New Story - The Crane Wife

Japanese Folk Tale

There once was a lonely sail maker named Osamu, who lived high above the sea on a hilltop. From his house he would watch the Cranes flying and resting in the green salt marsh below his house. More than anything Osamu wished for a wife so he won't be so lonely, but who would marry a poor sail maker? One autumn night during a storm he heard something hit the house. He ran outside and found a great Crane lying stunned and still. He felt sorry for the Crane and decided to bring it inside his home and nurse it back to health. Once the Crane recovered, it flew away and returned to the other Cranes.

One moonlight night the man heard someone knocking on his door. He opened the door to find a beautiful girl standing there. Her name is Yukiko, and she stayed with him, and over time became his wife. It wasn't long however, before they began to run out of money. On seeing this Yukiko offered to weave Osamu a magic sail, but only on the condition that he will promise not to watch her while she is working. Yukiko wove all night long and in the morning, the sail she gave to Osamu was so light and delicate, and sounded as if it had the wind woven into it. Osamu was able to sell the magic sail for enough gold to live on for half a year.

Then the money began to run out again, so Osamu asked Yukiko to weave another magic sail for him to sell. Yukiko was hestitant and afraid, she told him that it will take all that she has to weave another magic sail. Osamu convinced her to make just one more, but she made him promise again not to watch her while she is weaving. Once again he sold the sail and for enough gold to live on for another six months.

One day a wealthy trader, came to the village. He told Osamu that he had been searching for him. He offered Osamu a lifetime of gold for a magic sail to be made for his ship. Yukiko refused. Osamu pleaded, but Yukiko did not relent. Osamu ordered his wife to make the sail. Yukiko went to her loom and once again made Osamu promise her not to look on her while she is weaving. That night Osamu  listened to the loom in the next room. He brooded over of his wife's reluctance to help him. He decided it was important for him to learn the secret of her weaving so he could continue his lucrative business, so he broke his promise and looked. He saw a great white Crane, the same one he saved all those month ago, weaving her own soft down ito the sail. Yukiko looked up and saw her husband at the door. With sad eyes, she turned and flew out the window. Osamu never saw her again - only from a distance flying with the other Cranes.



Cast Interview: Christopher Clark (Eurydice's Father)

How does the presence of the Father change the original story? Why is he there? What is his role?I'm not sure I knew that there wasn't a father character in the original myth of Orpheus. Previous to this show, I had only seen the opera l'Orfeo, which was beautiful but very slow and I only remember
Ruben-esque people moving very slowly in and out of hell. So when I first read Sarah Ruhl's Eurydice, I assumed that there was a father character all along. I soon learned that this was not the case. So why
the father?

I think one of the clues is in the dedication of the play. Ruhl dedicates the play to her father. That's got to count for something. And then there are several lines in the play about the relationship between fathers and daughters, and the play seems to be coming back time and time again to the notion that you can't go home again. Eurydice longs to reunite with her father, longs to stay with her father, but realizes at some point that time, and life, moves on. The father is in this play, I believe, to represent the memory of childhood. Longing for the past. That elusive feeling that you can't totally recapture your most poignant and beautiful memories. I also think he represents one of the masculine ideals women have about men; all three of the male characters in the play do. The nasty interesting man is edgy, thrilling, and carnal. Orpheus is romantic, thoughtful, and passionate. The father is gentle, kind, and selfless. I sort of see these three type as the corners of a
masculine triangle.

Does being a father in real life, change your outlook on your character? I wonder if college students will connect to the father character as much as I have. I almost think you have to be a parent to understand what's happening with him. I have two daughters, and I find myself
constantly fighting the urge to over-protect them, baby them, and fuss over them. I'm sure a lot of men feel this way about their daughters. I feel differently about my sons. I tend to push them and challenge them,
and I'm far less patient. I know it's probably not "right," but it is my honest response. When I work with Aubrey onstage I feel like Eurydice is my daughter. I want to encourage her and support her, but I also want to reign her in and protect her from getting hurt. It's a very torn feeling. Giving her up to Orpheus at the end of the third movement is heart-breaking for me, even though I know it's the right thing to do. I'm sure I'll feel that way when my real daughters get married.

 

What has surprised you about this project?

