying if somebody died on stage he would shake and cry and be sure that they really died and then be really confused when that dead person came out for their bow at the end of the play. I wondered if that was a true story.
SYNIVA: Wasn’t this written and directed by his brother Rabih? Did any of these stories even happen? Yasser also talks about hanging out with Lenin and Tchaikovsky and that’s impossible. He also mentioned letting his brother the director pick out some videos from many he’d made during his recovery. He talked about using a camera to document things to help himself understand the difference between knowing what a thing is in real life (for example, he had no problem with knowing what a knife was when the knife was there with him but when he saw an image of a knife in a photograph he wouldn’t know what it was).
WILL: Am I going to cry?
SYNIVA: You’re discussing this performance like it’s a documentary. I don’t think it was, I definitely think Yasser and his brother are sharing art inspired by life with us but I doubt this is anything but poetic. I can’t tell if the details are real or imagined…like losing his virginity to a nurse in the hospital while he was recovering. The films throughout were beautiful, surreal…weird. I couldn’t tell if these were really from the supposed collection of videos Yasser made while relearning representation or if these were films his brother made for this performance. There was the film that showed images of a location we are told is the actual building where the sniper that shot Yasser was hiding. A film of Yasser putting his injured hand on a torturous looking wooden board from an impossible angle. Watery images of people walking down city streets, wavering, blurring, images of static, images of television test patterns. These were not pieces of story they were pieces of art.
Rabih Mroué: (from an interview on the Walker website): For me, how I understand art, art cannot heal any person or people or group. On the contrary, art is like a tool to make things more complex. It’s trying to understand, but at the same time by seeking understanding you bring up more things. It’s exactly like when you ask a question and then you try to answer this question.
WILL: I keep thinking about Yasser saying he couldn’t tell what was real or not after the brain injury.
SYNIVA: Could he tell what was real or not before the injury?
WILL: Was he saying his brain re-learned what is real? Or did he just learn to tell himself…”ok, let’s say that’s real”?
SYNIVA: Like an actor does. They are aware of doing it. They are aware they are part of the created story. They are aware they are fictional.
WILL: Does he look around at everyone and read their faces like a script and wonder…is everyone else freaking out? No? Ok, I guess what I’m seeing isn’t a thing to freak out about.
Rabih Mroué (from the interview, again): Actually it [art], has no aim. It’s just the pleasure of thinking, of being a human being. It’s thinking and being a human being. It’s the celebration of the human.
WILL: I was in a weird in between sort of magical place with Riding on a Cloud. It was a movie and it was a play, Yasser was playing himself but Rabih directed it, Yasser was acting like himself but he was also really himself. Fiction and reality. This is a fake real story…or a real fake story. This was present in the structure. There were so many…
SYNIVA:…fragments. How can we, the spectators, construct anything except poetry from bits and pieces?
WILL: It reminded me of the structure of memories. Slivers that you can piece together. Fragments that everybody watching might piece together differently.
Milan Kundera (via poem hunter on the internet): ‘I think, therefore I am’ is the statement of an intellectual who underrates toothaches.
SYNIVA: Wisps, shreds. I loved this performance.
WILL: Sometimes things would overlap that didn’t have anything to do with each. Other. Things. Non-sequential.
SYNIVA: Yasser’s physicality was controlled, methodical. He’d take a tape out, put it in the player, speak, record his voice, play it back, put a DVD in, press play. Talk. Sing. Eject, get the next one ready, press play, eject, press play.
WILL: The way the brain jumps from thing to thing, like, oh! That song makes me think of this.
SYNIVA: That Kundera poem makes me think of that.
Hamlet and Yasser Mroué and Shakespeare: The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks/That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation/Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;/To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
SYNIVA: History is like this, too. We think we remember but we are really retelling stories we’ve heard, describing images we’ve seen but not experienced. We end up putting the pieces together. We rely on the memories of others. We rely on the face looking back at us in the mirror to know we are getting older. But we can’t see ourselves getting older.
WILL: This performance was like being inside the images inside of someone’s thoughts. Like being able to watch somebody think. I keep thinking about watching Yasser watch himself projected on screen…did he cease to be a performer at that point?
SYNIVA: Could he even recognize his own face?
Riding on a Cloud continues in the Walker’s McGuire Theater tonight (Friday, January 22) and tomorrow night (Saturday, January 23) at 8 pm. Rabih Mroué will also teach an Inside Out There Workshop on Saturday, January 23 at 11 am in the McGuire Theater.
