Love Fails
[Author's Note: This is a review I wrote for Introduction to World Drama Class. I was rather proud of it, so I decided to share.]
Allow me to preface this review with the statement that I dreaded seeing this play thoroughly; moreover, I had absolutely no desire to see a play entitled The Triumph of Love that was being produced on the weekend of Valentine's Day -- Nothing about this was good, in my eyes. And let me just say that I, in essence, received exactly what was to be expected from a play entitled as such and produced on such a weekend. As the play swung into motion, set within a "Garden of Reason," I knew from the first instant that this was surely all to crumble to dust in the "unstoppable, inevitable" face of Love (quotation marks used solely for irony, here). I must admit that I did hold some hope out that, during the first number, "This Day of Days," in which the inhabitants of the Garden sang of brutal, gory regicide, that, perhaps, this play would have a black twist to it that would lead to young Agis not requiting any love and, instead, running the Princess through the skull with the axe. Needless to say, no such thing came to fruition; Triumph of Love proved to be a comical and (somewhat) entertaining play about happy-wappy luvey-wuvey, colourful rainbows, and lollipops (Disclaimer: no actual lollipops presented herein, unless you count vague allusions to erect penises that may or may not possess a fruit flavour).
The play's plot plods forth as thus: there exists a brother and sister -- Hermocrates and Hesione, respectively -- who are terribly strict, sober philosophers of the Aristotelian blend whom their nephew -- Agis -- is raised under the tutelege of these vulcan minds; also, Agis is the exiled, rightful heir to the Princedom of Sparta. They live happily in a Garden of Reason, studying very astutely on a daily diet of philosophy, history, science and mathematics, while also plotting the assassination of the usurper of Sparta, Princess Leonide. Thus goes the exposition and status quo of the play, which opens on and takes place entirely within the day in which Agis is to march forward into Sparta and slay the Princess -- But, wait! Who is to show up at the Garden and spoil it all, determined to woo and cuddle the nubile Agis, someone whom has only been seen once before by this intruder, but true love struck at a moment's glance and forever petrified fated unity in time and space, a match woven into the very fabric laid out on the Loom of the Three Fates? (Think contrived, here) Why yes, indeed, it was, in fact, Princess Leonide, herself, with her faithful companion and servent, Corine: otherwise known as the token slut. Hijinks ensue (also, crossdressing), a polygon of the love variety is birthed, Hesione falls for Leonide in the guise of a worldy male student of philosophy, Hermocrates falls for Leonide in the guise of a flighty, empty-minded debutante who is "willing to learn" (wink, wink, nudge, nudge), Corine has her way with both the Gardener, Dimas, and the Harlequin, Agis is none the wiser and stupidly befriends the male alias of Leonide, followed by the eventual revelation of truths, confession of true, pure love, and your classic, happy ending is had by all (except, of course, by the aunt and uncle, who now need cold showers).
Firstly, before I go any further, let me just comment on the aspect of Triumph that I did rather enjoy: the performance of the actors in regards to the musical nature of their parts and the physical showmanship. I rather quite liked the flavour of the numbers in this play, specifically the ones revolving around Corine, which tended to have a Jazz/Big Band feel to them. For example, "Mr. Right" had a very heavy influence from the female Jazz singers from the early twentieth century, with throaty lyrics and a healthy bass beat. Also, one, even of the most cynical nature, can not fail to love the whimsical and spontaneous song routine of "The Sad and Sordid Saga of Cecile," that absolutely reeked of absurdity and a faux impromptu nature. All in all, the songs reminded me of the 1920's and 1930's, even the romantic ones which sounded almost reminiscent of Blues, in my opinion, i.e. "Teach Me Not to Love You." The true musical talent of the play mostly laid with the female lead roles, Kate Collins Brown and Lisa Johanson, who belted out their vocals in a practiced, refined and professional manner, while still successfully remaining on track with where they were and what they were doing on-stage. Alexandria Finnegan, the other female role in the play, didn't overly impress me with her singing, sounding to me to fall a little flat and weak, for the most part, to be honest; granted, this may have been an intentional approach to her part, considering she was to be Hesione, a woman unfamiliar with the musical arts and obsessed in totality with science and mathematics -- Definitely not one to be a privy vocalist. Come to think of it, actually, the same went for Aaron Page, as Hermocrates, and his vocals: they rang of an amateur tone, appropriate for a philosopher and logic-minded person. The musical parts for Anthony Colosimo -- Agis -- all sounded exactly like how a boy in late puberty would sound, always with a tinge of insecurity and a lack of confidence in his voice; ideally, this was