The thing that has surprised me the most about this project is how well it adapts to the stage. My initial reading of the play felt more like a tonal poem. I'm also a director, and I couldn't immediately see the
stageability of this piece. It's so ethereal and thoughtful. But working with Lisa has been fantastic. She has such a sharp vision for the show, and the literal story of the piece is so clear and so moving. It's not
just a jumble of words and ideas. There's a story there, and it translates beautifully. I also think this is one of the most visually striking pieces of theatre I've been able to work on. I've loved the process.

What do you think about the father’s final choice? I haven't talked too much about the father's final choice in the play because I worry about talking it out. This may surprise people (ha) but I'm not much of a talker when I'm working. I like to just do. I worry that over-processing my choices onstage will make me self-conscious and anxious. That being said, I understand exactly what he's doing. Sometimes a feeling of loss, or a feeling of helplessness, is so overwhelming that you will do anything to make it stop. It's the first time in the play that the father does anything for himself. And it's
sad. But it also makes sense. It's not a suicide, but it's a coping mechanism. I get that completely. Sometimes we just want to shut our heads off for a while.
 

Any other thoughts about the project that you’d like to share?This has been such a fantastic experience. I hope people come. I know it's not a well-known piece, but it's a beautiful and moving one. And I really hope people give it a shot. It's rare for us as actors to get to
work on plays like this; which is one of the reasons I signed up to do it. It is a celebration of life and music and choices, and it resonates with me so clearly. 

This is what it is to Love an Artist

This is what it is to Love an Artist

One of my favorite quotes/moments from Sarah Ruhl's Eurydice is when Eurydice is confiding in her father the ups and downs of loving Orpheus. She says:

“This is what it is to love an artist: The moon is always rising above your house The houses of your neighbors look dull and lacking in moonlight. But he is always going away from you. Inside his head there is always something more beautiful.”

I think there is some truth to this. I’m not sure I’m an artist - hopefully I’m in process of becoming one - but I can relate to seeing the world and people through moonlight-tinged glasses and I’ll confess it’s probably not always easy to love me as my head is often filled with my creative dreams.

I’ve often wondered if it would be easier to love an artist or a non-artist? Is it Dreams vs. stability or beauty vs. practicality? I’ve come to the conclusion that every relationship will have its strong points and challenges, but I do think someone can be “going away from you” for many less beautiful reasons.

What do think? Weigh in! In general terms, do you think it’s easier to love an artist or a non-artist?

The Journey into the Unknown: A Jungian Analysis

The Journey into the Unknown: A Jungian Analysis

We’ve picked apart the Orpheus and Eurydice myth and have looked at it from a lot of angles, but what if the message of the story isn’t about our relationships and roles with others? What if it’s not about religion or what it means to be an artist? What if the underlying meaning lies within us? What if, like in dream interpretation, we play all the parts? We are Orpheus. We are also Eurydice and the descent into the underworld is merely a journey to our own subconscious?

This is how Swiss psychiatrist, Carl Jung (1875-1961) would look at the story. Jung was a student of Freud and developed a keen interest in mythology and what it has to say about the human psyche. To our egos, Orpheus’ journey is a tragedy, but looking at a bigger picture, Orpheus represents our abilities to charm our subconscious[i]; the journey, although at first unsuccessful, is an opportunity to learn.

In simplified terms, Orpheus represents our conscious thoughts, Eurydice and the underworld, our subconscious thoughts. Orpheus is our practical and controlling ego, Eurydice, our soul. The story is about trying to reconnect with our soul to bring into balance the male and female parts of ourselves. Not until Orpheus is dismembered, until he subjugates his ego completely can he, bit by bit, enter the underworld and be united with his soul.

So does this apply to us today? I think in our increasingly disconnected and noisy world, we are quite separated from our souls. What can Orpheus’ journey teach us about our own?

·         Don’t fear the unknown; we have to face the dark to find the light.

·         Don’t look back; we have to trust the process and try not to control it.

·         In our journey everything works for our good – even dismemberment was good in the end for Orpheus. The worst possible event of his life is what ended up giving it the most meaning: it turned him into a prophet, an oracle and reunited him with Eurydice.

