My musing continues on Elfriede Jelinek’s Jackie a week later. I find myself still pondering its form, its
message, and the fact that it’s still riffing in my head.
Tina Benko is
vaguely creepy and very amusing in Elfriede
Jelinek’s Jackie playing at the Women’s Project Theater at City Center. But is she Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy
Onassis, or merely a vehicle for the themes Ms. Jelinek’s been writing for most
of her career? Ms. Jelinek’s script is
obsessed with the clothing, the look, the public figure hiding behind the men
in her life like a properly brought up society matron.
The excellent lighting design by Brian H Scott is compelling, sound design by Jane Shaw startling. The
scenic design by Marsha Ginsberg is …
not pretty. It might have been a neglected
basement pool in a shuttered YMCA or a lost subway station. It is unkempt, dried autumn leaves and other
detritus having made their way in. It may
stink of death.
A metal trap door is lifted upstage. Tina Benko climbs into the
set wearing a neatly pressed trench coat, a silk scarf perfectly covering her
perfectly coiffed wig, large Jackie-style sunglasses camouflaging her
face. She is in disguise but in such a
Jackie way we know it’s her. The outfit by
costume designer Susan Hilferty is quintessential
Jackie O, as is the wig by Tom Watson. This Jackie is mischievous; it’s almost as if
she’s escaped (the nanny? paparazzi?)
and stolen away for a moment to talk with us.
From the trap door, she drags a duct-taped covered faceless dummy, then
another, and another, bound together by strips of fabric. Then we see three small dummies, infant-sized,
and now we know that, not unlike Jacob Marley’s chain that he forged in life,
Jackie wears Death.
She knows she’s dead. She
knows everybody’s dead, including people who died after she did. She talks to us for almost an hour and a half
about herself, about Jack, about Teddy, and the other Kennedy wives. We explore as much of her life as she chooses
to share. It’s not new. We’ve heard all
the names before and most of the rumors.
Why is she here?
Jackie is not traditional. Throughout the evening, I listened for a theme,
a through-line, but only heard the elements, connected, disconnected, that
ramble and run and repeat in the soundtrack of this woman’s memory. Clothing, death, the babies, Jack, Bobby,
Ari. Clothing. The dresses.
The design. The appearance. Appearance, that fallback position of the
female, the way society expects her to look.
While I’m not strictly a traditionalist, I do take comfort in
established forms. Jackie isn’t really a
play in the traditional sense. It’s a
one-woman show offering Ms. Benko the opportunity for a bravura performance
which will be remembered and spoken of for seasons to come. Ms. Benko relishes the musical quality of the
words, the conversation, the occasional rant — from which Jackie reins herself
back into a well-mannered society girl. The
script is brisk, flowing, poetic, so I must assume Gitta Honegger’s translation is
sterling, and director Téa Alagic
has staged the work very well.
Thing is, a play, to me, has a beginning, middle, and end. Structure
matters, just as the structure of a good genre novel keeps people reading their
predictable suspense, romance, crime, and mystery novels and reaching for
more. While enjoying a twist and a turn,
they expect the story to eventually conform to the traditional form. Ms. Jelinek does not oblige. Jackie has a beginning, but the rest
is essentially the same tune. It made me think of a roundelay, the words repeating
with new and overlapping voices, the chorus always about the clothes. Whatever this form is — musical terms come to
mind, which makes a certain sense, since Ms. Jelinek was trained in music in
her youth — Jackie’s hypnotic hold is aural.
Jackie’s meanderings and driven crosses — often back to that
intriguing trap door — hold our interest and are not forced, even if we don’t
know the wherefores. What could we know,
after all, of Jackie’s No Exit? And wherever she goes, they go, those odd
duct-taped dummies Jackie lugs around the playing area. One is labeled Jack, one Bobby, one Telis —
apparently a pet name for Onassis.
The most interesting aspect of Jackie’s growth after death is the
change in her feelings toward Marilyn Monroe.
