Hey, it happens to us all. It’s easy to get frustrated and stressed-out in a world that is ever quickening its pace. Deadlines to meet, kids to get to practice, groceries, laundry...Sleep? What’s that? Lunch? Look! It’s almost time for dinner! and Oops, missed that payment. Who’s got time to really live at all?
I was having just that kind of day today. And then I saw “STOMP!” And I remembered something I'd gone weeks without. Play, in the purest form.
Luckily, I’d found the tickets this morning (running back in for my phone), but still, there had been that moment of panic. I did my errands on the way home, Gas. Groceries. Home 10 minutes, grab a sandwich, eat in the car, fight traffic on Wilshire Blvd. Huge line to the parking.
At the very least, this one should keep me awake.
What an understatement.
They started with brooms, in gentle wisps and occasional cracks of wood. In seconds, I was mesmerized. Enchanted. At first, I thought it was sleep deprivation, taking me into trance. But what it turned out to be, was much, much better. Life. Energy, creativity, humor, woven seamlessly into a tapestry of sound that was captivating beyond belief. The choreography was pure perfection. The athleticism of the players was astounding. The rhythmic compositions floated at, and at times went beyond the highest level. (And from me, that means something, because I’ve spent some years around some serious drumming and dance.)
Even more striking, was the silence. Yes, that’s what I said, Silence. Not one word of dialog. Without the chatter we are so used to every day, that we are so adept at tuning out, all the audience could do, was tune in. And listen. Really, listen.
In the beginning, we listened for words. But as we waited, it became obvious that they needed none. The subtlety, the dynamics, the exchanges and interruptions...were dialog. Two characters even conversed with the entire audience, using rhythm, through call and response.
And it was a thing of beauty. Now, I have seen this kind of thing before, at drum circles. A person who has never beat a drum before is asked to give it a try, and, in playing her small part, is inducted into the sacred event of conversing in rhythm only. I’ve done it with kindergarten kids, and seen how quickly their mouths quiet when they find this new voice. The entire audience, myself included, was hooked. Between-number applause was intense, but short, because we knew the next piece might begin with a simple snap, the scuff of a shoe, or the turning of a page.
But the most masterful part of the whole production was the plot. The spark that ignited each piece was curiosity. Simple curiosity. Set in an industrial environment, the players were workers. These men and women were strong, capable people, working hard at whatever work they were given. But they didn’t act like the underclass. They did not portray worker bees with no ambition but to please the bosses. Far from it. Whatever they were doing, whether working or taking a break, they seemed incapable of letting time simply pass by. In silence and loud interaction, whether onstage alone or with the entire group, each was called to act. Inner-act: to entertain oneself; Interact, to entertain someone they like. The whole group always joined in, on a mission to join the other voices in perfect precision. And when the inevitable competitive nature emerged, we had ourselves an old-fashioned “cutting contest.” But always, there was respect. And always time for the other to take it to a higher level, because discovery, creativity, and cleverness ruled.
There they were, this group of hard-working adults who have retained the best of what it means to be a child. There is no time but now. Why should I sit still when I can break the silence with a strange noise? I’m bored...what can I make? Hey, did you hear that? Try this! Look what I can do! Mine’s bigger!
The audience, too, won my heart with their willingness to trot directly into childness, and play right along with the performers. It was freedom for us all for the time that it lasted. And without a word, we agreed to make it last! As we exited the theater to the parking structure, we found ourselves meld into one large organism, snaking down a concrete tunnel, moving in unison toward our vehicles with mouths still quieted, and the rhythms still dancing in our heads. My feet could not contain it, and soon I was descending the stairs with rhythmic steps. My best friend joined me, making the rhythm stronger. There were giggles above and below us, as the tunnel held the sounds and carried it to the others. Someone added an intermittent clink by hitting something against the steel handrail. Snaps, and claps, car keys, and more giggles added instruments to our spontaneous orchestra, suspending us all in that glorious moment, and making us performers in an extended oncore. Until, at last, and far too soon, we arrived at the parking level, where the music quickly dispersed into our individual bubbles.
If you haven’t seen the show, you must. You simply must! Purchase the DVD. Better yet, take your children to see a live performance. Afterwards, when you get in the car, turn off the radio and don’t say a word. Tap out a light rhythm on the steering wheel or dash. Use the straw in a lidded take-out cup as a cuica (the squeaky Brasilian instrument), or tap your fingernails on the SoBe bottle living under the seat. Listen to what happens then. Just listen to the possibilities. Silence the chatter, drop the stress, and let yourself just live life in the moment.
And then, do it every day.
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