So its been something like 10 months since I bitched around in here, pardon my French.
Interesting point, that. On a completely random note I just learnt- most disappointingly- that 'pardon my French' doesn't have an interesting story of origin. Ah, woe is me. For some inexplicable reson, I imagined that it would be something along the lines of one of those juicy Napoleon Bonaparte stories we all love to hear.
But here I am again, rambling for all and sundry and of course that was em, not my intention.
Now. I have a bone– nay, a whole skeleton– to pick with
the Sri Lankan dramasphere. Look at what you have done to September-October! I
barely have a spare weekend, amid juggling nights and a thick bundle of tickets
for different productions. Not that I’m complaining, aney. (Somebody please tell me I got my aney down in the correct
context.)
What a year 2012 has been, folks. I turned a virulent
shade of orange (I kid you not) after a trip to Hawaii, finally watched Wicked
(!) and yes most importantly am the proud mater of a bouncing baby brat-
hereafter lovingly referred to as BBB/le bambino who has gurgled, kicked,
punched, pushed and pulled her way in to every possible space J
Which brings me neatly to my last theatre experience- Kalumaali.
Considering the raw material used by de Chickera for the
script, it comes as no surprise that the play as a whole was quite outrageously
one-sided and loudly feminist. That being the said premise of KM, a long
harangue on the injustice to males would be admittedly be unfair. That being
said though, shouldn’t the reading- ‘Cast as Mother’- which took place a few
months ago, I hear- have brought out all the feminism once and for all? For a
complete play, there was a lack of balance which could have been fixed in the duration
of nearly three hours.
To a newly-made mother though (and I suspect to mothers of
all ages), the play did speak loud and clear, taking us through the fulfillment
that parenting brings and yes, the frequent potholes and anxiety attacks.
(As I write this, le bambino who has just discovered the
delights of crayon, is industriously adding finishing touches to one of my
sketches. Hey, its probably an improvement. Maybe I’ll attach a picture so my
readers can judgeJ )
So as is quite obvious now, my usual rants are not too
easy with this chubby, giggling, curly-haired little distraction before me. But
what I will say is this. One-sided or not, Kalumaali offered some real fodder
for second and third (and more) thoughts. Yes, all mothers have had these thoughts
before and the fact has been made public enough in literature, drama,
television and the works, but not quite like this, and this rather sketchy
review is a salute to those mothers out there who voiced their thoughts. I
finally have an inkling of where all these thoughts came from. And who knows,
Dil’s experience may help me to strike the balance I need one day, and help me
realize that while I may be completely engrossed in motherhood, engrossment
needn’t be accompanied by a complete loss of identity.
Before I forget, in a moment of sentimentality (these
moments are fairly common these days) the production as a whole was stellar-
encompassing all that is good about modern theatre- from stunning lighting to a
haunting musical score and while the performance was a tad too long and dropped
pace and projection at times, it never failed to engage. And that, at the end
of all the discussion that has taken place on the subject already (another
reason why I’m not venturing into any intellectual discourse), is what matters.
On to the next topic- my beloved Shakespeare drama
competition- my entry-point into the Sri Lankan blogosphere. This blogger is
sad to report that Shakespeare and le bambino do not mix well. Ten minutes into
opening day of the semifinals, baby shows signs of an impending blood-curdling
shriek, staring at me as if I’d just dissected her favourite teddy. And then
the cute little wretch attempted to scale the backs of LW’s chairs at which I,
of course, had a Dil-Kalumaali moment and made a hasty exit with le bambino in
tow. Sigh. Safe to say I have a baby-sitter lined up for the upcoming
Shakespeare finals, Evita, Rag and the rest so here’s telling y’all that I’m
back with my rants for the foreseeable future J
Adios!
Bloody hell. What just happened to my format? Argh!
ReplyDeleteIn answer to your question on format it looks like you started writing on this page and then copy-pasted the rest from a word doc. thats why the J where a smiley should be:)
ReplyDeleteYoud have been really mad if you saw the semis this year...mostly really F***ed up results :(((
Congrads on the baby!!! :)
On KM,Your Majesty, I felt that the content was so cliche as to be almost backward. What say you?
ReplyDeleteYour Majesty. That has such a sublime ring to it, Anonymous! I thank you, from the royal depths of my queenly heart:)
ReplyDeleteApologies for the delay. I'm sweating it out in Batticaloa as we speak.
Well, cliche it certainly was. I think that is what happens when feminists identify a point that needs to be emphasized. They forget that regardless of the attention it deserves, what is required is a new perspective on the subject, which would prompt some more productive debate. That mothers sacrifice their careers in favour of raising children; and lose the identity they are familiar with in the process, is old news- as you say cliche.
This being said, for women who are thrust surprisingly into the role of motherhood, the play offers an (albeit somewhat preach and utopian, in points) insight on how to deal with the inevitable sense of loss and make room for the protesting career woman who needs some spontaniety. Speaking from experience, here.
While the content was in fact cliche, I think it might be a tad unfair to label it as backward, though. After all, the premise was to air the views of female actresses who put their thoughts on paper. Despite not being treated to any really NEW idea, I am not sure I want to dismiss the feelings of mothers talking from experience, as backward. If they are made to feel the way Dil did in the play, its obvious that regardless of being cliche, the point still needs debate.