Tynan's Anger

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In a perfect world, Friday would be the day we stop worrying, shut off our brains, and seek the rest and relaxation we sorely need. Unfortunately, in today's world, we're using too busy getting drunk, trying to get laid, and worrying about if our jobs will be there on Monday. To help purge the bad thoughts,I will conclude every Friday on this blog with a story that will hopefully help to put things in perspective, and shut off the delta brain waves without the need for chemical enhancement, a moment Zen you won't get on The Daily Show.

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The first week's story will once again turn to the blog's namesake for a side of a former President you won't get anywhere else:

From Kenneth Tynan's Diaries: April 4, 1971:

I must record here a story Marlene Dietrich told me several years ago. She was a friend, in the thirties, of Joseph P. Kennedy, and her daughter swam with his boys on the Riviera before the war. In the autumn of 1962 she was appearing in cabaret in Washington. Bobby and Teddy came to see her, but of course the President does not attend night-clubs; and she was sad about this until she received a summons to have drinks at the White House the following Saturday at 6 p.m. She accepted, although at 7 p.m. she had to be at the Statler Hotel, where the Jewish War Veterans were holding a dinner to honour her for her wartime work to aid Jewish refugees.

So at 6 she arrived at the White House and was shown by a Press attache into the President’s sanctum. A bottle of German wine was cooling in an ice bucket. ‘The President remembered that when he last dined with you in New York you said this was your favourite wine.’ The attache poured her a glass and withdrew. The clock reached 6.15 before J.F.K. loped in, kissed her, poured himself some wine, took her out on the balcony and talked about Lincoln. ‘I hope you aren’t in a hurry,’ he said. Marlene explained that, alas, 2,000 Jews were waiting to give her a plaque at 7 p.m., and it was now 6.30 . . . ‘That — doesn’t give us much time, does it?’ said J.F.K., looking straight into her eyes. Marlene confesses that she likes powerful men and enjoys hanging their scalps on her belt. So she looked straight back and said, ‘No, Jack, I guess it doesn’t.’

With that, he took her glass and led the way out into a corridor and then round a corner into — the presidential bedroom. And then, in M.D.’s words:

“I remembered about his bad back — that wartime injury. I looked at him and he was already undressing. He was unwinding rolls of bandage from around his middle — he looked like Laocoon and that snake, you know? Now I’m an old lady, and I said to myself: I’d like to sleep with the President, sure, but I’ll be goddammed if I’m going to be on top!”

But it seems everything was OK; J.F.K. took the superior position; and it was all over sweetly and very soon.

“And then he went to sleep. I looked at my watch and it was 6.50. I got dressed and shook him — because I didn’t know my way around the place, and I couldn’t just call for a cab. I said: ‘Jack — wake up! 2,000 Jews are waiting! For Christ’s sake get me out of here!’ So he grabbed a towel and wrapped it round his waist and took me along this corridor to an elevator. He told the elevator man to get me a car to the Statler immediately — standing right there in his towel, without any embarrassment, as if it was an everyday event — which in his life it probably was. Just as I was getting into the elevator, he said: ‘There’s just one thing I’d like to know.’ ‘What is it, Jack?’ I said. ‘Did you ever make it with my father?’ he said. ‘No, Jack,’ I answered truthfully, ‘I never did.’ ‘Well,’ he replied, ‘that’s one place I’m in first.’ Then the lift door closed and I never saw him again.”

[Thanks to Bill Peschel for typing this up]

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Labels: john f. kennedy, joseph kennedy, kenneth tynan, marlene dietrich, movie stars, oedipus, presidents, white house

Image via WikipediaHOW TO SAVE THEATER CRITICISM

Lately there’s been a lot of rambling about the death of theater criticism. Michael Riedel has felt demeaned as an old stodgy covering theater, a far cry from the classic depiction of the theater critic. The Playgoer has wondered whether mainstream theater is now immune to critics in the same way that movies have gotten. On a guest post on The Critical Condition, Variety’s Sam Thielman saw the role of theater criticism deteriorating and scattering across the medium’s spectrum.

