i read this article in the Warwick Boar the other day...
and found myself laughing out loud at some of the things said - true, it does sound like a wet blanket but there are some elements of truth in what he said (esp in the light of some of the not-so-good productions passing off as amazing).
EVAN STEVENS: Why I Hate Student Drama
I was sitting in the Arts Centre a while back, nursing a medium-to-serious hangover and wishing for nothing more than an hour or so of undisturbed quiet. Suddenly I realised that there was a pain in my head. Searing, unbearable, a shrill noise was burning my eardrums like liquid fire. Had a pack of banshees descended on us? Was the building being blown up? Or could it be the cast of Copacabana, loudly and inexplicably singing, for no apparent reason other than a profound need to be the centre of attention at all times?
Indeed, it was. It simply did not cross the minds of those aspiring thespians that the rest of the world might not care to hear “Her name was Lola” repeated in a variety of keys, over and over again early on a Wednesday morning. And it is this that is the root of my grievances; what one might call the embryo from which my ‘thespo-phobia’ has grown.
It is not the shoddy, over-financed and under-talented productions. It is not the significant percentage of the world’s trees that have been destroyed to make fliers that carpet the pavement outside Costcutter. It is not even the loud and uncalled-for “shouts” at the beginning of lectures: larger than life grins declaring (or, God help us, singing) that “the best production, like, ever, is being performed this lunch time in the Chaplaincy!”
It is the sheer arrogance of these people that really gets me down. It’s the air kisses. It’s the in-depth analysis of their friends’ performances broadcast at top volume in any quiet space (the library, the computer centre). It’s the complete inability to understand that anyone else on campus might not care as much about them as they do.
But come on, one might say, they just want to stand on a stage. They just want everyone to look at them. Why on earth would anyone object to that?
Let’s take a look at why. Firstly, there are the performances themselves. I went, reluctantly, to see Copacabana. Scantily dressed girls bobbed around the stage, wobbling their exposed stomachs in time to repetitive and uninspiring show tunes. The neon signs and those illuminated steps from which the actors descended merely highlighted their failure to live up to their own hype.
Then there was Codpiece’s production of Ted Hughes’s Ovid. What got to me about this was the need to justify the whole play’s existence in terms of how sexually explicit they could be. A tip for the future: narrating a play whilst vigorously dry-humping in a bed is not edgy and mature – it is ineffective and embarrassing. We couldn’t hear a word you were saying and your sex noises were gross. The sex scenes were screaming: “This is a grown-up play about grown-up issues – take us seriously!” In reality, it would have been a whole lot easier to respect this effort if there had been a little less on-stage copulation.
And here’s another thing: what’s with this student-thesp compulsion to get semi-naked in public? In Copacabana, we had to endure the feathered bikinis. In Ovid, we were treated to a bared arse and more than an eyeful of brassier. Why, damn them, can’t they keep their clothes on? If these people cared more about theatre than they did about themselves, they’d realise that exposing themselves on stage is a little distracting from the play: a classic example of thespian egos acting as an impenetrable blockade to any enjoyment the performance.
This, I think, is the crux of the problem (and it is a problem – I’m not alone in despising the Warwick drama scene). I really don’t mind that the plays are bad. They’re generally awful, let’s be honest, but that’s ok: we’re students, not professionals. We’re still, definitively, studying – learning how these things are done. It’s ok to mumble your lines inaudibly, to speak with your back to the audience, to be unconvincing and miss your cues. Go ahead and be crap – but please, please, don’t act like you’re anything more than that. The inexplicable self-importance that comes with being in even the most insignificant of Warwick productions is embarrassing for us all.
To the thespians of Warwick, I say this: Sit down, take a break, cover your flab up like the rest of us and learn to deal with being mediocre. It’s really not so bad.
see the pdf version of the page here
EVAN STEVENS: Why I Hate Student Drama
I was sitting in the Arts Centre a while back, nursing a medium-to-serious hangover and wishing for nothing more than an hour or so of undisturbed quiet. Suddenly I realised that there was a pain in my head. Searing, unbearable, a shrill noise was burning my eardrums like liquid fire. Had a pack of banshees descended on us? Was the building being blown up? Or could it be the cast of Copacabana, loudly and inexplicably singing, for no apparent reason other than a profound need to be the centre of attention at all times?
Indeed, it was. It simply did not cross the minds of those aspiring thespians that the rest of the world might not care to hear “Her name was Lola” repeated in a variety of keys, over and over again early on a Wednesday morning. And it is this that is the root of my grievances; what one might call the embryo from which my ‘thespo-phobia’ has grown.
It is not the shoddy, over-financed and under-talented productions. It is not the significant percentage of the world’s trees that have been destroyed to make fliers that carpet the pavement outside Costcutter. It is not even the loud and uncalled-for “shouts” at the beginning of lectures: larger than life grins declaring (or, God help us, singing) that “the best production, like, ever, is being performed this lunch time in the Chaplaincy!”
It is the sheer arrogance of these people that really gets me down. It’s the air kisses. It’s the in-depth analysis of their friends’ performances broadcast at top volume in any quiet space (the library, the computer centre). It’s the complete inability to understand that anyone else on campus might not care as much about them as they do.
But come on, one might say, they just want to stand on a stage. They just want everyone to look at them. Why on earth would anyone object to that?
Let’s take a look at why. Firstly, there are the performances themselves. I went, reluctantly, to see Copacabana. Scantily dressed girls bobbed around the stage, wobbling their exposed stomachs in time to repetitive and uninspiring show tunes. The neon signs and those illuminated steps from which the actors descended merely highlighted their failure to live up to their own hype.
Then there was Codpiece’s production of Ted Hughes’s Ovid. What got to me about this was the need to justify the whole play’s existence in terms of how sexually explicit they could be. A tip for the future: narrating a play whilst vigorously dry-humping in a bed is not edgy and mature – it is ineffective and embarrassing. We couldn’t hear a word you were saying and your sex noises were gross. The sex scenes were screaming: “This is a grown-up play about grown-up issues – take us seriously!” In reality, it would have been a whole lot easier to respect this effort if there had been a little less on-stage copulation.
And here’s another thing: what’s with this student-thesp compulsion to get semi-naked in public? In Copacabana, we had to endure the feathered bikinis. In Ovid, we were treated to a bared arse and more than an eyeful of brassier. Why, damn them, can’t they keep their clothes on? If these people cared more about theatre than they did about themselves, they’d realise that exposing themselves on stage is a little distracting from the play: a classic example of thespian egos acting as an impenetrable blockade to any enjoyment the performance.
This, I think, is the crux of the problem (and it is a problem – I’m not alone in despising the Warwick drama scene). I really don’t mind that the plays are bad. They’re generally awful, let’s be honest, but that’s ok: we’re students, not professionals. We’re still, definitively, studying – learning how these things are done. It’s ok to mumble your lines inaudibly, to speak with your back to the audience, to be unconvincing and miss your cues. Go ahead and be crap – but please, please, don’t act like you’re anything more than that. The inexplicable self-importance that comes with being in even the most insignificant of Warwick productions is embarrassing for us all.
To the thespians of Warwick, I say this: Sit down, take a break, cover your flab up like the rest of us and learn to deal with being mediocre. It’s really not so bad.
see the pdf version of the page here
posted by ade at
9:17 am
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home