meant to be this way for Agis, and if not, I'm being very cruel to Colosimo. The larger emphasis with the roles of the Gardener and, even more so, the Harlequin was indubitably placed on the physicality of their movement and gestures, not so much the music. The Gardener, a big, dumb lug of a fellow, always came off exactly as such in the songs he was featured -- A baritone, slow-minded bumbler; while the Harlequin sang as someone who is wound up on caffeine and other somesuch stimulants: rapid and a blur. These two men, however, did help to underline the play's wonderful physical performance, in general, from everybody; if you didn't notice just how precise and coordinated the choreography of the others were, you could not help but notice that the Harlequin was doing flips, and the roudy Dimas was pushing everyone around (also, there was a lot of clever use of that hoe of his -- not ho, har-har, that'd've been Corine). The actors all tended to move around the set, a lot, over and around the statue in the middle, and the two benches on the sides, which lent itself to an effect of an active, energetic atmosphere. If Leonide wasn't bending some poor schmuck over a bench to seduce him or her, then someone else was constantly changing position -- Sitting, standing, sitting, moving, circling. It made what would have otherwise been a long, bland series of exchanges of dialogue much, much more enjoyable to view; nothing is quite as dull as long monologues or sililoquys being spout off by a stark-still, rigid actor. The synergy of the music and movement on stage, in my opinion, is what made it twice or thrice as entertaining as it would have otherwise been; kudos to the actors for a job well done, really -- For as much as the play, itself, was lackluster, the execution can not be faulted, not even a little bit.
The Triumph of Love? What, precisely, was Love triumphing over? The obvious answer would be Reason, I suppose: I just found this theme to be amazingly silly and flitting. I’ve never been all that especially fond of love stories, or romances. Not because I’m a deep-rooted and embittered cynical bastard who sneers at hope, love, and kittens (which I am, mind you), but because it’s not these themes that are something that these forms of art tend to explore and expound upon, elaborate the intricacies of or make any the better for the time. Kittens are so passé. You see, the way I see it, is that love is just what it is - love - and these stories, tales, plays don’t change anything about it. Also, they don’t reveal anything startling about it. For example: oh my God above, love is a confusing, convoluted, emotional, tumultuous, strenuous, chaotic, lucid, maddening, frustrating, euphoric, pleasing, uplifting, and twisted sort of thing. This is truly an unexplored concept, never seen before in the annals of history, literature, theatre, and art. I will concede that love-based dramas are entertaining, but my problem with them is that they can’t be anything more than that. It’s certainly not a message which is vital to the world that must be promoted; love has never stopped being around, because, you know, we’re here. There is no age of the past wherein love vanished, dried up, and was forgotten - no, there really wasn’t, not even the Age of Reason. Love is what love is, and love is still where love has always been. So, in other words, love is unchangeable, unbendable, and unending. Plays can be meant to be mere, trifling fun, frolicking about in the fields of lilacs and butterflies, but maybe the only thing I am trying to say with this is that these types of plays aren’t to my taste. Love isn’t profound. Love isn’t deep. Love isn’t thought-provoking. It is touching, it is heart-warming, and it is amusing, at times, and horrifying, at others. Love is emotion, not thought; as such, I don’t like spending time dwelling on it. So, what is the main theme of Triumph of Love, to me, is a very trivial and pointless one -- Alright, so Love can conquer Reason, so what? What else is new? For the purposes of the plot, sure, it was appropriate; I'm not going to say it was a badly-written play, by any means. It is just, to me, the idea of love over reason isn't one that is valuable; indeed, one might say, namely that one being me, that, instead, this case in vice versa is what should be propogated. Reason over love is something that occurs more rarely, so it would be more, for one, interesting, and, for two, original. Love conquering over a cold heart has been done since the era of Greek mythos, since it was being put on the walls of Egyptian tombs, since the Mesopotamians and Minoans wrote of it, I'm sure. In other words, it's been done and, then, done some more, and, just for the sheer Hell of it, done, again, once more. I don't mean for all plays to be dark and brooding, philosophical and existential; just, all the plays that I like would probably be, in actuality. I do not command the cease of love stories, but don't expect me to pay attention to their existence. Love is here, it happens, and that's all there is to it; the resulting events don't particularly matter much to me, unless they directly relate to me, of course. It's no surprise my favourite dramas of all-time include Death of a Salesman and Three Sisters (last year's production was awesome, by the way).
