This is Our Youth by Kenneth Lonnergan

Theatre historians often define major movements in theatre historiography with the lens of hindsight. However, there seems to be a trend over the last 10 years of plays that are particularly Gen X in content and expression. This is Our Youth, a three-person play by Kenneth Lonnergan being presented by Gamut Productions at the BCA, is one of those plays that helps define this generation. Sure, it may not have the Pulitzer cred of Rent or the critical appeal of Red Light Winter, but This is Our Youth could certainly be credited as the Gen X’s Death of a Salesman.
The plot can roughly be described as three Gen X youth living in New York City in 1982. However, as the patron sitting to my left noticed, “This doesn’t have to be set in the 80’s. This could be anytime after 1969.” The story is of two friends, Warren and Dennis, the former is a drug peddler whose parents pay for his rent and the latter is a boomerang child who decides to retaliate by stealing money from his father. Enter Jessica, the FIT student with whom Dennis is infatuated. However, Dennis’ plans to bed this beauty are interrupted by the woman’s intellect, perspicacity, and willingness to challenge the status quo. All three characters become involved in a drug scheme, sexual rendezvous, and the inability to communicate their true emotions which, essentially, is the tragic flaw of these unheroic heroes.
On the surface, the play is about masculine friendship and identity, the drug culture, Gen X, and love. Digging slightly deeper, you realize this play is actually an analysis of the Gen X mentality. Dennis brings with him a suitcase full of antique toys – a symbol of the legacy the Boomer generation left to their children. The question remains, “How do Gen Xer’s make sense out of the legacy they were given by the turbulent 60s?” When Warren returns from selling the merchandise for a fraction of its “worth,” we see the legacy deteriorate. The play spins economic theory, mass mis-communication, and honest human emotion into a tangled web where communication is incomprehensible.
The play is conflicting because at times, one wonders how these characters so involved in drugs can express themselves so lucidly and yet mis-communicate their feelings and emotions so poorly. However, it is brilliant in that it captures the ethos of the Gen X sentimentality. It is one of those plays where you feel that research must be done in frat houses dormitories and drug cartel’s to truly capture the voice of these characters.
This production, though lacking in special effects and professional suavity, definitely captured the essence of the piece with all its discomfort and awkward miscommunication. Jonathon Popp as Dennis portrays a doped-up, sleazy, manipulator that harkens the very spirit of David Mamet, Sam Shephard, and Sean Penn all at once. He seems not only made for this performance but to be giving the performance of his lifetime. Steven Rossignol as Warren displays moments of brilliance, mostly in the presence of the other actors,but one definitely gets the sense that he has real acting chops behind the moribund demeanor. Chelsea Cipolla as the lone female definitely portrays a character whose well-grounded and back-boned – a difficult achievement given the patriarchal tone of the piece.
Although the play is well acted and well directed, one can’t help but notice the white, straight, heterosexist hegemony reified by the play’s themes and content. It’s almost as if the author wants the audience to empathize with the white, straight, middle-class whiney bastards who soak up their trust funds while piddling away their lives as some sort of Greek tragedy. As entertaining and enlightening as this show is into the Gen X aesthetic, it should most be analyzed in terms of its reification of the capitalist system and the way Gen X considers the economy as part of our identification and expression of a contemporary Lost Generation.

Third by Wendy Wasserstein

It is a tradition in regional theatre that when an artistic director is going to resign or retire, s/he will opt to produce King Lear. Therefore, it is most befitting that in Wendy Wasserstein’s final play Third, this grand dame of the regional theatre should choose this work as her inspiration. Perhaps it is serendipity or perhaps Wasserstein, who died from cancer last year, saw this as her swan song. Whatever the reason, it provides an interesting bookend to an impressive career, though a play not without its faults and limitations.

In the way that her popular hit Sisters Rosenzweig updated Chekhov’s Three Sisters to 1980s Manhattan, this play modernizes Lear into a New England university where a liberal product-of-the-sixties English instructor is challenged by a Midwestern white, middle-class male – the seeming antithesis of the professor’s “liberal” education. At the heart of the story is the instructor’s accusation that the boy plagiarized his essay on King Lear – a rather pertinent topic given the fact that Wasserstein herself is plagiarizing Shakespeare, who some consider the greatest plagiarer of all. The rest of the plot seems quite perfunctory unless one is a university professor, Shakespeare aficionado, or theatre critic who will enjoy comparing the plot and characters of Shakespeare’s tragedy to this one. The professor has two daughters both of whom represent Goneril and Cordelia while the student represents Regan, the good child. The instructor’s father also makes a brief appearance representing the end-of-act-III Lear as an old man afflicted with Alzheimer’s. A scene on a streetcorner in a rainstorm provides a pivotal moment that maybe lost on anyone who is not familiar with the original work.

