Insanity.
January 11th, 2009Recently, I learned that the L.A. Weekly has had to cut its theater editor, considering it an extravagance. Some time ago, there was a discussion on a listserv about whether or not theater was considered elitist. Me, personally?
Most people who know me are aware of my feeling that theater literally saved my life at one point, but reading Steven Leigh Morris’ blog posting brought back a memory I havent thought about in,oh, I cant even guess.
When I was little, my mom took me to see the Virgina Stage Company’s production of Man of La Mancha. I remember sitting there in the dark watching these people swarm around one man who held them entranced by his dreams, his creations. It wasn’t a matter of “this is what I want to do with my life”, I sat there rapt because this is what I did every day. Being an only child in a house, a neighborhood, full of adults, forced me to create my own friends and scenarios. Somehow Id got the idea that such a thing was wrong. I hid my playing so my family wouldnt, well, think I was crazy.
But that very first night in the theater, I was lucky enough to be introduced to someone who thought as I did. Ok, yeah, people thought he was crazy, but he didn’t care. And by the end of the musical, none of the other characters did either.
Theater breeds kinship in a way that no other medium can achieve. I do it because I like to play, I like to play with other actors and audiences. I also like to think that every so often there’s a kindred spirit finding comfort in her own brand of insanity by witnessing my own.
Kila Kitu
Artistic Director