So, in conclusion, I was asked to attend a play on Valentine's Day weekend, that was entitled Triumph of Love, featured song and dance, and revolved around the destruction of logic and reason by the hands of lust and love, and, for anyone who knows me, the result was predictable: I spent a few days ranting to random people about the frivolity of romances. If you had seen me directly after the play, the first time I saw it (I went twice, just to be thorough), I would have delivered a long, didactic diatribe on how utterly pointless the entire endeavour was, in the end, because love is inevitable and integral to life, so why should we focus on it? Nobody needs to be taught how to love, nobody needs to be shown how to fall in love, nobody needs to be given a lesson in the proper ways to feel about love, nobody even truly understands love or can explain it coherently, hell! I'm calm, I swear, I'm calm . . . The admirable bit was the craft of the play, though, and that I took enjoyment in seeing. To see a group of fine artists of the stage so flawlessly and seamlessly execute a play like that, it's truly inspiring. Indeed, sometimes, I walk away from a play feeling as though I'd like to take up the art, myself, because I was involved heavily enough with the theatre in high school, doing set design and helping people rehearse and whatnot. The music was great, to be frank. I applaud the performance of the orchestra and band behind the stage, for they were on cue and finely tuned. On my own personal scale by which I measure my opinion, the Failure Rating System (FRS), wherein 100% is God Awful and 0% is Perfect, I would give the whole experience a 45% Failure Rating: excellent acting, great music, good design, and boring script.
Allow me to preface this review with the statement that I dreaded seeing this play thoroughly; moreover, I had absolutely no desire to see a play entitled The Triumph of Love that was being produced on the weekend of Valentine's Day -- Nothing about this was good, in my eyes. And let me just say that I, in essence, received exactly what was to be expected from a play entitled as such and produced on such a weekend. As the play swung into motion, set within a "Garden of Reason," I knew from the first instant that this was surely all to crumble to dust in the "unstoppable, inevitable" face of Love (quotation marks used solely for irony, here). I must admit that I did hold some hope out that, during the first number, "This Day of Days," in which the inhabitants of the Garden sang of brutal, gory regicide, that, perhaps, this play would have a black twist to it that would lead to young Agis not requiting any love and, instead, running the Princess through the skull with the axe. Needless to say, no such thing came to fruition; Triumph of Love proved to be a comical and (somewhat) entertaining play about happy-wappy luvey-wuvey, colourful rainbows, and lollipops (Disclaimer: no actual lollipops presented herein, unless you count vague allusions to erect penises that may or may not possess a fruit flavour).
The play's plot plods forth as thus: there exists a brother and sister -- Hermocrates and Hesione, respectively -- who are terribly strict, sober philosophers of the Aristotelian blend whom their nephew -- Agis -- is raised under the tutelege of these vulcan minds; also, Agis is the exiled, rightful heir to the Princedom of Sparta. They live happily in a Garden of Reason, studying very astutely on a daily diet of philosophy, history, science and mathematics, while also plotting the assassination of the usurper of Sparta, Princess Leonide. Thus goes the exposition and status quo of the play, which opens on and takes place entirely within the day in which Agis is to march forward into Sparta and slay the Princess -- But, wait! Who is to show up at the Garden and spoil it all, determined to woo and cuddle the nubile Agis, someone whom has only been seen once before by this intruder, but true love struck at a moment's glance and forever petrified fated unity in time and space, a match woven into the very fabric laid out on the Loom of the Three Fates? (Think contrived, here) Why yes, indeed, it was, in fact, Princess Leonide, herself, with her faithful companion and servent, Corine: otherwise known as the token slut. Hijinks ensue (also, crossdressing), a polygon of the love variety is birthed, Hesione falls for Leonide in the guise of a worldy male student of philosophy, Hermocrates falls for Leonide in the guise of a flighty, empty-minded debutante who is "willing to learn" (wink, wink, nudge, nudge), Corine has her way with both the Gardener, Dimas, and the Harlequin, Agis is none the wiser and stupidly befriends the male alias of Leonide, followed by the eventual revelation of truths, confession of true, pure love, and your classic, happy ending is had by all (except, of course, by the aunt and uncle, who now need cold showers).
