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And some grew weary of the ghastly dance
“And fell, as I have fallen by the way side,
Those soonest from whose forms most shadows past
And least of strength & beauty did abide.” —
“Then, what is Life?” I said
Yesterday I listened to May Day speeches at a “intersectional” progressive rally in Washington Square; I couldn’t have been more bored; more annoyed; more indifferent. Even though the rally was staged in protest of things I’m against, and for things I’m for, I didn’t believe any of it — it seemed like a block party with a political message attached; big speakers, people milling around, some bright clothes. No revolution seemed immanent; the NYU students ringing the park couldn’t have been less bothered, and less willing to accrue outrageous student debt than before. White collar workers with earbuds in strolled through the protest; yuppy men on their way to afterwork drinks with yuppy women — totally immune to the charm of political protest.
I’ve learned, as a play director, that the same thing happens inside a theater — no matter how successful or moving a performance is, the audience goes home basically the same person they were before they walked into the theater space; phones come out, conversation slips into chatter, wine is drunk, banality reasserts itself immediately. Notions of spiritual, aesthetic, or political revolution are totally anachronistic; they simply will not and cannot happen. Commercial society is too comfortable, too successful, too…
