Morris Robinson (here in a production of Wagner's 'Tannhauser'), one of the soloists in tonight's concert, bein' awesome.

I just got back to my apartment from Symphony Hall after seeing B.U.’s Symphony Orchestra and Symphonic Chorus present Arnold Schoenberg’s A Survivor From Warsaw and Guiseppe Verdi’s Requiem (“Messa da requiem”), and let me just say, HOLY SHIT. I’ve been feverishly listening to opera music and singing through all the Gioachino Rossini I can remember since the concert ended. But I’ll stop doing that for a bit so i can tell you all how incredible the concert was, and a selection of the myriad of things about theatre and art I learned from it:

1) OH MY GOD, WAS IT EVER INCREDIBLE. The long-lost musician in me was brought back to life tonight. And the concert was definitely the most spectacular piece of art I’ve seen in a long time. For those of you who don’t know about either of the pieces presented tonight, here’s a clip of one of the most recognizable parts of the Requiem. So just imagine a huge orchestra, a quartet of opera singers, and a gigantic choir shouting that at you. Terrifying? Yes. Amazing? Fuck yeah.

2) WE ALL NEED TO GO SEE MORE SCHOOL OF MUSIC PERFORMANCES. Come to think of it, we all need to lend more support to both the Schools of Music and Visual Arts. I grant that none of us have any free time ever ever. But after seeing what the School of Music can do tonight, not only am I impressed by what they can do, but I am incredibly revitalized and inspired as a person in the arts. I’m thoroughly convinced that we all need to make time in our insane schedules to expose ourselves to art that isn’t theatre – not only will we grow as artists, but we’ll be inspired.

3) WANT ACTING LESSONS? WATCH OPERA SINGERS. Jesus Christ Almighty, you guys. The four soloists brought in to sing in Verdi’s Requiem – whose further information you can find here – taught me a thing or two about performing tonight. Of course they were incredible singers, but as performers they were extraordinary. The four of them did things that I, as an actor/theatre artist/person, have been striving to learn how to do ever since I came here to school. But anyway, I think any of us actors/theatre artists/people could learn a thing or two from them. ‘Cause they most definitely:

- Touched and moved people with their sound. About 2000 people. And gave me goosebumps.

- Owned their presence on stage, owned the stage, owned ever single thing they did.

- Apologized for nothing.

And, most inspirationally:

- Gave themselves completely to what they were doing. Honestly, it has been a long time since I’ve seen such artistic commitment in person. Watching the four of them sing, it was clear that every single molecule in them, every atom and neutron, was singing.

Please, everyone, go see the next opera-related anything you can! I promise you, you will be amazing at what you’ll learn and what inspires you – not only as a theatre student or an actor, but as a person. I could definitely go on for ages about all the things I learned from tonight – including learning how deeply I miss music, opera, and singing, and how revitalizing it is for me as an artist (and learning that I do still want to be an opera singer. Badly).

I can only hope that, the next time I perform, I remember watching those four soloists and strive to do what they did – commit every fibre of my being to what I’m doing at that very moment. Why the fuck NOT?

A question or two: Is it okay to laugh about the Holocaust? Was it okay? IS it okay? Is it EVER okay? And the sixty-four thousand dollar question: Is it okay if you’re a non-Jewish German?

Well, we’re all pretty liberal and open people here on this DramaLit blog, so I’m going to guess that more than a few people would answer “yes” to these questions. 35-year-old Jewish German and stand-up comedian Oliver Polak would agree with you. He’s one of several noteworthy “young German artists” (profiled in this Der Spiegel article I recently found through ArtsJournal.com) who are, as the article’s title says, “boldly defining the ‘new Jew’.” Though it feels as if a bit of it is lost in its translation from German, the article is a fascinating cultural and philosophical read. The artists featured, Polak included, are all German Jews who have been seeking to define themselves as Jews without use of the past (specifically, WWII and the Holocaust). Or, if the young artists ARE using the Holocaust to define themselves, they’re doing so in a way that engages German Gentiles through laughter and open discussion rather than fear and embarassment. Comedian Oliver Polak falls into this latter category of artist. The parts of this article about his standup are, personally, bewildering: Polak playing Adolf Hitler in an Adidas tracksuit, Polak “making fun of his mother, his foreskin, and the Central Council of Jews in Germany,” and his German audiences erupting into terrified laughter.