“Marilyn” is first referred to and not named while clearly disparaged,
then the name is fairly growled and spat. By the end of the evening, though,
Jackie commiserates with Marilyn as one who was trampled underfoot by the
masculine society that bound Jackie herself.
Jackie was stronger, maybe smarter and not as soft, so she survived
longer.
By including Jackie O in her dramatic series “Death of the Maiden –
Princess Plays,” Jelinek compares, even equates Jackie with fairytale
princesses like Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, as well as Marilyn. Ms. Jelinek’s work is rarely done in the U.S., nor is it
included in university curricula. What’s
that about? Might she be feared? Contrarily, I’ve already ordered the only
English language translations I found online (also translated by Ms. Honegger),
a few of the Princess Plays in a theatre magazine. Modern retellings of fairy tales (there are
so many modern feminist interpretations of fairytale heroines and villains, I almost
don’t need to know Ms. Jelinek’s in particular) deal with the female self
image, submission to societal powers (that is, men) that control the life and
death of females; most try to clarify that men wrote down those old stories, those
are men’s teachings and interpretations of women’s actions: disapproving, frightened, insecure men. The retellings sometimes explain what those
horrid old women were doing and why.
Scholarly men’s views and fears are stamped on all the old stories, and
thereby stomp on the females in the stories, not to mention the females reading
them. This subject is interesting enough
to make me wish to read all five of Jelinek’s princess plays — but not while
I’m at the theatre. And that’s my point. That’s what’s been buzzing around in my head.
Should the audience be expected to be well versed in the prior
writings of a playwright in order to fully understand and appreciate the play
viewed at the moment? Me, I think
not. Knowing a little something more
than I did before about Elfriede Jelinek
makes Jackie appear a better play, but should it? Is it?
This undefined theatrical evening was entertaining and
thought-provoking, thanks to the material and to the hypnotic Tina Benko. However good, though, I cannot say
riveting. Now and then I’d wander off in
my mind. (That was where the terrific
sound and light effects came in handy.) I
heard the repetitions but they didn’t build to go anywhere, to mean
something. These are my
expectations. Should anyone care if Jackie
doesn’t fall inside the traditional theatrical definitions? Should anyone care
if Ms. Jelinek colors outside the lines?
Mightn’t “outside” mean “beyond?” Considering Ms. Jelinek’s professional
defiance of traditional roles, mores, and forms, perhaps I shouldn’t be setting
too much store by Aristotle’s Poetics from whence I long ago derived
my modified definition of a “play.”
Would you look at that. I’m questioning my pre-conceptions, my
training, my definitions, my society.
Clearly something in Ms. Jelinek’s “play” has succeeded. In any case, and whatever Jackie
is, I am intrigued by Ms. Jelinek’s mind and Ms. Benko’s method. If you ever wanted to or did color outside the lines, you
might want to try this: http://www.womensproject.org/jackie_team.html
And then there are the Barbie® dolls. Not all productions can claim an effective
use of Barbie dolls; this one can.
~ Molly Matera, signing off, recommending the
Women’s Project Theater’s production of JACKIE
to people who like to open up new cowpaths.
Really good column, Molly. I'm with you on the structure thing. I'm reminded of the late sixties jazz movement, epitomized by Sun Ra, Albert Ayler, and John Coltrane. Trane, of course, started out as melodic and structured as anyone, but, toward the end.... The Filmore East was the venue I saw him at, during that period and, after sitting through a half-hour of honks and squeaks (and who the hell ever included a bata drum in his jazz ensemble?)I went down to the lobby to smoke. There I found about a dozen of my musician friends, all having had enough. There's an introductory book about mainstream jazz called "Where's the Melody?" I felt I could write one called "Where's the Goddamned Sense in All This?"
ReplyDeleteIn a play, in a movie, in a joke, even, I want a story. And making a point is always much appreciated.
Thanks for your kind comment on the column, and your interesting comment on the need for story, melody, structure, whatever the medium. I could use an introductory book about mainstream jazz, and now I know which one to read. Of course, I'd also read the title you suggest!
ReplyDelete