The Daily Princetonian
Thursday December 7, 2017
STREET EDITORS: JIANING ZHAO, DANIELLE HOFFMAN, LYRIC PEROT
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the Arts
PAGES DESIGNED BY ASHLEY CHANG, WILL RANDALL
The Street takes a look into the Princeton arts culture and community.
A Conversation with Princeton Chinese Theatre about its production of “And Then There Were None” Allison Huang Contributor ‘21
When I first walked into Whitman Theatre, I was fifteen minutes too early and I thought I had stumbled onto a cult. The theatre was tiny—less than fifty seats—and everyone was speaking Chinese. As I commented to a friend of mine, like a true ABC Banana, “I feel like I’ve been transported back to China again.” If anything, the sense that I had been displaced and teleported to another country contributed to the feeling that I was closed off from the real world. All that existed was the dark intimate space of this small theatre in which I sat. The night began with a trailer for the show, shown from a small screen in the opposite corner of the theatre. Scenes of death flashed by in fragments; a countdown announced both the elapse of time and the number of survivors still left in the guest house. After twohundred-twenty-five seconds, I was aware that the characters had gotten off a boat and found their way into an empty mansion, that they were being picked off one-by-one, and that the murderer was someone among them. As someone who had never read the original fiction work And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie, I was paralyzed in my seat. But even those who had read the novel were promised (in the program) that the play would end differently than the book, so all of us followed the plot as detectives, trying to figure out who U.N. Owen (the pseudonym of the “Unknown” murderer) was and guessing at who would survive to the end (hint: no one).
The play, adapted and directed by Jianing Zhao ’20, has found its niche in the treasure trove of hole-in-the-wall theatre productions at Princeton that take on professional-level quality. “And Then There Were None” gave attention to the smallest of details to heighten the realism of the murder. Eerie music creeped out during silences and between acts, lighting ranged from bright day-time to stormy candle-lit black-outs. We note disheveled hair as Emily Brent, arguably the most put-together woman, devolves into madness at the hopelessness of her predicament. We see Dr. Armstrong drenched in rain after the storm, or sporting wet locks after a shower, or tugging at a damp collar
nervously as he contemplates his own dark past, sweat lines forming between his shoulderblades and leaking through his sweater. And the array of little Indian figurines sitting on a stand stage left: Each time someone died, one of these dolls would crash to the ground, ostensibly pushed over by a ghost. (Later Jianing reveals to me that a member of the cast had designed a remote-controlled lever that protruded and knocked the doll of its stand). When Emily Brent dies, she dies sitting upright in her seat facing away from the audience, a stiff doll. (She had been injected with Potassium Cyanide). No one realizes it until a figurine has crashed to the ground. Then, we are searching, searching, searching for the death.
audience of all being guilty (again blurring the boundary of stage and audience in true Tom Stoppard style) when Lombard—who is still alive because Vera is a terrible shot —raises his gun and shoots Wargrave in the head. The denouement of the play is marked by the two lovers embracing and limping— as Vera supports the wounded Lombard—to the back of the stage, farthest from the audience, when they gaze out onto the ‘ocean,’ depicted by a parting of the backstage curtain. The ‘balcony’ illused by the parted curtain succeeds in enlarging the space of a theatre I once thought to be tiny. In having the couple move from the back of the theatre to the back of the stage, move through the audience, collapsing their
Six become five, then four. The play slows down with the interactions between Dr. Armstrong, Judge Wargrave, Lombard and Vera. Each has a moment in which he/she accuses another, forming a complicated ‘love-rectangle’ (or more fittingly, ‘accusatory rectangle’) that mirrors the rectangle space of the room. Then four become three. Two.