Oliver Polak’s website is definitely worth a look, if only for the spectacularly jarring (for me, anyhow) first picture of him you’ll find when you click through with this link. Talk about symbolism…

My confusion at the previous questions – Oliver Polak’s standup comedy aside – is that I have always vehemently answered them with “no.” No, it is not okay for non-Jewish Germans to laugh at Jews, at WWII, at the Holocaust, at ANY of that! Well, when I say non-Jewish Germans, I’m almost exclusively referring to myself. This is a rule that I, a German Gentile, have always vehemently stuck to. For a bunch of reasons having to do with my deep-seated guilt complex (which we could talk about FOREVER, but that’s a story for another day). I’ve spent my entire life running away from that part of me that is German. I’ve spent my entire life ashamed of it.

So now I’ve been completely thrown off balance by Oliver Polak and this Der Spiegel article! Because as an artist-in-training, I think it’s f*cking awesome that these people are taking their culture identities into their own hands and redefining those identities through art. But as a cosmically guilty German, I feel like running away from this artistic trailblazing because I should still feel awful about the stuff these young Jewish artists are now laughing at.

I know, I know, I’ve not got any reason to feel the German guilt I do. I know, I know, I shouldn’t worry about it the way I do, and should join in Oliver Polak’s self-deprication and reclaiming of the past. I think it’ll take a while longer for me to put this cultural shame behind me. But for now, I want to know what other people think about these questions. Is Oliver Polak doing a good thing? A thing that needs to happen? And is it okay for non-Jewish Germans to laugh at him while he does? No matter what, for now, as a young artist, I’m somehow thankful for the confusion this article has caused me.

That’s because, I’m more-than-a-little-bit relieved to say, Mabou Mines’ “Dollhouse” was the first piece of theatre I’ve seen in a long time that I just FELT. It asked that I EXPERIENCE it, and nothing more. That experiencing, though, that letting the waves of it break and wash over me, was more than enough. I feel like that was all I could really even TRY to do during and after the show; my attempts to intellectualize and analyze the production were alltogether futile. It’s not that I couldn’t/can’t write you a critical essay about the socio-politicism of “Dollhouse” or whatever – it’s just that something in me is saying that I don’t want to or that I shouldn’t have to.

So I owe a gigantic thank you to Mabou Mines “Dollhouse” for assaulting me with their otherworldly production and holding me in that strange emotional place. I certainly wasn’t allowed to retreat to my maze-like mind during the show, what with the miniature furniture and masked nightmare people (who literally terrified me) and everything else. And, to put it out there, the show made me feel, among many things: frightened, nauseous, frustrated, melancholy, and conflicted as all hell. Not conflicted as a theatre artists, but as a person, for a ton of reasons. The motherhood question in the play being one of them…and that’s a conflict inside myself that I didn’t even realize I HAD until I saw this production!

This isn’t to say that Mabou Mines’ “Dollhouse” was my favorite play on planet earth – sure, there were things that put me off in a person-of-the-theatre way. There were elements that made me raise my eyebrow in question. But all in all, in this jumble of crazy thoughts and feelings I have in reaction to the production, I know for certain that “Dollhouse” was somehow just the piece of theatre I needed to see now. As the theatre artist looking to leave her head and get to back to the basics of her gut and her heart, and as the person.

The cartoons seem, at first glance, short, silly, and needlessly violent – no different then most of the cartoons I watched when I was a kid. But they feel different, no? Darker? Cartoons I grew up on could be much the same way (the jarring “Ren and Stimpy” being the perfect example). But once I was done suspending my disbelief in their slapstick world, I walked away entertained, but little else. These cartoons have an strange staying power, and an urgent need to be seen. Watch them for youself and be the judge, but my bet is you’ll feel much the same way afterwards – the fact that they’re all in Mandarin Chinese will not matter at all.

The frightening urgency of these cartoons is the product of their being made in China, a nation that has become remarkably dangerous for both artists and those looking to speak out against their government. Of course, many artists in China today have made it their mission to do just that – animator and cartoonist Pi San being one of them. Rather than use picket signs and marches to speak out against those in power, Pi San uses both his drawings and the internet as his weapons. He and web-saavy contemporaries such as blogger Wen Yunchao, whom the New York Times article is about, have recently been working to take a stand using laughter and satire, in the hopes that comedy will mobilize the massive Chinese citizenry to action against their own government. The article’s author Brook Larmer speaks to the surprising power men like Wen Yunchao and Pi San have had in recent months, saying rightly that being laughed at can be a ruler’s greatest fear.