Devotees of Ms. Wasserstein’s work will find bits of her uncanny dialogue and character creation, not the least of which is the character of Dr. Gordon. This character seems to solely encompass the wit, wisdom, and spunk for which Wasserstein is known. The fact that this character is battling cancer, the ailment that took Wasserstein’s life, makes her that much more powerful and appreciated. Wasserstein seemed to infuse this character alone with her signature wryness and style. You can see the playwright’s personality come through this character as she fights for her own life while pointing out the triviality in the plights of the characters around her. Perhaps Dr. Gordon was conceived as the fool from Lear who, despite his ignorance possesses great knowledge for the king. On the other hand, it is impossible to ignore that this character maybe Wasserstein herself putting into perspective the trivialities that she dramatized so well in other works.

Unfortunately, the play comes off a bit too pedantic and after-school-special to be considered one of Wasserstein’s magnum opuses. Fellow audience members around me couldn’t help but draw parallels to Mamet’s Oleanna and Rebecca Gilman’s acerbic Spinning into Butter, works that have tackled similar themes with far more combustible content. However, I find this work to be a requiem not just for Ms. Wasserstein’s life and ouvre, but for the era of psychologist-couch realism for which she was writing. Wasserstein provided a voice for the Baby Boom generation educated in the sixties and wrestling with the society they helped to create. In this work, Wasserstein seems to be passing the torch to the next generation with a bit of trepidation, but an acknowledgement that it is time to move on.

Company One: After the Quake

Company One, a theatre member of the Boston Center for the Arts, has established themselves as the theatre company that does not shy away from challenging or difficult material. This spring's "The Pain and the Itch" was one of their most gut-wrenching and rewarding plays of the spring season while last summer's "Assassins" proved popularly successful, though reviews were tepid. Therefore, it was with great anticipation that I attended the latest venture from this little theatre than can: Frank Galati's dramatization, "After the Quake." While I am most impressed with the selection of material, this latest offering is mostly an unbalanced exploration of theatre style, storytelling, and uneven acting.

For those of you who don't know, Frank Galati is the modern-day grandfather of the narrative theatre movement, a style popularized and proselytized at Northwestern where Galati and patron-saint Mary Zimmerman both teach. As the name implies, this genre is based in the act of bringing literature to the stage as in Galati's TONY-winning adaptation of "The Grapes of Wrath" and Zimmerman's TONY-winning "Metamorphosis." In both of these examples, traditional theatre techniques and narrative forms are mixed with storytelling, music, and choreography conjuring the origins of Greek Theatre.

For this work, Galati tackles Japanese writer Haruki Murakami's short stories compiled in his collection by the same title. Both of the stories dramatized in "After the Quake" were written in response to the earthquake in Kobe, Japan in 1995 which left thousands dead, tens of thousands injured, and destruction throughout the city and surrounding towns. Although central to the inspiration, the earthquake actually plays a minor role to the stories evoked cleverly and with great empathy. The frame story for the plot is Sayoko's young daughter Sala, has been having nightmares ever since the earthquake and calls on her college friend, Junpei, to tell her daughter stories to assuage her fears. Junpei, a struggling writer, creates fantastical stories about personified animals that distract and entertain young Sala. Taking inspiration from these fables, Junpei begins work on a story about a life-size frog who warns the unassuming businessman Katagiri about an impending earthquake that will destroy the city. This sci-fi exploration is interrupted with a very realistic memory story about how Sayoko, Junpei, and Sala's father Takasuki met in college and the aftermath of a love triangle gone awry. The intermingling of stories and themes is deftly woven by Galati, which portends the aftermath of all the quakes in our lives whether seismic or personal.

