Art 25 | unobtrusive lucidity

In Search of Story

This is a random question I’m pondering today: do we have a thresh-hold for story?

I ask because I seem to be able to take in less at a time than others: Karen, for example, devoured two television episodes, a movie, and chapters from two different novels before going to bed last night. I managed the continuing plot of two consecutive television episodes, and was done. I attempted to share one of the novel chapters with her, but was mentally logged off.

Perhaps I move more slowly through unpacking a story than she does, or perhaps I’ve been ruined by being forced to read far too much non-fiction (and I don’t mean creative non-fiction) through my grad school days. Perhaps a good story is just like great food for me: I want to savor every bit of it. I don’t want to watch it or read it too fast…I want to catch the nuances, all the potential meta-message that may lie within the plot.

Karen does the same thing, just at a much faster pace.

Either way, I think it’s a good problem to have as there is simply too little appreciation for story in Western culture. Particularly, the overly religious among us tend to flee from it, apparently afraid of it’s power, afraid of being uncomfortable or being made to think by surrendering to a movie or play or novel for a few hours. I listened to Dr. Jerry Root recount today how he was raised thinking that if Christ returned while he was in a movie, he would be passed by.

This is fundamentally (pardon the pun) odd to me, as the most effective way to communicate an idea tends to be through story, whether personal narrative or fiction (such as the parables of Christ). Yet, so many great thinkers choose to communicate their concepts without the use of story. Perhaps that’s why theology becomes so potentially convoluted.

So my points here are that:

1) Every theologian should employ a ghost writer.
2) All of us should learn to return story to its proper high place in our personal and family cultures for the sake of perpetuating thought.

I doubt we’ll be fortunate enough for number 1 to happen, but I’m strongly optimistic for number 2.

Collaboration or Dilution

In an age where “community” has become the latest pop-culture buzz word in our faith…umm…communities…there seems to be this sense that the more minds you have working on any given project, the more ideas will flow and the better the project will be. I’m not sure that’s always the case.

For the past few years, I’ve been privileged enough to attend a very artistically minded community of faith. I’ve produced and contributed a significant amount within this community, from writing copy for press releases to writing and directing dramatic sketches. While I’m in love with the fact that Western churches at large are no longer fleeing in terror from the arts, I’m continually amazed by the detached nature with which creative projects are approached.

Certainly, group brainstorming and strategy sessions are critical and productive, depending upon the task at hand. There’s a time, however, when the more hands that are in the project, the more diluted the final piece becomes. The piece begins to be seen as a commodity as opposed to a passionately crafted creation. I’ve actually been told, “I like what you wrote…I went ahead and changed some things in the last paragraph…I didn’t think you’d mind.”

And what would have given you that idea?

I watched a panel discussion this afternoon from the American Theatre Wing podcast…an old panel, from back when I was working on my undergrad (not at that school, just the same time frame). It’s interesting to watch professionals discuss issues that were heated topics at that time. In this case, it was film vs. theatre, and America’s unfortunate obsession with the former to the degradation of the latter. One panelist stated that “in Hollywood” the emphasis was on the visual, the appearance of the final product, and that the writer was thus devalued to an extreme. In theatre, however, the attitude was that the writer knew best, because what took place on the stage was about language.

This is a concept that I see sorely lacking in church environments. I’m not talking about a writer (for example) not being open to feedback; after all, he is essentially writing his article or sketch or press release for a client. I’m talking about the liberty that others feel to take with the writer’s work…something the writer has crafted and left of piece of him/herself in, to completely re-work it in the name of editing. Re-writes upon request are one thing…having someone “make some changes” to your last paragraph is quite another. Perhaps I’m being narcissistic here, but I see and feel an attitude that everything must bow to the end result, and that the process of getting there isn’t important.

I think that’s because it’s viewed as a product, not a piece…a nasty little side effect of what C.S. Lewis discussed as the deification of science. In other words, the church sees what the artist generated for that Sunday morning as a product (or worse, they see the entire Sunday morning as a product), approaching it with an attitude of expendability toward the process and those involved within it, removing the individuality from the piece, and absorbing it into their collective whole, somehow viewing this as acceptable. In other words, the contrived concept of community that thrives in American church culture is one in which everyone must toss everything that they’ve created into the mix and let everyone else have at it, so that it is morphed into an homogeneous thing instead of a piece of art.

