Interpretations

I've always found it odd how a play can be produced in a varied amount of ways. Multiple interpretations gleaned from the reading I can understand, but I always figured that it could only really be produced in a single way, as the playwright intended. This likely stems from personal grievances I can see myself having if (when?) my work is seen in a light different from what I envisioned. After all, it's my work, isn't it? That's probably my ego talking, though.

Last night, I attended a performance of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead at the Alfred ve dvoře theatre, not far from Holešovice. It was produced by the group Blood, Love & Rhetoric (I only realized the significance of their name until I read a quoted passage from the play in the program), with the aid of the English College in Prague. It was an entertaining performance that furthered my love of the play's banter on existence, games, and death. What I didn't expect, though, was the sexualization of characters and situations.

Indeed, whenever Gertrude appeared on stage, she stroked the protagonists and placed their heads in her crotch. Even Claudius had some playful moments. Personally, I was struck most by Ophelia, though her outfit helped: dressed in fish-net stockings, with a corset-like top, and a high, pink frilly skirt, she was the personification of sex. This was fully proven when we saw Hamlet chasing after her, on his hands and feet, like a dog. Even the Player and his troupe were naught but a band of prostitutes.

Did I misinterpret certain scenes from the play when I read it? I realized I hadn't, but it was amazing how those scenes I had read with a certain image could be performed with another in mind and not seem tacked on. I felt this was the logical way to interpret them! The power of art is such that, with enough thought, the same piece produces different thoughts. With plays, we see how the director can mold the playwright's work into a different image than which may have been intended. It's striking, as we view movies as inherently the director's. Yet plays are inverted: the playwright gains more acclaim. After the play is written, though, and handed off to a production company, it's noteworthy that the director and set designers can emphasize different aspects of the work or give it a completely new voice while retaining the dialogue.

It's bewildering how art manages this.

The night wasn't just spent enjoying an interpretation of Tom Stoppard's play - who, by the way, autographed a poster hanging in the theatre's bar. I looked at myself, as I so often do when viewing art, and wondered at how I come off. It wasn't the play that caused this, though; it was, instead, my conversations with a sixteen year old Vietnamese teen and a seventeen year old British one.

First, though, a minor note: I was asked how old I was, and when I responded they were a bit shocked. I've been told I look young for my age - this just confirmed it!

I took a seat next to the Vietnamese guy before the play started and we chatted back and forth. Avatar was brought up, the Oscars, the play we were to watch. During the intermission, the British teen joined in, and eventually the conversation took a course that befuddled me. I was asked what I'd plan to do after school, and then the question was posed to the Brit. He stated he was considering joining the military, and from here on out we were discussing the efficiency of AK-47's, the war in Afghanistan against the Taliban, and a couple of other politics-related topics. I was speechless - my knowledge here was nonexistent, as I told them.

In response, the Vietnamese guy said that I should read more. It was said ever so innocently.

I felt so stupid. I was living up to the stereotype of the uneducated American. Damn it.

I could just be overreacting, but what a hell of an experience. Going abroad, you definitely find a lot about yourself and your own culture.

Before the play began, I was sitting at the bar. A man asked if he could place his drinks on the table next to me, and I said sure. We spoke for a bit, him bringing up how it's human nature to find a comfortable place to be, especially in a foreign place. It was his first time at the theatre, too. We were joined by his girlfriend, and conversation continued. I asked them where they were from, and he said he was Czech. I felt a bit embarrassed, as I felt I should have realized it. His girlfriend was Irish, though - and as she said it, I noticed her accent. Oh, the subtleties of humans!

It was great talking to them about Prague and food. Hearing them tell their own little tales was quite exciting. Human interaction, whether from fellow countrymen or just fellow people, is always welcome.

Who knew I'd watch Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead in Prague? In a few hours I'm going to watch Black Dynamite. That's even stranger: watching a parody of blaxploitation films while in Prague? Sure, why not?

Now if only I could watch that Czech-language production of Waiting for Godot...