Director Shawn LaCount definitely did his research on Asian theatre traditions in order to stage this work. The stage itself is painted to suggest the traditional theatres of Japanese Kabuki and the performance is underscored by live musicians. Stylistically, the scenes culled from "Super-Frog Saves Tokyo" are directed a la Kung Fu cinema while the rest of the narration aspires to more traditional storytelling cadences. The set is masterfully and creatively evoked by designer Sean Cote whose work not only tackles the difficulties of the space, but sets the standard for nonrealism is stage design for the company. Unfortunately, what doesn't deliver is the company of enthusiastic, but mostly amateurish actors. Giselle Ty's Sayoko aspires to the most naturalistic performance and shows honest acting prowess even when directorial interpretation forces her into stylization. Likewise, the debut of child actor Sydney K. Penny as young Sala is quite possibly the most consistent performance. In defense of the actors, it is a challenging piece as it jumps between past and present, fantasy and reality. I applaud Company One for committing to cast the show with an entirely Asian American ensemble; however, I couldn't help but wonder how this effected the choice of talent.

Although the play is clearly set in Japan following the Kobe earthquake, the themes cannot help but invoke a pantheon for 9/11 America. Even Galati himself draws this parallel with the original inspiration for the work. What is most inspiring about the play is its deference to the concept of hope, which is certainly this decade's rallying cry. I've even heard our current epoch referred to as the post-hope generation. Whatever the lingo, "After the Quake" is a meditation on making sense out of catastrophe, finding hope in each other, and a reminder that a little magic, such as a six-foot frog, has the power to bring out the best in all of us.

NYC: Ruined

In 1911, newspaper magnate Joseph Pulitzer died leaving a bequest in his will to establish a prize through the School of Journalism at Columbia University for exemplary publication in American Arts and Letters. The original statement of the award for drama read: "Annually, for the original American play, performed in New York, which shall best represent the educational value and power of the stage in raising the standard of good morals, good taste and good manners..." In 1928, the statute was amended to "For the original American play, performed in New York, which shall best represent the educational value and power of the stage." And in 1934, an amendment was made for the award to go to "preferably one dealing with American life." Obviously, the Pulitzer Prizes have evolved in the near century of existence; however, the mandate of the award remains the same. This year, the Pulitzer Board awarded Lynne Nottage's Ruined "for a searing drama, set in the Congo that compels audiences to face the horror of wartime rape and brutality while still finding affirmation of life and hope amid hopelessness." A colleague of mine recently commented that the Pulitzer Prize has evolved from a play that represents the American experience to that which represents Africa. Although, I understand his nearsighted opinion, I am most impressed that the Pulitzer committee decided to award the prize to playwright Lynne Nottage's Ruined for a number of reasons.

I saw the production of Ruined now playing at Manhattan Theatre Club Stage 1 and I was completely blown away by the simple, yet powerful depiction of a brothel in war-torn Congo. The story revolves around Mama Nadi, the madame, who attempts to provide a refuge of sorts for girls who are displaced from their homes in order to find solace in the steady work and security of living in a house of ill-repute. The actress known as Portia portrays Mama Nadi, a perfect madame conflicted by her need to provide for the girls she has while confronted with two new emigres, one of which is "ruined." "Ruined," in case you haven't deciphered, is the term given to women who have been raped to the point of genital mutilation - a far cry from Thomas Hardy's Ruined Maid, but a similar sentiment. When the trader Christian (commandingly portrayed by Russell G. Jones) arrives with two new girls, he persuades Mama Nadi to accept them with an offering of Belgian chocolates. Her acceptance of two lives in exchange for chocolates reflects a Brechtian Mother Courage that is pervasive throughout the script. The plot thickens when it is revealed that the one girl who is ruined, Sophie, is also Christian's niece. Sophie, however, proves a useful commodity as she has enough education to keep the books and is blessed with a singing voice to stave off the men. Although, this production is not a musical, the original music provided by Dominic Kanza is award-worthy in itself (and far more worthy of accolade than the Disneyfied Broadway hit In the Heights also shamefully nominated for a Pulitzer). Condola Rashad as the ruined Sophie delivers a star-making performance both in acting and singing prowess. Her friend, Salima, is not ruined and, therefore, is immediately exposed to "the life." Quincy Tyler Bernstein portrays the perfectly nubile Salima who gives her body begrudgingly while holding onto her dream of her estranged husband, Fortune.