Over the next few days, I will give my take on the role of theater criticism and the critic in contemporary and future American theater. In Part One, I explored the differences in the theatergoing experience between the critic and uncommitted audience member. In Part Two, I explore the relevance of theater in a digital age. In Part Three, I will conclude my discussion by outlining the role of a theater critic in the current economic and cultural climate.

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PART TWO: Would Kenneth Tynan Twitter? Theater as the ultimate digital diversion.

Most sane people don’t go into theater criticism for a paycheck. Arts criticism in general is becoming an even less profitable way of making money, and theater criticism as a non-academic profession is at this point almost as extinct as the panda (though the image of an attempted mating between a caged Mary McCarthy and Walter Kerr is significantly less adorable). When in doubt, current critics like to point to the death of theater in general. But theater isn’t dead—it’s still got a national appeal even as it has become centralized in a few major areas, and there are communities—yes they’re fragmented, Prof—around the country.

The main reason people go into theater criticism, however, is their desire to be at something like a modern-day Algonquin Roundtable. The theater critic carries a history of status and image that the middle-aged sweater-wearing film critic or the drug-fueled rock critic lacks. There are paintings in New York subway stations of theater critics surrounded by the likes of Eugene O’Neill and George S. Kaufman, Harpo Marx and Edna Ferber. It may seem completely irrational to go into a field for a 70-year-old image, but theater critics do so all the same.

These are the same critics who find absolutely no respite in the digital age. With multiple critics being old, that is to be expected. But there seems to be a larger theme of the Algonquin image crumbling under the image of new media. Would Kenneth Tynan Twitter? Would Bernard Shaw post his rants on his blog without editing them beforehand? The idea of the print journalist critic losing his voice in the digital age hits especially hard with theater criticism, since theater can never really be tapped digitally.

Rather than a problem, however, I say that theater’s distinctly analog qualities are precisely what can make theater vital in the digital age, and make theater criticism just as vital. Theater is defined by performers performing in front of a live audience, as in an audience who is actually in the same room. Live performance cannot be replicated by a computer. Both dance and music, other methods of live performance, can be translated to digital media (though they differ from their live counterparts, the core of the medium stays the same). Theater, however, is the part of live dance and music that doesn’t translate digitally. Theater is absolutely untouchable—have you ever tried watching a taped performance of a show? It’s almost unbearable, even though you’re still seeing all the actions that would take place in person.

What this means to me is that, rather than being outdated by technology, theater can regain its importance in society simply because it is the only medium where in-person human interaction is built into its DNA. If art exists as a means of pleasure to take us away from our daily lives, theaters artistic power is amplified in a culture where all other human interaction is digital. With other forms of digitalized art, the value of entertainment and diversion gets cheapened and makes the audience lazy. Why go to the movies when I can wait until its on-demand? Why go to the record store when there’s a record store on my computer? There’s no way to encounter theater without it essentially turning into a night out. The need to go out at night won’t diminish, which means theater could increasingly prove to be a sociological necessity.

That theater can’t exist in the digital realm also places an increased premium on theater criticism. With digital access to any other form of art, people can make judgments for themselves without putting on pants. You don’t need to go through the effort to deem whether a work of art is worthy of your time, and increasingly, you don’t need to decide whether to spend money on that art, legally or otherwise. But with theater, there’s no way of knowing what goes on without actually being there. If someone is looking for an assessment of a play, they cannot download the play and judge for themselves. The need for an independent party to relay their experience, whether on the blogosphere or in a major paper, is at a higher demand for theater than for any other form of art. That’s the closest link to the Algonquin era that we’re going to get.

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Labels: digital vs. analog, how to save theater criticism, kenneth tynan, Mary McCarthy, new media, reproducable art, theater criticism