There is a place for collaboration…certainly theatre, for example, is an extremely collaborative art…and the artist who is not open to others’ ideas and feedback is likely one destined to produce pieces of little meaning. That said, permitting anyone and everyone to have their hands on every aspect of every piece produced robs the piece of the artist’s individual style…a style that, as Believers, we assume that God has permitted that artist to develop. The end result is a diluted and weak piece of art, something that Christ-followers should abhor, especially when something so much better is possible.

This has something to say about the fact that our industrialized Western culture is obsessed with valuing a human being based upon what he or she can produce. We view the role of the church as producing instead of creating, of churning out quantifiable and visible results instead of following less measurable impulses.

In short, our communities of faith are approached as organizations instead of organisms, corporations instead of families.

We see the detrimental effects of this, among other places, in “Christian art,” and in a lack of authentic relationships amidst an abundance of “community.” Certainly, we should see it in our reflection when we look into the eyes of the unbeliever, for, if we viewed ourselves through their eyes, it would take little to imagine how cold, alienating, and hypocritical we must appear.

All because of our push for a finished product.

In Search of Character

I avoid prime-time television as much as possible, primarily for reasons of quality. I’m amazed at the mediocrity that permeates the air-waves. Guarding against mind-sucking white noise has become easier since Karen and I stopped having cable piped in. The fact that cable television is a dinosaur, however, and that all of the content we would have watched is just as accessible to us via the Internet (yes, we do everything legally), leads to some occasional exposure to this stuff, however.

So, I maintain a list of about four to five shows that I watch weekly. I’m picky…at least I like to think so. I commented again as we sat down Friday night to watch a new episode of House, however, that there’s really nothing amazing about the plot from week to week. Sure, there’s the sub-plot of various relationships and interpersonal conflicts that carry from week to week…that’s the making of a good serial. But, ultimately, you know what’s going to happen by the end of each episode.

Another of our favorites, Bones, leads to the same conclusion. Following the relationships is somewhat unpredictable, but you always know the crime will be solved by Brennan’s amazing intellect after 45 minutes. So I’m left wondering: if my standards are as high as I like to think (I mailed a perfectly good anime film back to Netflix in disappointment the same night, after all), then why am I drawn to media that’s so glaringly light on plot?

And I’m not alone. I can think of an actor and two professors I know that are just as drawn to one of these shows or the other. So, have I digressed into the brainless desire for entertainment that afflicts most Americans? Has my artistic diet become so saturated by junk food that I no longer desire a well-prepared meal?

I don’t think so, and this is why. I didn’t go into either of these shows with the expectation of riveting plot. There are those I do go into with that expectation: Heroes, for example. What draws me to House and Bones, however, is character development. Bones’ realization of her confinement within her own genius and House’s willful succumbing to his own narcissism are irresistible storytelling. The development of their characters is played out in repetitious scenarios, which, considering their respective professions, is realistic. Truly compelling characters tend to be conspicuously absent from most of our media on most evenings of the week, and these, therefore, are a joy for me to watch from a storytelling perspective, even though overall story of the night may be overtly predictable.

Or, perhaps I really am guilty of wanting some vacuous entertainment during the course of my week.

No…I like the first explanation better.

Quality, Not Censorship

Its no secret that I was a comic book fanatic when I was a kid. Had I a bit more time on my hands now, I likely would be still. I was primarily a Marvel Comics collector: X-Men, more than any of the rest. DC characters seems a bit too…traditional….to me at the time. DC Comics, however, pioneered the first superheroes. Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman…all were borne from the DC Universe. The only one of these that I ever gravitated toward, however, was Batman.

I think the reason that I liked Batman so much at the time was the same reason I like James Bond so much: I’ve always been a sucker for cool technology, and both of these characters had plenty of that to go around. The current incarnation of Batman movies have returned the Dark Knight to his appropriately dark and menacing persona, nearly an anti-hero, and appeal to me a great deal. What occurs to me, though, is that I grew up with a post-television-series Batman, with memories of “pow!” and “bam!” and campy music still in the air, and so even Tim Burton’s Batman films were refreshingly dark for me.

I watched the anime Batman: Gotham Knight last night, and it launched me into this research. Is it that we’ve made the characters darker in modern incarnations, or just that we’ve stopped running in fear from good storytelling and returned to the original character concepts?