Throughout the play, Mama Nadi's house serves as a rotating door for soldiers and opportunistic men. Meanwhile, the encroaching war brings Mama Nadi's to the center of the conflict when a begrudged soldier informs the commander that Mama Nadi has hosted the rebel leaders. In one of the most dramatic climaxes of any play I have seen, the girls of Mama Nadi's are thrust to the ground by soldiers and... well, you can only imagine the brutality and drama that ensues.

I often cry at the theatre and Ruined proved to be a tear-fest. However, my tears were shed with shocking revelations about each of the characters as they tell their stories that led them to Mama Nadi's. The dramas of this drama are delivered through gut wrenching sucker punches that fly at you from every unexpected angle. Sophie's determination to sing through her fear as she watches her friend give her body to a man for the first time. Salima's revelation of her pregnancy and the horrifying tale of her first-born child. Indeed, Madame Nadi's own shocking revelation at the end of the play. Each of these moments is delivered with emotional impact and truth that startle, stun, and ultimately force us to question (and bless) our privileged lives and existence in the United States.

Two years ago, the Pulitzer committee gave the award to David Lindsay Abaire's Rabbit Hole, an equally emotional drama, but one set in the comforts of suburban America. After seeing Mr. Abaire's show, I remember crying out of empathy for this family who lost their young child in a hit and run accident. However, afterward, I felt that my emotions had been compromised and derided the Pulitzer committee for selecting a show that completely evades the questions of American privilege during a time when our own country is at war. Although, I do think that Mr. Abaire's piece is a worthy play, I am pleased to see that the Pulitzer committee has opened their eyes and expanded their selection criteria to embrace the injustices in the world that deserve to be explored through the medium of theatre.

NYC: Mary Stuart

Most of the hype surrounding the Broadway revival of Schiller's Mary Stuart has centered on the TONY nominated performances of two actresses. I agree that this production delivers two unforgettable performances, but only one of which was nominated for a TONY: Harriet Walter's Queen Elizabeth, the second being John Benjamin Hickey's Earl of Leicester. The majority of the publicity for this show has centered on Janet McTeer's performance as Mary Stuart, which I found simply too dramatic to be believable. Ms. McTeer's performance gives everything away leaving nothing to the imagination. Her voice is laden with emotion and her speech is calculatedly breathless. Every choice seems like an actor's choice rather than an impulse from the character and the protagonist, therefore, defies empathy from the audience. In this interpretation, Mary Stuart is a free-spirited, ill-suited woman given the title of queen who would rather run free and splash in puddles as opposed to lead a nation. Some of this is implied in the script; however, what lacks is the perception of Mary Stuart as a leader, as a queen, as someone who a nation can entrust with their faith. Ms. McTeer delivers a staggeringly emotional performance; however, I desire a little more calculation and a little less opera in my matriarchal despot.

Thus, Harriet Walter's Queen Elizabeth provides the perfect antagonist to McTeer's Mary Stuart. Whereas McTeer is over-the-top and melodramatic, Ms. Walter's performance is a perfectly calculated presentation of a Queen whose motivations are obfuscated with treachery and conviction. This is not to say that Ms. Walters delivers an emotionally stilted performance; however, she only allows her emotions to escape when the circumstances have stacked against her. And this slip of emotion against her regal facade of comportment delivers a far more empathy-inducing reaction than the give-all tactics of the title character. Ms. Walters perfectly depicts the dichotomous frustration of being a despot: having ultimate power and being forced to live with the consequences which may affect a nation. Ms. Walter does an exceptional job of conveying her inner-conflict without releasing her outer shell. In any other TONY year, I guarantee she would have received her due laurels.

The other actor who most impressed me in this production was John Benjamin Hickey as the Earl of Leicester. While many of the supporting cast delivered fine performances, Mr. Hickey's surpassed all the others. His was the only performance to transcend the debilitating directorial interpretation of costuming the men in contemporary suits. Whereas this device became a hindrance with all the other characters, in Mr. Hickey's command, his costume was superfluous. He deftly portrayed the suitor, cunning traitor, and empathetic citizen fluidly and with abandon. His performance has been sadly underrated under the glare of the star actresses attention.