 Everything that happens to us and to those we love is just another step on the journey. We can reject it as bad or we can take it in and learn. Jung said in his book The Secret of the Golden Flower,

So now I intend to play the game of life, being receptive to whatever comes to me, good and bad, sun and shadow that are forever alternating, and in this way, also accepting my own nature with its negative and positive sides. Thus everything becomes more alive to me. What a fool I was!  How I tried to force everything to go according to the way I thought it ought to be. 

This one story holds endless messages – that’s what makes myths so great. Each person will connect with the story in a different way.

What will become of your journey into the unknown? Only you can determine that.

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[i] Zabriskie, Beverly. “Orpheus and Eurydice: A Creative Agony.” Journal of Analytical Psychology 45 ( 2000): 427-447. Print.

Words vs. Music

 

Orpheus loves music. There’s no doubt about it. Every time Eurydice asks him what’s on his mind, he is thinking about music. He’s a musician; it’s what he does.

Eurydice loves books and words. She likes to mull over the opinions of others and think through arguments. She likes interesting new things. She likes to hear stories. Nothing wrong with that.

They’re two nice people, ridiculously good-looking, and they’re in love. So what’s the problem? Well… they have two different ways of looking at the world. Orpheus is more concrete; more black and white. Things are just how he sees them. Eurydice sees more possibilities; more options. Even this wouldn’t be a problem, except that when Orpheus looks at Eurydice, he only sees music. At best, he’s uninterested and at worst, uncomfortable with her love of language. He tries to change the subject – back to music.

From almost the very first page of the script, Orpheus tries to make Eurydice over into how he sees her. He tries to teach her his melodies. He says he’s going to turn every strand of her hair into an instrument to play his music. He pesters her to practice and remember his melodies. If he weren’t so darn adorable, I’m sure she’d notice that he’s a tad controlling.

Throughout her play, Sarah Ruhl uses music and words to play out the relationships and story line. Language plays a big role in remembering in the Underworld and building the relationship between Eurydice and her Father. The power of Orpheus’ music is how he gets into the Underworld… almost. Actually it’s the power of his music and Eurydice’s name. To successfully reach Eurydice, he had to utilize both; he had to sing her name.

After Eurydice makes her choice to stay and they are saying goodbye, he brings up again her appalling lack of rhythm – spelling out the ways she did not measure up to his ideal. In the very end, I think he starts to get it. He calls out, “Will you talk to me!”[i]By then it is too late.

Orpheus came to find Eurydice with music – his music. I wonder… would he have succeeded if he found her with words?

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[i] Ruhl, Sarah. Eurydice. New York: Samuel French, 2008. Print.

More dramatic film goodbyes

Now Voyager must hold the record for the most dramatic goodbyes in a single movie. Here's one by train:

(Ah, the noble affair - one that is good for everyone!)

And here's one by plane:

(The real trick is smoking and kissing through a veil! I guess that was the ultimate cool in the 40's.)

These aren't even all the goodbyes in this film - you'll have to watch it to get the rest.

Modern-day Myths in Eurydice

The ancient Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice is not the only myth Sarah Ruhl tackles in Eurydice; she also takes on some modern-day myths. I believe that the 1950’s setting of the script is very significant. There is a definite look at gender roles in Eurydice and what better decade to revel in gender myths than the 50’s. Let’s look at some advertisements from that period to see what kind of modern-day myths we find:

Smoking is not that bad for you, in fact, it doctor endorsed.

DDT makes for happy, healthy people, animals and veggies.

If you want to be a good parent, give your baby a healthy start with soda.

Now let’s look specifically at ads about women:

Women should be domestic angel by day…

…and alluring sex goddess by night.

Women are overly emotional, not to mention incompetent.

Women are weak.

Women are (and I quote) “useful – even pleasant [indoors, but]

on a mountain they are something of a drag.”

Women are happiest when housekeeping.

Never mind that Mornidine, a morning sickness medicine, caused babies to be born without arms and legs; at least Father didn’t have to struggle with the percolator.

Is there any doubt what makes an ideal woman?

I think these ads speak for themselves. Isn’t it nice we’ve come so far…

…or have we?

(a contemporary ad for Gucci)

Ruhl is speaking to these issues that still shape our society. By giving Eurydice a voice and a choice (two things she’s traditionally robbed of in the story,) and by setting her journey against the backdrop of the 1950’s, I think Ruhl has plenty to say.