Disturbingly, the Chinese government has made it near impossible for these artists to reach people at all. Larmer’s article details the circuitous process of these two posting a satirical cartoon or message on a website akin to Youtube or Twitter, it’s popularity spreading like wildfire and reaching several million Chinese within hours, and then the cartoon or message disappearing from the internet alltogether. Pi San’s fighting back against this censorship lead him to the decision to flee the country, fearing for his life and the lives of his family members.

As a young artist, reading this article has made me realize that I take my voice for granted – not to mention the fact that I am allowed to have a voice at all. So please, PLEASE read this article – I promise you, it will make you appreciate the freedom given to us in this country to create. Artists in nations like China have made it their mission to fight back against their government and incite change, knowing full well that they could be risking their lives doing so. One wonders what American artists like us would make if we were up against such odds.

Rafe Spall as William Shakespeare in "Anonymous," looking as shocked as I was in the movie theatre.

And now for the surprise of the century: I paid eleven dollars and fifty cents this past Saturday to see Roland Emmerich’s new film “Anonymous,” the film about how the-artist-possibly-known-as William Shakespeare was anything but. I know, I know, shocking. I’ve been waiting for it to hit the silver screen for about half a year. It is, admittedly, an actor-nerd fantasy of mine brought to life: a film about the man to whom I’ve given my work and life. And pretty period costumes. And prettier Englishmen. In other words, serious, serious business. And being the serious eminent Shakespearean that I fancy myself to be, I feel it’s my duty to edify you readers on the film and the “Oxfordian theory of authorship” that it purports. You can read more about the theory itself HERE and HERE, WHICH YOU DEFINITELY SHOULD, but I’ll give you a quick primer: Stratfordians believe that William Shakespeare, whoever he was, wrote everything that bears his name – plays, sonnets, etc. Oxfordians believe that Edward de Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford, landed aristocrat, courtier and itellectual, wrote the plays in stead.

Let us dispense with the niceties and get straight to the heart of the matter, shall we? Because the film is sh*t. Really, though! I realize that’s my opinion, and that that’s rather harsh, but I have a feeling it’s no skin off of Roland Emmerich’s back. That being said, it gets my vote for the Best Worst Movie of 2011. “Anonymous,” with it’s pouty Edward de Vere and caddish Shakespeare and passive agressive and closeted Kit Marlowe (he isn’t the only character in the film that gives off those vibes, believe me), is so bad it’s almost good. In fact, it’s one big sexually repressed Elizabethan stereotype! Which is…nice?

To be honest, the cast should be applauded for their remarkable efforts to try and make Emmerich and John Orloff’s script better than it is. The script is, to be frank, awful, and the worst thing (among many, many, many bad things) about the film. It’s laughable at it’s most enjoyable – and that’s not because you’re laughing WITH it, that’s for sure. But again, the cast makes a Herculean effort with what they’ve been given, and it shows. Most enchanting is the Bard himself, played by Rafe Spall, who in his performance has embraced all the vitriol of the Anti-Stratfordian theorists and turned his Shakespeare into just the man they’ve always wanted him to be: a complete and total asshole.

So it’s not to say that the film isn’t fun. But that very well may be the problem with it: the reaction of playfulness it induces in its audience. Because it’s clear that the film takes itself terribly seriously, just as the current supporters of the Oxfordian theory take their beliefs in the former Earl of Oxford himself. The fact that the script is a mess ruins any hope that Oxfordians have of convincing people of their argument. For those who would debate my calling the film a serious representation of the theory, I call their attention to Mark Rylance and Sir Derek Jacobi – intellectual and legendary heavyweights of the classical theatre, actors in “Anonymous,” and boisterous supporters of the Oxfordian theory. Both have gone on record in recent years as anti-Stratfordians, and have even gone so far as to sign the “Declaration of Reasonable Doubt About the Identity of William Shakespeare,” which is exactly what it sounds like it is. Why would the two of them involve themselves with this film – a film with a script that ANYONE could read and be confident in its atrocity – if they were not gravely serious in their support of its message? Answer: they wouldn’t.

So unfortunately for Oxfordians like themselves, “Anonymous” does nothing but make their claims seem more ridiculous than ever before. As for myself, I can’t say whether or not I support or refute their claims. To put it plainly, I will never care as much as they do about who wrote the Bard’s words. I will always, always care more about the words themselves.