The show also carries a weighty directorial interpretation that is unique for a Broadway historical drama. Usually, one expects classic plays on Broadway to be presented with stunning costumes, sets, and spectacle. The only scenery for this production was a sparse brick wall painted black and lined with a 1970s-style wooden bench. The costumes for the men were contemporary black suits with more traditional garb for the women characters. My colleague suggested that this choice was to emphasize the difference in gender roles; however, I wonder if this was chosen to contemporize the themes of the play such as religion versus politics, public will versus private gain, and power versus manipulation. The sparse design was punctuated with superb lighting that almost played a supporting role in the cast. Designed by Hugh Vanstone, the use of light and shadow, illumination of isolated objects, and footlights that cast magnanimous shadows on the back wall provided a commentary on the text that could be a full semester's study in the ability of light to interpret a play. As for the rest of the director's choices, I found myself wondering why more often than understanding or being emotionally affected by the aesthetic. I am the biggest fan of American Repertory Theatre who has established itself as the home of crazy directorial interpretation in the U.S. (clearly, Europe has the trademark on the funky mise en scene). However, I felt jipped by this production's concept in that I was not able to focus my full attention on the quality acting or delivery of story in a play that is rife with storytelling. Had this been Romeo and Juliet or Julius Caesar, I would have said, "Interpret away..." But given the historicism of thie piece, I wanted the production to raise questions about the characters' motivations and interactions that influenced history rather than the director and designers' interpretations to influence the audiences' aesthetic experience.

NYC: Norman Conquests I & II

One of the most surprising runaway hits of this Broadway season has been The Norman Conquests playing at Circle in the Square for one more week. Receiving the TONY Award for best revival of a play, this three-part farce has brought new attention to British playwright Alan Ayckbourn, whose work rarely fares as critically or popularly successful in the U.S. It has taken the genius direction of Matthew Warchus (Broadway's new it-boy) coupled with an insanely talented ensemble of actors to make this trilogy not only work, but fly off the stage and into our hearts.

The main device of the plays is that they depict the events of a family retreat over the course of a single weekend. However, each play presents a slice of life from the weekend from a different location. The first play, Table Manners occurs (obviously) in the dining room, Living Together, the second play is set in the living room, and the final play, Round and Round the Garden is self-explanatory. The plot involved three siblings, Reg, Ruth, and Annie, who are married (or betrothed) to Sarah, Norman, and Tom, respectively. As the saying goes, comedy works best in threes and Ayckbourn has mastered the form delivering three couples through three plays in three locations. And comedy doesn't get any better than this.

To summarize, Annie, the spinster sister who stays at home to care for their ailing mother has arranged a weekend away. Sarah and Reg arrive to relieve her of her household duties. However, when Sarah discovers that Annie is not planning a rendezvous with her beau, Tom, but with her brother-in-law Norman, all hell breaks loose. Norman appears in the garden waving his pajamas about by the unsuspecting Tom and Sarah immediately intervenes to keep him from further seducing Annie. After a night of sprawling, Ruth, Norman's wife, is beckoned to the house and all is revealed to all before dinner, which makes for a great kitchen-table farce. The plot may sound involved and confusing, but I guarantee there is not one moment that evades the audience's perception. The story is so masterfully crafted and so brilliantly executed that you feel not as if you are attending a performance, but attending a sordid family affair (pun intended).

The brilliance of this work lies in the author's and actors' abilities to make these characters so well known that the comedy is inherent. Annie's self-deprecative spinsterism is perfectly portrayed by Jessica Hynes which is coupled in the first scene by the busy-body, "keeping up appearances" persona of Ruth, deftly performed by Amanda Root. Annie's bother and Ruth's husband, Reg (Paul Ritter), is a light-hearted, physical jokester that you can only imagine wears lampshades on his head and enters every party with a joke (or a game created by his own device). Annie's stilted love for Tom is understandable through Ben Miles' awkwardly enamoring performance as the vet who fails to coax a cat out of a tree. Likewise, Amelia Bullmore's Ruth displays a self-confident business woman and beauty whose vanity prevents her from wearing glasses, which provides a tragic flaw and endless slapstick humour. In the end, however, it is Norman, the eccentric lover cum spouse/brother-in-law that truly wins our hearts. Stephen Mangan accomplishes the impossible by playing an unkempt mess of a person who is so encased in feelings and emotion that most of the women and at least 10% of the men in the audience cannot help but fall in love. Upon first seeing the actor in his pajamas, sporting a 5-day shadow, one wonders why anyone would be wooed by this bachanalian beast. But, but the end of Play 1 when he appears in an ill-fitting suit, 1970s tuxedo shirt, and maid's apron, you understand that Norman just wants to be loved. And every woman in the show has love to give.