To spark discussion, the Walker invites Twin Cities artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoingRe:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, choreographer Syniva Whitney and actor Will Courtney of Gender Tender share their perspective on Daniel […]
To spark discussion, the Walker invites Twin Cities artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoingRe:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, choreographer Syniva Whitney and actor Will Courtney of Gender Tender share their perspective on Daniel Fish. Agree or disagree? Feel free to share your thoughts in comments!
The stage was filled with bright yellowish green tennis balls. As we entered the theater the multitude of orbs were ordered in a grid-like manner across the entire stage; tennis balls created a weird modular snow drift upstage. A loud machine to the far left served even more tennis balls that continuously ricocheted off of a poster taped haphazardly against the exposed back wall of the theater. This was the first image of a person present. Not an image of Wallace himself but of a white blond tennis player I didn’t recognize caught in the midst of returning a ball, hair flying out behind them, racket in hand ready to go. As the performers entered the machine was turned off and we lost it’s rhythmic puffing. They entered casually as though arriving for a weekly tennis lesson. Two people were mixing the audio recordings of Wallace’s voice right there out in the open as well. They faced center and were seated on black meditation cushions at a small sound board table to the far right.
The ghost of the author’s voice was present. In the beginning we could hear a bit of what I assumed to be Wallace’s voice (noticeable but not understandable) coming out of the ear pieces from the mound of headphones lying on the floor center stage. As the performers put them on his voice left the space and we were suddenly in the loud silence of watching them listen. They began to give this simple act of listening a presence and then a voice. They began to speak aloud interpretations of the words of a literary artist I’ve just discovered decided to commit suicide after a lifetime of struggling with depression. A meandering anxiety ensued in layered voices and singular voices, voices dropping in and out, voices occasionally repeating text over and over again, sometimes in unison, sometimes monologuing excerpts from his writing with the feeling of a deadpan Shakespearean aside in a casually choreographed, possibly improvised, muffled and ridiculous shifting field of felted rubber balls. Simple lighting changes cued reconfigurations of people, action and text. At a halfway point in the action the performers took a generous amount of time rounding up the pool of balls that had been taking up most of the stage using their shoveling arms, throwing hands, an actual broom and a lot of picking up and sending them all to the back wall. The result was the creation of an even more menacing drift of accumulated mass produced fluorescence. This simple, wave-like action transformed the space gently, anxiously and without fanfare, without voice.
We rushed home buzzing after Thursday night’s performance of Daniel Fish’s A (radically condensed and expanded) Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again After David Foster Wallace. Inspired by what we saw Will and I traded a few questions we came up with in reaction to the work. This is our exercise in giving each other a bit of our voice, our style…a bit of textual material for another body to interpret. Instead of redelivering the text as the performers did we will respond to the other person’s questions. We will then chose one word (THE WORD IN ALL CAPS) from our response and share only that word with the original question writer who will then write a poetic and non-traditionally formatted footnote in response to the singular word. Extensive and tangential footnotes were a trademark of Wallace’s. We admit we’ve never read any of his books.
WILL: Where was the physicality of the performers movement coming from?
SYNIVA: Sometimes I felt like the movements were devices they’d come up with to remember the structure of certain pieces they’d heard many times before. Similar to the way a spoken word artist uses their arm movements and vocal pauses to create rhythmic interest for the listener and to memorize poetry. I also thought the movements could be the unthinking result of only focusing on speaking the text rapidly and fidgeting with the considerable pressure to get it right and make it clear.
W: FIDGETING: Can also be referred to as shuffling, twitching or jiggling. May lead to such physical activities as “bouncy knee”, “slide foot”, “air grabs” and excessive blinking.
S: How can something be expanded and condensed at the same time?
W: Signals are required. The pressure must be increased. Flattening occurs. Stuff spreads out. It’s bigger on the inside.
S: STUFF: See The Story of Stuff, a documentary film I’ve been told is great but have never taken the time to view. You might want to. Consider sitting in the middle of your living room and taking a mental survey of all of your stuff. Start with with the things you can’t see, like the stuff under your bed or the contents of the junk drawer in your kitchen. Begin to italicize in your mind the stuff you’d be sad to lose in a fire. Also consider things and junk.
W: Is that Steffi Graf?