plane of existence - and our plane of experience - into two meager dots, we are swept up, swallowed by the play. I could tell the play had bled into my sphere of reality when at the climax of the play, I could not stop laughing. Wargrave rages on madly and accuses the audience of unspoken sins, Vera whimpers loudly in the background, crying in
We arrive at the confrontation between lovers Lombard and Vera, who, realizing that they are the only ones left, accuse each other of being U.N. Owen. Lombard pulls a gun on Vera. She screams. They advance upstage, closer to the audience. Suddenly they are amidst the audience. Amidst the two lovers’ fight, the boundaries between audience and actor completely dissipate. Vera, struck by her urge to survive, grabs the gun from Lombard (now they are behind us — we crane our necks to look — Bang!), and shoots Lombard. He falls, presumably dead, and Judge Wargrave runs in from the opposite aisle and reveals himself to be the true U.N. Owen. Wargrave is about to shoot Vera after a long monologue accusing the
Image courtesy of Allison Huang
terror, and I cannot stop thinking: The cape, that cartoonish cape that Wargrave wears, it is just too absurd. But my guffaw is hysterical. The distressed psyche of the play has been creeping up to my throat and I find myself looking for any way to escape. In this play, laughter makes us terrified. Every time the audience laughs, we release some anxiety and free up space for the play to continue building suspense. Moments like Lombard snacking on Oreos (an obvious anachronism), or Dr. Armstrong rushing out in a bathrobe because someone stole the shower curtain, or even Wargrave shooting an audience member that fakes his death nobly—Everyone laughs in these moments,
but just like the characters in the play, we are trapped. Just as each character cannot leave the island, so we are unable to tear our eyes away. And when Wargrave accuses us all of being guilty, we feel we are the ones who have lost the chance for redemption. After the show, I interviewed Zhao, who adapted and directed this play. This was your first time directing a play. Can you tell us the process of directing for the first time and challenges that you faced? The biggest challenge I faced was resolving the discrepancy between artistic vision and the practicalities of carrying out that vision. Because I study literature, I’m used to reading a text, interpreting it, and forming a vision
of it in my head. I was also a choreographer in high school, but directing a theater show is more complicated than choreography because the latter is more focused on bodily movement while with acting there’s voice, movement, props, and an overall storyline. This time around, I would say that the props were the most tricky part. Props are things you don’t think consciously about while you’re watching a show—you just kind of take them for granted. But when you’re actually designing the set, you have to think about, for example, how to place a table so that the audience will be able to see the actors’ faces. At first we placed it horizontally, then we realized it was separating the audience from the couch. In the middle it obstructed the view of the couch. But completely vertically some people would only see the actors’ seated backsides. So we put it diagonally, which is not a very realistic layout in the living room of a mansion, but you
have to adapt certain things to the stage. For this show, we know you were translating from a work of fiction to a theatre production. Can you tell us about the process of writing/adapting the original work of fiction? Were you translating from English to Chinese? I wasn’t translating from English to Chinese because there are so many translations already out there from past adaptations of the original novel (films and dramas), but I read the English novel and spent much time cutting down the ten original characters to six. Agatha Christie writes in a very digressive style which works well for the novel—tangential conversations, false leads—but in the theatre you have to condense. A conversation that doesn’t actively contribute to the plot or character development easily distracts the audience and makes them lose interest. Adapting the play involved a lot of reorganizing of plot and dialogues, where the final product still had to flow smoothly and make sense.
And Whitman Theatre is a small space. I can’t imagine ten people all interacting on stage at once. Yes, every interaction has to have purpose. The more characters there are, the more tangential moments there are. Cutting ten characters to six limits digressions and gives each character more time to develop dynamically. Additionally, there is a consistent theme of twosidedness in each character that ends up showing through whether you have six or ten characters. Each character has concealed a dark, murderous past and found ways to suppress his/her experiences. These dark sides are revealed through the course of the play—if you look at our posters, you see black-and-white photographs that are partially torn, revealing chaotic images underneath. I wanted to show that underneath an utterly civilized facade [many characters were highly reputed members of society, from judges to doctors] there is always a darker side.
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The Daily Princetonian
Thursday December 7, 2017
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A Review of Some of the World’s Weirdest Delicacies Santiago Aguirre Contributor ‘18
When I was little, my dad used to tell me several stories about my grandpa’s time in the Army, but one stuck with me the most. Sometime in the 1940s, he was helping two tribes negotiate peace in the mountain ranges of Oaxaca. After a few weeks of negotiations, the two factions reached an agreement and planned a celebratory banquet. My grandfather, as negotiator, was the guest of honor and received the first plate of food. Much to his surprise, the main course he was offered turned out to be cooked monkey brains and other assorted organs. Not wanting to take the risk of insulting the hosts and destroying the work he and the heads of the tribes had achieved, he dug into his food. He was bedridden for the next week … You may be asking, “What are you getting at?” Well, I love food, and food, much like life, is full of diversity. This diversity might include certain dishes that some of us brought up in the Americas, or anywhere else, might not understand. Here are some that I or my family have had the opportunity to try:
Number 1: Caviar A lot of people like fish. You can fry it, grill it, and stew it, but it has always blown my mind that someone saw their eggs and thought, “Oh, I bet those slimy marbles are tasty.” The first thing I heard about caviar was when I was watching a James Bond movie, and a defected Soviet general was musing about how caviar and champagne was a perfect combo. After asking my parents what it was and how expensive it was, I quickly lost hope I would ever
Number 3: Mexico’s penchant for spiced bugs My home country has its fair share of dishes that are weird to outsiders, like corn smut in quesadillas, but what takes the cake is our loving relationship with frying or cooking maguey worms and crickets with spices over a fire. I remember it wasn’t
Image courtesy of Santiago Aguirre
try it. Flash forward to my Russian thanksgiving: I was staring down a plate of it. Being a bit too awkward to politely reject the offer, I added a small bit to the croutons that accompanied it. The first bite was a pleasant surprise; the slight saltiness of it offset by some cream cheese was great. After the fact, I told my friend’s dad that it was in fact the first time I’d ever tried anything like that. He just smiled and replied, “Well, now you know.”
