Theater
Hold onto your Bowlers: Clowning Around at HERE
“Can’t Sleep, Clowns Will Eat Me.” We’ve all seen the T-shirt, and it rings true. But why? Aren’t clowns supposed to be cute and cuddly and friendly? Why do people fear clowns?
Trey Lyford and Geoff Sobelle—creators and performers of the utterly appealing All Wear Bowlers, presently enjoying an extended run at HERE—were able to provide some insight into this sensitive issue.
“Our stage manager in Philadelphia told us something really beautiful, and we put it in the show,” says Trey. “Her daughter told her, when she was a little girl, ‘I don’t like clowns, Mommy. Everything about them is a lie. Even their feet are a lie.’”
Even their gigantic feet. And of course, as Geoff points out, their painted happy face. Clowns lie. They even lie about being happy.
“The sorrow that’s underneath a lot of clowns is people’s real sorrow, and they don’t want to deal with that,” Trey explains. They don’t like the idea of the guy with all the jokes going off to get wasted somewhere after the show.
“But the kind of clowning that we’re dealing with is the exact opposite,” counters Geoff. “It’s honesty.”
“You’re your most vulnerable, your most bare, your most naked, and what people laugh at is the core of you,” he continues. “It’s like this core of truth. It’s a form about truth. And absurdity, but that’s only funny because it’s true. Whereas the Krusty the Clown, Ringling Brothers kind of clown is totally scary. The freak wig, the big baggy pants—it’s all a lie. It’s the exact opposite.”
So you can scratch Krusty as a big icon for these guys. Instead, they cite the silent film clown—Laurel and Hardy, Buster Keaton, Chaplin—as their major influence. There are also elements of the “Red Nose” clown that Lecoq teaches, which Trey describes as “open, hyper-expressive, deeply-present, and always aware of the audience.”
In addition, they’ve been influenced by “New Vaudeville,” a form made most famous by Bill Irwin and David Shiner. (Shiner served as an important consultant on All Wear Bowlers.)
Throw in a little Magritte, Beckett, multi-media design, and the chemistry between these hard-working performers, and you’ve got an invigorating, awe-inducing evening at the theater. But back to the evil clown…
“There is that moment in Poltergeist, when the clown attacks the kid,” muses Trey. “There’s a cultural history of something that you trust turning against you. Something innocent that actually is demonic. Like the baby doll whose eyes all of sudden turn red.”
Or Chucky. Or the ventriloquist dummies that come to life in several Twilight Zone episodes. The clown phobia is starting to make sense. Yet the All Wear Bowlers clowns aren’t scary. Or depressing. Even though they’re trapped in a scenario Geoff likens to No Exit.
However, unlike No Exit, these inhabitants of a frightening universe aren’t antagonistic. Hell isn’t other people. Here, other people are salvation. These two alter-egos are in it together, and their camaraderie is touching, their slapstick delightful.
“We always kept in mind that we wanted to deal with all these more complex issues, but we wanted to make sure it was always accessible and laughable,” says Geoff. “If we were taking ourselves too seriously at any point, we put the brakes on in some way or made fun of ourselves. The moment we’re completely into the illusion, it breaks apart. It’s constantly falling apart in our hands.”
At one point in the play, a clownish illusion falls apart, and the bones of it are exposed to the audience. Yet the clowns keep desperately trying to recreate it, even though the jig is up and the moment’s gone. At their core, these characters are performers, and they must continue performing, even if they don’t know why or to what end. They can only hope that they will somehow please the forces that be and so be allowed to escape.
It’s possible that the “forces that be” are the audience. In All Wear Bowlers, the clowns are more likely to be afraid of you.
All Wear Bowlers, presented by HERE and rainpan 43 runs through May 28 at HERE, 145 Sixth Avenue, Wed-Mon at 8:30PM.
Tickets: $20 www.smarttix.com or 212.868.4444
For more info: www.HERE.org
RECOMMENDED ARTICLES
Better a Good Ear than a Good Law
By Peter GoodrichDEC 21-JAN 22 | Critics Page
It is a hoary saw of common law, and forgive the rhyme, that arguments from precedent should sound. Like most oracular juridical pronouncements this invocation of a syntonics of casuistry, a euphony of edicts, is somewhat opaque. Judges will often intone that an argument sounds in law, that it is on all fours with prior decisions, and this appears to mean that it rings, chimes, or tinkles like a clashing of cymbals or roll of drums announcing the onward march of the legion of legists or the achievement of a perfect pitch such that harmonizes with the choir of juristic precedents. The sounding, however, goes unexamined, the word astray as if a mere metaphor or esoteric reference, some croaking divinity or old-fashioned idol lost now in the mists of the immemorial and time, as they say, out of mind.
Sulaiman Addonia's Silence Is My Mother Tongue
By John DominiSEPT 2020 | Books
Just shy of puberty, Saba suffers all sorts of disorientation, even at first sight of her family hut: “Aren’t refugee camps built with tents?” Later, between the huts, she gets lost in “alleyways… a labyrinth.” Complicating matters, by local standards Saba’s a mongrel, “Eritrean-Ethiopian… half from an occupied country and the other half from the occupying.”
from MONA
by Pola Oloixarac, translated from the Spanish by Adam MorrisAPRIL 2021 | Fiction
Pola Oloixarac’s Mona begins with its eponymous protagonist fleeing the safety of her academic post at Stanford to join a dozen literary prize nominees in Sweden. The story advances primarily through conversation and observation about art, books, sex, and theory—and when characters aren’t speaking explicitly in the language of critical theory we can imagine that they’re anticipating critical theoretical objections to their own thoughts. That said, it’s funny, sometimes very very funny. Mona’s insight into our world may come across as shockingly candid, it might come across as shockingly jaded, but it will not come across as inhibited or overly careful. With her debut Savage Theories, and now here in Mona, Oloixarac reminds us that serious fiction can also be bracingly wild.
THERESIA ENZENSBERGER with Elvia Wilk
SEPT 2020 | Books
On the occasion of Blueprint’s translation into English, we talked about how to write Nazi characters who aren’t clichés; about reviving the legacy of overlooked women artists and architects; about why fiction can be truer than reality—and about how our current political debates and challenges are not so far from those of 100 years ago.