So with all this strange admiration, I read Charles Isherwood’s Friday posting in the New York Times’ Arts Beat blog and was left confounded. The article, “For One Critic, It’s a Rapp” isn’t really a review; rather, the critic takes a stand as if waiting for the artist to respond, rather than the other way around. Then again, the article is also part-critique of arts criticism. To explain the article simply: Isherwood says flat-out that he should no longer review the plays of Adam Rapp. Isherwood traces his history with the playwright, finding that he has “nothing but reservations” for “a lot of Mr. Rapp’s writing,” but has continued to review his work because it’s so prolific and lauded in the current American theatre (New York City especially). Isherwood then openly admits that maybe he just doesn’t respond organically to Rapp’s work like others do, saying that “criticism is, after all, a subjective form of writing. There is no right answer.”

As young theatre artists and dramaturgs, I STRONGLY RECOMMEND YOU ALL READ THE ARTICLE HERE! After my first read of it I almost felt as if Charles Isherwood had backed down. From what, though, I can’t say I’m certain. Has he backed down from the bravery that he’s always had because he’s a critic? The bravery and damaging harshness he’s possesed to share his opinions on art, at the risk of ruining a show? At the risk of ruining a career? Isherwood ends his article asking his readers “what do you think,” but I’m not sure I can answer him just yet. Needless to say I’ll have to find an answer before I read my next review.

Il Volo's Gianluca Ginoble, far left, Piero Barone and Ignazio Boschetto.

This past July, I had to take a JetBlue flight from Boston to get to a family wedding. I hadn’t been on a plane in years, so I was genuinely surprised by the miniature television glued into the back of the seat in front of me. I left it off for the entire flight, deciding against watching a movie or music video, but it turned by itself as the plane landed and docked itself at the airport. A muted music video promotion was playing, featuring three boys I had never seen before – all with dark hair, on the shorter side, definitely younger than me. They were singing something, but what, I wasn’t sure. Pop music? It looked dramatic, whatever it was: wide-angle slow motion footage of them singing was accompanied by tracking shots of beautiful European vistas and vast spotlighted stages. Such earnest attempts at sweeping and romantic feeling all felt decidedly Andrea Bocelli-esque. And as it happened, my Italian connection was spot-on: these three boys made up an Italian singing group named “Il Volo.” By the time I had figured out the name of their group – and the fact that they were all 18 or younger – I had to grab my carry-on and leave the plane. I did so, and with that, my random encounter with Il Volo was forgotten.

Forgotten until this morning, that is. Browsing the New York Times’ online Arts page, I came across a headline that read “They’re, Like, Awesome Opera Singers.” Placed with the headline was a picture of the three of them – those same boys that I had seen on that plane! Those same boys that I had thought I had forgotten about! Those same boys that sang like Andrea Bocelli but looked like they were characters on “Glee.” Zarachy Woolfe’s accompanying article on Il Volo, a lengthy profile of group members Gianluca, Piero and Ignazio on tour, even appeared in print in yesterdays’ Sunday Times. The three teenagers, aged between 16 and 18, are apparently poised to become popular music’s next teen heartthrob supergroup, but plan on doing it with a traditional operatic sound. Indeed, their first singles are “O Sole Mio” and the strangely mature “Un Amore Cosi Grande.” You can read more about the three of them in Woolfe’s article here, and check out their very own website here.

Needless to say, after reading their Times profile, looking at their website, and listening to more of their singles, I was a little bit surprised. Surprised that these boys sound like they do, being and looking like babies to me. But surprised isn’t quite all of what I feel about Il Volo. How about off-put? Skeeved out? Those unsettling adjectives more accurately describe my reaction, especially given the way their Times profile admitted they were seen by their managers and handlers: which is to say, cash cows. Adorably dimpled cash cows, but cash cows nonetheless. The adults that are with them on tour speak of the boys as if they are caricatures with voices and little more. Several parts of Woolfe’s article record this money-focused mindset of the adults behind Il Volo. These include (but aren’t limited to) the origins of the group in a reality show singing competition, managers buying Dolce & Gabbana suits for the boys tailored to the stage image each one is meant to represent to the world, and this excerpt that closes the entire profile: “Earlier in the day Ignazio was sound-checking onstage with the band as [manager] Steve Leber watched from the seats…Mr. Leber smiled. ‘Our game plan is working,’ he said.”