Firstly, before I go any further, let me just comment on the aspect of Triumph that I did rather enjoy: the performance of the actors in regards to the musical nature of their parts and the physical showmanship. I rather quite liked the flavour of the numbers in this play, specifically the ones revolving around Corine, which tended to have a Jazz/Big Band feel to them. For example, "Mr. Right" had a very heavy influence from the female Jazz singers from the early twentieth century, with throaty lyrics and a healthy bass beat. Also, one, even of the most cynical nature, can not fail to love the whimsical and spontaneous song routine of "The Sad and Sordid Saga of Cecile," that absolutely reeked of absurdity and a faux impromptu nature. All in all, the songs reminded me of the 1920's and 1930's, even the romantic ones which sounded almost reminiscent of Blues, in my opinion, i.e. "Teach Me Not to Love You." The true musical talent of the play mostly laid with the female lead roles, Kate Collins Brown and Lisa Johanson, who belted out their vocals in a practiced, refined and professional manner, while still successfully remaining on track with where they were and what they were doing on-stage. Alexandria Finnegan, the other female role in the play, didn't overly impress me with her singing, sounding to me to fall a little flat and weak, for the most part, to be honest; granted, this may have been an intentional approach to her part, considering she was to be Hesione, a woman unfamiliar with the musical arts and obsessed in totality with science and mathematics -- Definitely not one to be a privy vocalist. Come to think of it, actually, the same went for Aaron Page, as Hermocrates, and his vocals: they rang of an amateur tone, appropriate for a philosopher and logic-minded person. The musical parts for Anthony Colosimo -- Agis -- all sounded exactly like how a boy in late puberty would sound, always with a tinge of insecurity and a lack of confidence in his voice; ideally, this was meant to be this way for Agis, and if not, I'm being very cruel to Colosimo. The larger emphasis with the roles of the Gardener and, even more so, the Harlequin was indubitably placed on the physicality of their movement and gestures, not so much the music. The Gardener, a big, dumb lug of a fellow, always came off exactly as such in the songs he was featured -- A baritone, slow-minded bumbler; while the Harlequin sang as someone who is wound up on caffeine and other somesuch stimulants: rapid and a blur. These two men, however, did help to underline the play's wonderful physical performance, in general, from everybody; if you didn't notice just how precise and coordinated the choreography of the others were, you could not help but notice that the Harlequin was doing flips, and the roudy Dimas was pushing everyone around (also, there was a lot of clever use of that hoe of his -- not ho, har-har, that'd've been Corine). The actors all tended to move around the set, a lot, over and around the statue in the middle, and the two benches on the sides, which lent itself to an effect of an active, energetic atmosphere. If Leonide wasn't bending some poor schmuck over a bench to seduce him or her, then someone else was constantly changing position -- Sitting, standing, sitting, moving, circling. It made what would have otherwise been a long, bland series of exchanges of dialogue much, much more enjoyable to view; nothing is quite as dull as long monologues or sililoquys being spout off by a stark-still, rigid actor. The synergy of the music and movement on stage, in my opinion, is what made it twice or thrice as entertaining as it would have otherwise been; kudos to the actors for a job well done, really -- For as much as the play, itself, was lackluster, the execution can not be faulted, not even a little bit.