S: No I think it’s Tracy Austin, the tennis player from a Wallace text we heard delivered in the performance. I take it from all the tennis talk and from the set design David Foster Wallace was a big tennis fan. I’ve never heard of her (Austin) but I loved the quip that Wallace thought tennis was more abstract than boxing…that it was combat at a huge, geometrically pleasing distance.
W: ABSTRACT: A bunch of different colored cubes. Or it could be a bird. Or feelings.
W: Will someone get hit with a tennis ball?
S: Yes and no.The possibility of tripping and falling hung over the action as the performers rushed across stage, sat on tennis balls, and generally seemed to be dealing with the objects under their feet and their unknowable rolly-ness. At one point a performer did about a thousand jumping jacks while delivering Wallace’s text about all the privileged people in a men’s restroom and lists of possible bathroom related bodily functions. I was afraid they’d trip over the headphone connector box center stage and sprain their ankle.
W: JUMPING JACKS: There are over 47 varieties of Jumping Jack. Do you want all of the dates? The record for consecutive jumping jacks in a row is 27,000 (citation needed).
S: When does the story become the character?
W: The exact moment the eyes blur and look up. And in. I’m looking right at you but I’m also at the pool, in the bathroom or at the game. The stage ripples. An optical illusion made by a grid of soft round shapes.
S: BLUR: Blur is an English rock band, formed 1988, London. Blur is a band I thought I liked when I thought Jell-O shots were a good idea. The feeling of failing at focusing.
A (radically condensed and expanded) Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again After David Foster Wallace by Daniel Fish continues in the Walker’s McGuire Theater Friday – Saturday, January 15-16, 2016 at 8pm.
The Walker will also present a free film screening of Daniel Fish’s Eternal on Saturday, January 16 at 1pm in the Walker Cinema.
I have the feeling there are more selves here, more selves than I can safely explain: Gender Tender responds to RoosevElvis
To spark discussion, the Walker invites Twin Cities artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, choreographer Syniva Whitney and actor Will Courtney of Gender Tender share their perspective […]
To spark discussion, the Walker invites Twin Cities artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, choreographer Syniva Whitney and actor Will Courtney of Gender Tender share their perspective on RoosevElvis by the TEAM. Agree or disagree? Feel free to share your thoughts in comments!
We ran home after Thursday night’s performance from the TEAM to respond to the evening’s work while still marinated in the experience. This is a festival of performance alternatives so we thought why not craft an alternative kind of response for our speedy Re:View. We structured what’s below using a few techniques we use in our own creative process and mixed those gestures up with our feelings and ideas about this approximation of a line of text from the show:
“You’ve only known me for three days, you don’t really know me, you only know what I’ve presented to you.”
We’ve combined observational writing (what we recall was presented), time limits (what we’ve only taken 30 seconds to write and resisted editing, so we don’t really know it) and the structure of a conversation (a thing people do to get to know each other.) These responses are in our own order and are not meant to reflect the real sequence of events in the show.
WILL: Roosevelt tells a boxing story about Harvard. He got punched once after the bell because the other fighter was hard of hearing but he was cool with it because he’s cool. Roosevelt dons white boxing gloves and begins punching all over the place. He asks the tech to “Play my Planet Earth video please!” Buffalo footage begins to play. “Tatanka, ” he whispers and the audience busts out laughing. He runs to the screen and begins punching the buffalo projected there, the curtain ripples with each blow. Loud punching Foley effects happen in time with the punches. Teddy is just punching randomly at the buffalo and then…POW! Catches one in a close-up right in the nose. Next: a wider shot of the buffalo all peaceful on the range. Roosevelt runs back and forth punching several buffalo…then a super wide shot…he screams and swings more wildly punching all of the buffalo. Meanwhile, Elvis is karate chopping pizza boxes in half. Roosevelt begins a balletic dance sequence still in boxing gloves. He hisses, “YES!” every time he lands a jump. Elvis does a karate dance solo. This is not the exact order in which these things happened.
SYNIVA (30 seconds to respond to the above after hearing it read aloud): Reminds me of a girl I knew at Bryn Mawr College all sharp points and desperate edges . Brilliant, fragile seeming, but somehow the most likely to kill for profit (succeed?). Maybe she was lonely.
SYNIVA: Ann sits on a bed in a motel room. They are halfway to Graceland, I think. Ann drunk dials their former online hook-up. This person is also Teddy Roosevelt and they are seated in one of the directors chairs to the far left of the stage, mutton chops still in place, his long, thick brown hair is now in a ponytail. He answers the call, asks if Ann is fucked up…they say yes. Teddy now speaks in the voice of Ann’s old flame. Ann attempts to talk about their true self, they say they are not a man or woman they are a power, a force of nature. Ann states an alternate dimension would be a better place to live and wants to know what she thinks about this, is this a joke to her, or is this more, is this somebody worth loving? She responds that she thinks Ann is depressed and “yes”, she did tell the story to all her friends at the bar and they did laugh about it.