It isn’t as if these boys are the first child stars ever to break into the entertainment industry – so why do I feel so unsettled by their story? And by the way their handlers look at them? I can’t help but feel they’re being taken advantage of, as if starting the struggle for fame at such a sensitive age as theirs can lead to nothing but disaster. Given what we know about American arts and culture alone, this statement unfortunately doesn’t feel like hyperbole. So, is this disturbing fixation on youth in modern art and entertainment, of which Il Volo is clearly a new example, a given in our culture? Is it something we should continue to question and protect those younger than us from? And should this even disturbing at all? Based on their talent alone, Ignazio, Gianluca and Piero deserve to be stars – but, for the sake of their future sanity, I can’t help but feel they should spend a few more years in school.

I arrived at a short article by one Jane Martinson, but not on the Guardian’s “Culture” page or “Stage” blog: the article is apparently part of the Guardian’s “Life & Style” section, and is posted in “The Women’s Blog.” Yes, this article about female comedians and actresses is actually separated from all other pieces of the Guardian’s reporting on culture, and is actually posted on a separate hidden-away blog that is actually called “The Women’s Blog.” Well jeez, forget whatever else the article was about! How are any of us supposed to have a meaningful discussion about the separation of women from men in comedy if the topics of debate are hidden away in places that only women are “meant” to look? Why can’t this blog posting be in the Guardian’s “Culture” section, with all the other articles about theatre, acting, and every other art in between? All the other recent articles/blog postings about comedy that I could find link directly to their own pages which are still listed as being a part of the “Culture” and “Stage” sections of the Guardian. Apparently, the lack of female comics is some sort of joke – or, at the very least, one the Guardian feels only women will knowingly understand.

Jane Martinson’s brief article goes on to discuss the apparent recent upswing of funny women on stage and screen, while highlighting the fact that these women seem to be taking more hits than ever. An all-female stand-up comedy competition named Funny Women is also mentioned; the competition is in its eighth year, but has lost much of its monetary sponsorship and is floundering. Martinson asked questions that matter, but that seemingly have no definite and concrete answers. But, here’s one idea that the articles complete separation from the rest of the Guardian’s arts news brings to my mind – perhaps the issues facing female comedians today come from the fact that they are seen as female first: before anything else, they are women, and must be separated and given different attention than everyone else. Is this special treatment getting us women on stage and screen anywhere? Or is it just widening the gap between us and the male-centered comedy world?

Miltner first got my attention on the Independent’s online Life & Style section, in an article about her carrying the unfortunately apt title “Memes: Take a look at miaow.” The 29-year-old London School of Economics student, who has devoted her years as a graduate student to the “often trite viral images and films” we call memes, has just handed in her dissertation. As her profile on the Independent says, “Miltner will soon be qualified to say ‘I can has master’s degree’, having completed a qualitative audience study of lolcat users.” Shocked as I was to read this much of Miltner’s profile, an explanation of this new field of cultural study given by one of her colleagues stopped me in my tracks: “The short answer [to why meme research is important],” says NYU grad student Patrick Davison, “is because these are the kind of cultural interactions that people participate in these days.” Do I wish I could argue with Davison, and contest this artistically disheartening “short answer”? Yes. Can I? No. As much as it pains me to admit it, no.

Look at the article here for a more thorough investigation of Miltner, Davison, and their work.

As an academic field of study, what Miltner has devoted herself to is completely legitimate. Culturally, her endeavor holds as much weight as any artists’ might. In a strange, Warhol-esque kind of way, she is studying what the people consume as a culture, legitimizing it therein, and making a living off of it. And it seems to be teaching her a lot about the people themselves, lestaways the trends they follow. So then what is it about this article and this brand-new field of study that is so maddening to me, a growing artist of the theatre? I suppose a large part of my angry confusion stems from a resentment that, as Davison says, people have chosen pictures of plump felines wanting ‘cheezburgers’ as a method of interacting culturally with their fellow man. Or rather, that they’ve chosen that cultural medium, and not mine. Or hey, who knows, maybe I’m just upset that Kate Miltner thought of LolCats as a way to make a living first. So should we praise the industrious Kate Miltner and follow her meme-tastic example? Should we as theatre artists continue to work with those in her field to further the relevance of our own art form? Or is there a cultural shift and separation the theatre should make for preservation’s sake?