Actually, the latter is occurring (even the current James Bond is much closer to Ian Fleming’s original character than have been any previous film versions). You see, when I grew up snatching new issues of Marvel comics from the shelves on weekends, I was reading material approved by the Comics Code Authority (CCA). I remember very well the seal appearing prominently in the upper left corner. What I didn’t realize, however, was how much the CCA actually censored in the publications bearing their seal.

It turns out that a psychiatrist named Fredric Wertham was to thank for this, as he was possibly the first to lead to the cultural panic that life imitates art. In his rush to assume that children’s minds could not stand to see life portrayed vividly with all of the junk accompanying it, he launched into a personal war against media in general, and comic books in specific, to prevent them from printing violence, gore, and any number of other story elements.

Except that all of these things are just that: story elements. Are we to say that, because many writers and film-makers portray them gratuitously and in poor taste, that they are not useful for progressing the story? Scriptural narrative contains a significant amount of sex, violence, and other vices. Instead of attempting to with-hold them from story altogether (its amazing to me how the CCA managed to exist in a country valuing freedom of speech), we should concentrate on producing quality art, where the sex and violence and addiction necessary to move the story line is not presented gratuitously, or inserted where it is not necessary to move the story line. Perhaps artistic quality is what should be in question here, not the assumption that life imitates art. Because, even if it did, shouldn’t we want it to imitate quality art?

I suppose, in retrospect, that I was shielded from a great deal of this, as Marvel Comics phased out of submitting their material for CCA approval, and because I gravitated toward other publishers who didn’t bother with approval in the first place. Knowing that I was unwittingly exposed to censorship, though, leaves me profoundly disappointed in many ways.

Even more disappointing is realizing what I would have been effectively shielded from had artists focused on presenting “questionable subject matter” is artistically substantive ways, and those who refused to do so were not able to win over such an audience. That, of course, would involve the taste of American audiences leaning toward substance.

Some days, I’m even optimistic enough to think that might happen.

In The Rough

I’ve been rehearsing a lot lately.

Actually, not just rehearsing, but painting a set, working on building costumes, directing, consulting, being frustrated, etc., etc. You know, all the great things that go along with theatre. Well, except for maybe the frustrated part, but I’ve never done theatre without that playing into it somewhere along the line.

I love how seriously the community of faith in which I currently work takes theatre. I’m working with a group as passionate about it as any professionals I’ve worked with. We have a full stage and expensive lighting and sound equipment with which to design, a budget with which to build sets and costumes, and all the fun that goes along with it.

I’ve been thinking lately, however, of other places I’ve done theatre. I’ve done it in places with bigger budgets (typically schools), with mediocre budgets (typically community theatres), and with absolutely no budget (typically churches). I’ve done it on stages, in sanctuaries, and on the street. I’ve done it with no equipment and with a lot of equipment. But some of the most fun I’ve had has been when I’ve done it “in the rough,” like improvisational sketches with a youth group or street theatre on a missions trip. That’s when the proverbial rubber meets the road: are you dedicated enough to make it work, and do you have the creativity to take next to nothing (sometimes only the actors) and make the show happen?

I’ve taken to calling it “theatre in the rough” in my mind…you know, like “roughing it” on a camping trip. I’ve had some amazing experiences in the rough; some frustrating, some no end of fun, but all growing me into a better actor or director or designer in the end.

This concept of “in the rough” goes beyond theatre, though. I think of churches who have no building to call their own, that are forced to move in and out of a rented or donated gym or cafeteria on weekends, or to completely migrate across town on occasion. The church in which I do theatre now began like that. I can think of at least one other prominent community of faith that began in the same way. I think when that happens, the mindset is closer to the way the church is meant to function…the worldwide church, I mean. I think the focus in clearer, sort of how theatre’s purpose is clearer when you’re working with next to nothing but determined to make it happen anyway. You come out of those “foxhole experiences” loving your art so much more, being so much more dedicated to it. Similarly, I think communities of faith come out of those experiences with a similar dedication and perspective on God, and what He wants His church to do.

Its completely counter-cultural to the “bodies, bucks, and buildings” concept that dominates church culture here in the Bible Belt. Somehow, everyone thinks that you need a building to be a church body. Certainly, God saw nothing wrong with ornate places of worship, just as theatre had its beginnings with basic sets and facilities. And while it is great to have these things, it is nowhere prescribed as necessary.

Sometimes minimalism is the most educational experience we can have, whether in theatre, in faith, or in any number of other areas of our lives.