WILL (30 seconds to respond): This was heartbreaking, but somehow it felt like the truth, or Ann felt it was the truth. The old flame was cruel, or too blunt. They don’t really know each other.
WILL: Ann comes home from the meat packing plant with a six pack of beer in a black plastic bag. They toss their phone on the table. They throw their hat on the dish rack.They put the six pack in the fridge and grab a single beer. Ann twists the cap off (there is no sound) and throws the cap in the direction of the sink, nods decisively, then drinks deeply. They lean on the kitchen table looking toward the audience. A strangled breathing sound comes from Ann’s mouth. It could be the sound of suffocating or the faraway sound of an arena crowd. A conversation begins between Anne and Elvis. Advice is given about girls. This whole scene happens again later in a different way as if Elvis is the sympathetic best friend Ann comes home to at the end of a hard day.
SYNIVA (30 seconds): Hard to breathe, I have the feeling there are more selves present here, more selves than I can safely explain, more ghosts of those that understand me in the air than I care to remember, avoiding thoughts of my past selves that came to a bad end.
SYNIVA: An image of the Badlands is projected behind 2 rowing machines. Darkness falls onstage. The campfire light is shining on the faces of RoosevElvis because a stage tech came out and shone tiny footlights of orange at them. Elvis brings Teddy a weenie on a stick to roast and sings an out of tune and off key song he wrote on a ukulele. Elvis then admits to just writing the title, his friend Red wrote the lyrics. It’s about the love he feels for his dearly departed mother, his best friend. Elvis asks Teddy if he is like him, does he have an Ann like presence in his body too that he has conversations with? He says no but then wistfully gazes at the fake campfire and begins to embody John Muir. The performer deftly moves between Teddy’s can-do manic patriot rant and Muir’s relaxing Scottish brogue. Muir attempts to convince Teddy he could give up all the achievement based shit he does to fill the void in his heart and spend more time getting in touch with his true self while out in nature.
WILL: I’m thinking about bears. And trees.
WILL: Ann has checked into a motel with RoosevElvis. They are on a road trip. Roosevelt is restless and Elvis is asleep. Teddy wakes Elvis and they argue about rich kid privilege. Elvis accuses Teddy of feeling superior to other men because he doesn’t know what it’s like to be a man without means. Teddy says he is superior to other men. The audience laughs. Ann comes in and out a few times drinking a beer, disheveled. The argument becomes heated. Elvis jumps up on the bed and strikes a karate pose in his silk robe. Roosevelt suggests they take this outside. They do.
SYNIVA: Femmes do also struggle with violence. Giving and receiving it. And we may not just be the means to a satisfying end.
SYNIVA: The characters shift through performed versions of history, celebrity, fantasy and other more internal experiences of who they are and who they might become. RoosevElvis are now Thelma and Louise in the convertible at the point of no return. There are a billion armed policeman behind them. They kiss, they hold hands, they wax poetic. This is a film. This is not happening on stage. They drive to their deaths into the heart of the Grand Canyon. The original version of Thelma and Louise has played throughout the performance on the TV set in Ann’s apartment and the TV set in the motel room. Things are always projected on screens. Sometimes we see the Badlands, sometimes the meat packing plant. There has also been footage of Mount Rushmore. Throughout the performance footage has played on a small TV screen, a set that looks more like a monitor you’d view security footage on off to the side of the stage, lower than waist height. This footage is of two waitresses in the back of a restaurant prepping food, talking, working standing. There is no soundtrack. There is a moment onstage at Ann’s kitchen table when RoosevElvis appears wearing pink waitress uniforms with white aprons but it seems dreamlike to me now, I’m not sure it happened.
WILL: It was like stepping with my own feet back into my own head. Sometimes I feel like my life is a TV show, too. I’m there but I’m also looking at myself. Also, I’m someone else.
RoosevElvis continues in the Walker’s McGuire Theater tonight (Friday, January 8) and tomorrow night (Saturday, January 9) at 8 pm. The TEAM will also teach an Inside Out There Workshop on Saturday, January 9 at 11 am in the McGuire Theater.