CSotD: Alice’s Adventures Through the Creative Wormhole
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It's common for cartoonists of domestic strips like "Zits" or "the Lockhorns" to hear, "You must be looking in our windows!" from people who see their own lives reflected in the strip.
With this story arc, however, Cul de Sac creator Richard Thompson is venturing into Vulcan Mind Meld territory. I cannot wait to see how Miss Bliss envisions children's theater. And I would add that only Alice Otterloop could venture safely into the strange place I've seen this sort of thing lead.
"Gah," indeed. (And a brilliant non-use of the exclamation point. Not "GAH!" but "GAH.")
It's been nearly 30 years since my son was involved in a children's theater troupe that was led by a creative, eccentric woman in a black leotard. Like Miss Bliss, Robin was quite single, but, unlike Miss Bliss, this particular creative, eccentric woman in a black leotard inspired most of the daddies to say, "No, that's okay, honey, I don't mind driving the car pool."
Robin had her own view of theater, and of life, infusing the program with a one-of-a-kind, soft-focus vision that combined Carl Jung and Isadora Duncan with dream-catchers, camel bells and hints of patchouli. She began each of her productions by deciding on a book that, with the collaboration of her young troupe, she would turn into a two- or three-act hour-long play, and it was never anything as simple as "Little Red Riding Hood." Not even close.
The three productions we were involved in were "A Wrinkle in Time," "Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH," and "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe."
As I recall, "A Wrinkle in Time" also included a cameo appearance by Nikola Tesla, because there was a whole resurgence of the unacknowledged genius about then and whatever was on Robin's mind at the moment was apt to make some kind of appearance in the play. She may have also gotten hold of a Van de Graaf generator, or perhaps I'm remembering some elaborate prop she created along those lines.
Appearances and reality tended to blend in Robin's work and hence in my memories of it.
But, really, an hour-long version of "A Wrinkle in Time," with the dialogue and action largely mapped out by children between 8 and 12 years old was going to be impressionistic enough that having Nikola Tesla pop up in the middle — with or without a Van de Graaf generator — wasn't going to muddle things a whole lot more.
Much of the fun of this theater program came when the parents and grandparents got to see the end product of a month or so of collaborative dramaturgy by Robin and her little charges. As the lights came up at the end, the faces of the audience would be a sea of dazed bewilderment John Cage or Frank Zappa would have envied. People often returned for the second show just to confirm that they'd seen it the first time.
I don't know what sort of clearances Robin got from the copyright owners of the works she adapted for the stage, though I recall that she was annoyed that the rights to Peter Pan were so tightly sewn up by the children's hospital it benefits, so she must have been getting some kind of go-ahead. But they'd have had a rough time suing her anyway, since her productions usually bore such little resemblence to the originals that you'd be hard-pressed to make the case that she'd borrowed anything but the title.
And yet her inspirations and insights always made for fascinating moments, and, however she re-interpreted them, they weren't totally disconnected from the source material.
As an example, "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" began with a film montage of bombers over London. Robin had been the latchkey child of a single mom and grew up with a profound sense of loneliness, desertion and insecurity, so that, for her, all the adventures in Narnia were very much an escape from the overshadowing fact that the children were evacuees, separated from their parents by the war.
It's not a factor often brought to the forefront in discussions of the Chronicles of Narnia, but you can't deny that it is there.
Some of the other things she would choose to highlight were more in the surrealistic realm, however — memorably the Turkish delight segment of that same play. You may recall — or you may not — that the White Witch offers Edmund some magical Turkish Delight as part of her plan to undermine the children's assault on her realm.
In the Children's Theatre production, then, there was an extended Turkish Delight sequence that rivalled the tripping scene from "Easy Rider," with colored lights, dreamy music and billowing, colored crepe through which the children wove and danced while the parents sat in open-mouthed astonishment as well they bloody well might.
I have no idea what my son brought away from his experience, but I think there was real value for him in exploring the notion of collaborative theater, while I took satisfaction from knowing that, however long he lived and whatever else happened in his life, we had probably exposed him to the strangest experience he would ever go through.
Three times.
Just to make sure.
And because his father kept saying, "No, no, sign him up again. I don't mind driving."
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