The Triumph of Love? What, precisely, was Love triumphing over? The obvious answer would be Reason, I suppose: I just found this theme to be amazingly silly and flitting. I’ve never been all that especially fond of love stories, or romances. Not because I’m a deep-rooted and embittered cynical bastard who sneers at hope, love, and kittens (which I am, mind you), but because it’s not these themes that are something that these forms of art tend to explore and expound upon, elaborate the intricacies of or make any the better for the time. Kittens are so passé. You see, the way I see it, is that love is just what it is - love - and these stories, tales, plays don’t change anything about it. Also, they don’t reveal anything startling about it. For example: oh my God above, love is a confusing, convoluted, emotional, tumultuous, strenuous, chaotic, lucid, maddening, frustrating, euphoric, pleasing, uplifting, and twisted sort of thing. This is truly an unexplored concept, never seen before in the annals of history, literature, theatre, and art. I will concede that love-based dramas are entertaining, but my problem with them is that they can’t be anything more than that. It’s certainly not a message which is vital to the world that must be promoted; love has never stopped being around, because, you know, we’re here. There is no age of the past wherein love vanished, dried up, and was forgotten - no, there really wasn’t, not even the Age of Reason. Love is what love is, and love is still where love has always been. So, in other words, love is unchangeable, unbendable, and unending. Plays can be meant to be mere, trifling fun, frolicking about in the fields of lilacs and butterflies, but maybe the only thing I am trying to say with this is that these types of plays aren’t to my taste. Love isn’t profound. Love isn’t deep. Love isn’t thought-provoking. It is touching, it is heart-warming, and it is amusing, at times, and horrifying, at others. Love is emotion, not thought; as such, I don’t like spending time dwelling on it. So, what is the main theme of Triumph of Love, to me, is a very trivial and pointless one -- Alright, so Love can conquer Reason, so what? What else is new? For the purposes of the plot, sure, it was appropriate; I'm not going to say it was a badly-written play, by any means. It is just, to me, the idea of love over reason isn't one that is valuable; indeed, one might say, namely that one being me, that, instead, this case in vice versa is what should be propogated. Reason over love is something that occurs more rarely, so it would be more, for one, interesting, and, for two, original. Love conquering over a cold heart has been done since the era of Greek mythos, since it was being put on the walls of Egyptian tombs, since the Mesopotamians and Minoans wrote of it, I'm sure. In other words, it's been done and, then, done some more, and, just for the sheer Hell of it, done, again, once more. I don't mean for all plays to be dark and brooding, philosophical and existential; just, all the plays that I like would probably be, in actuality. I do not command the cease of love stories, but don't expect me to pay attention to their existence. Love is here, it happens, and that's all there is to it; the resulting events don't particularly matter much to me, unless they directly relate to me, of course. It's no surprise my favourite dramas of all-time include Death of a Salesman and Three Sisters (last year's production was awesome, by the way).
So, in conclusion, I was asked to attend a play on Valentine's Day weekend, that was entitled Triumph of Love, featured song and dance, and revolved around the destruction of logic and reason by the hands of lust and love, and, for anyone who knows me, the result was predictable: I spent a few days ranting to random people about the frivolity of romances. If you had seen me directly after the play, the first time I saw it (I went twice, just to be thorough), I would have delivered a long, didactic diatribe on how utterly pointless the entire endeavour was, in the end, because love is inevitable and integral to life, so why should we focus on it? Nobody needs to be taught how to love, nobody needs to be shown how to fall in love, nobody needs to be given a lesson in the proper ways to feel about love, nobody even truly understands love or can explain it coherently, hell! I'm calm, I swear, I'm calm . . . The admirable bit was the craft of the play, though, and that I took enjoyment in seeing. To see a group of fine artists of the stage so flawlessly and seamlessly execute a play like that, it's truly inspiring. Indeed, sometimes, I walk away from a play feeling as though I'd like to take up the art, myself, because I was involved heavily enough with the theatre in high school, doing set design and helping people rehearse and whatnot. The music was great, to be frank. I applaud the performance of the orchestra and band behind the stage, for they were on cue and finely tuned. On my own personal scale by which I measure my opinion, the Failure Rating System (FRS), wherein 100% is God Awful and 0% is Perfect, I would give the whole experience a 45% Failure Rating: excellent acting, great music, good design, and boring script.
posted by c.Jay Wrong at
3:55 PM
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