What is so refreshing about this show is that it is like a well-crafted sitcom: you inherently know these characters and identify with both their plight to make a loveless marriage work as well as their desire for spontaneity and excitement. Ayckbourn is known for writing satirical love farces that plunder the emotions of contemporary relationships and marriage (not that the two are mutually exclusive or vice versa). What is fascinating is how this ensemble has been able to create a motley cast of characters without a single ounce of tongue-in-cheekness or self-aware commentary on the humour or tragic missteps of their characters. Any less-than-skilled group of actors couldn't help but pass judgement on these characters. But in the hands of this talented cast, the characters actions, motivations, and repercussions are performed without an ounce of self-doubt or recrimination. The judgment, in the end, is left entirely to the audience and the sentence they pronounce is gut-wrenching laughter from start to finish.

NYC: Our Town

Let me begin by saying that if a David Cromer fan club does not yet exist, I volunteer to be the founding member. Mr. Cromer, a Chicago-based director, has made a name for himself reinvisioning classic works that simultaneously honor the original intention of the work while revitalizing them for contemporary audiences. Take his Glass Menagerie presented last season at Kansas City Rep, which received widely acclaimed (national) reviews. Likewise, his direction of the musical adaptation of Elmer Rice's classic, The Adding Machine was one of the hottest off-Broadway tickets of last season. His current offering, Thorton Wilder's Our Town playing at the Barrow Street Theatre, is not so much a production as it is a contemplation or meditation on this classic work.

Cromer plays double-duty in this productemplation as both the real director and the on-stage persona of the Stage Manager - which, you will remember from your High School English class, is the narrator for the play. As Stage Manager as well as director, Cromer captures the simplicity of the story by embracing stillness and silence that hearkens the simple lives of the inhabitants of Grover's Corners while forcing audience obeisance of said silence. The effect of listening for a train whistle or the voices of school children in studied silence takes on a religious metaphor, one that is reflected in the text and that culls from the Ancient Greek religious heritage of theatre. "Listen," Cromer says as the Stage Manager and director, and the audience sees the silence with both our attention and imagination. Throughout the play, simplicity and stillness are honored - a rare find in our media-saturated, hi-def Broadway world.

Obviously, Cromer has a rich canvas on which to paint his directorial interpretation. Thornton Wilder was an innovator in theatre and his stage directions of the show call for simplicity and minimalism of staging far before it was chic, or even a termed device. Mr. Cromer has transformed the Barrow Street into a 3/4 round theatre with only a handful of rows ensuring that every audience member is as close to the action as the players themselves. Sitting in the center first row, I found myself tucking my feet under my seat numerous times to allow the bypass of actors or witnessing scenes practically in my lap. The set consists of two tables with four chairs each to represent the Gibbs and Webb houses, which dramatically transform into the second-story windows of the two young lovers by placing the chairs on top of the tables. Such simplicity in staging coupled with naturalistic pauses and silences make the work transformative. I knew that if this production were on Broadway, I would be assaulted with sound effects, lighting effects, rushed delivery, et al. But in this off-Broadway house, Cromer is allowed to let this piece breathe as deeply and vitally as the characters it (re)presents.

Most of the critical praise for the work has touted the alarming choice during the third act. It is, apparently, this seasons' theatrical "Crying Game." And, apparently, I am the only theatre connoisseur who escaped knowledge of said interpretation. However, I refuse to reveal it to other theatre snobs who deserved to be impressed as I was. However, as brilliant as I felt the device to be, I did not find it half as risque and impressionable as the play itself, which defies so many standard theatrical devices. The entire play is a contemplation of performance and representation and adulation and devotion. The choice to have the actors wear contemporary costumes brings the show full-circle. Cromer, as I have said, is serving classic American plays with honor and reverence while delivering a contemporary spin that is both intellectual and accessible. He has been slated to revive two of Neil Simon's comedies for the Broadway stage in the up-coming season. And after seeing Our Town, I have faith that Mr. Cromer can revive far more than just discarded classics, but has the potential to refocus our aesthetic to honoring our theatrical heritage while reclaiming some sacred element of our performative anthropology.