Lingua

Threepenny Opera was tonight, at MXT. A visually striking production -- at its end. How wonderful. It's not that I didn't appreciate or like the show, but it was like flipping through a copy of Theatre magazine: beautiful and lifeless photos. Exquisite composition, little viscera.

I miss language. Check that -- I miss language I can understand. It's not that Threepenny was wordless, or soundless -- the Brecht estate would never allow that! -- but it was in Russian. I don't understand Russian. The play's use of language, its irony, its nuance were all lost to me because of this darn problem with my ears: they only "get" English. I never realized how much I value my own language.

About three years ago I decided to see the Stary Theatre of Warsaw and their production of KRUM at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. Four hours of a Polish contemporary play. I felt better about that Krummy experience than I do about a lot of what I've seen in Moscow. Call me stubborn.

Threepenny's gestus and clowning all seemed to be excellent -- so far as I could tell -- but it seemed like another stuffy night at the theater. All sorts of pretty people gathered in one spot, trying to sound intelligent, and none really behaving according to nature. Or, when considering my Polish experience, perhaps it is that with Krum it was my choice to submerge myself in slavic sibilance and here I'm rather mired in it. I hope things improve with time.

To date, only a rather campy Cherry Orchard at Lencom has reached me in any kind of emotional way. I think that has to do with my prior knowledge of the play.