Image courtesy of Santiago Aguirre
until I was 11 years old that I finally mustered enough courage to try gusanos de maguey (worms foraged from agave plants) and chapulines (chili fried crickets), but once I did, I never looked back. Plop them on a tortilla and add some guacamole, lime, and salt, and you’ve got a combination of flavors almost as old as the Aztecs
Number 2: Deep fried anything My brother experienced this one when he was abroad in China. Whether this is done anywhere else, I don’t know. One day, he was walking through a market near Beijing and he caught glimpse of an interesting street stand. On this stand were several skewers, but these skewers didn’t have shrimp, fruit, or diced meat on them. The skewers were made up of fried spiders, seahorses, a few other creepy crawlies, and chicken. After
Number 4: Guinea pig While not necessarily as weiWhile not necessarily as weird as spiders, crickets, or fish eggs, you can’t help but think of guinea pigs as a weird thing to eat. That is, unless you are from South America. Called “cuyo” in Spanish, guinea pig is served roasted or broiled and reportedly tastes like rabbit
Image courtesy of Santiago Aguirre
taking mental note of where the stand was located, my brother left. A few months later, having worked up the courage to try the weirdest stuff possible before he left, my brother approached the stand, and, in broken Chinese, requested a skewer with a spider, a seahorse, and a scorpion. I asked my brother what it tasted like, and he replied that it wasn’t all that bad, saying it was close to the consistency and taste of a potato chip, but that he probably would not crave it anytime soon.
Image courtesy of Santiago Aguirre
— if my parents are to be believed. So these are some of the weirdest things my family and I have ingested through the years. What weird things have you or people you know eaten through the years?
Dismantling the Summit Lucy Chuang Contributor ‘21
The two scenes are almost identical: both take place in the aftermath of slam poetry, surrounded by smoky blacklight and boxed-in-bodies trembling to the rhythm of words, sounds, memories, and feelings. Scene One: Atlanta, Georgia The Java Monkey coffee shop on the outskirts of the city streets
hosts an open mic night every Sunday evening, with men and women of different cultural backgrounds, occupations, and experiences sharing love ballads and rants with an audience of hungry listeners. I was an awkward fifteen year old sitting on the outskirts of the crowd, gawking at the stories pouring out of the mouths of enraged schoolteachers and weary wives, all stepping up to a dim stage and giving raw testimonies. I can remember standing in awe of the giants who raised
the timbre of their voices, exploring humanity in the form of words. No topic was untouched — political statements against the president, experiences with police brutality, growing up in a single-parent household, rejection, loss, betrayal, forgiveness. Each concept was carefully articulated and breathlessly released on a stage built on the foundation of courage. This was my first experience with spoken word. Scene Two: Princeton, New Jersey
Image courtesy of Lucy Chuang Spoken Word Poetry in the WIlson Blackbox tried to dismantle the issues on Princeton students’ minds
The Wilson Blackbox houses a cozy theater, the perfect alcove for the intimacy of spoken word. This time, the faces of my fellow peers shine with the yellow undertone of stage lights as we all sit facing ten of the Songline slam poetry group’s members. The show is titled “No Reservations,” promising a cacophony of emotions and unfiltered expressions. It doesn’t disappoint. From the very beginning, pictures of cast members Sena Cebeci ’19, Sam Schultz ’19, David Exume ’19, Edric Huang ’18, Kathleen Ma ’18, Lavinia Liang ’18, Sara Howell ’20, Savannah Du ’18, Alex Kim ’21, and Mariah Wilson ’18 line the walls outside, all standing with unique expressions on their faces. We begin with a program including pieces titled “Chew,” “Smokey the Bear: Too Smokey to Bear,” “Missed Call,” “Open (Up),” “Smokey the Bear: Home Fire,” “3 O’Clock!,” “When the Red Light Flashes,” and “FTS.” The crux of each poem is stunningly different: themes range from social issues in the workplace to the everyday excuses college students make for replacing real relationships and promises to a missed call from an ex-lover, to moments slipping through fingertips. However, “When the Red Light Flashes” and “FTS” surprise me in the best possible way, taking a different course from the poems I’ve heard before.
Cut to “When the Red Light Flashes” and you’ll find a completely personal poem accompanied by a poet who uses hand motions to emphasize movement. The poem recounts the tale of two highly complex relationships: one between a father and son, and one between a boy and the girl he loves. Red like her eyes, red like the stoplight, red like the sirens of police cars approaching a house … red like love and loneliness. Cut to the final piece of “No Reservations” and you’re hit with something that’s rare in a slam poetry performance: coinciding narratives. “FTS” is unabashed and unapologetic: it utilizes two layered voices to talk about experiences learned at Princeton, ranging from formalities in administration to class course loads. The most important message of “FTS,” and of many of the poems presented by Songline, can be summed up with the line, “I’d rather dismantle the summit than get to the top of it.” “No Reservations” goes for the systems we all become chained by, the numbers we become obsessed with. Just like the perspectives I was first exposed to back home in Atlanta, the perspectives of Princeton poets encouraged listeners to think beyond just becoming a boss and toward dismantling the summit.
The Daily Princetonian
Thursday December 7, 2017
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A WICKED CHRISTMAS The Perfect Day in New York City
Aishwarya KalyanaramanContributor ‘21
Escaping the confines of the Orange Bubble is always exciting, and even more so when the destination happens to be your favorite city. This past Sunday, I decided to take advantage of Princeton’s suspiciously cheap Broadway tickets and went to see “Wicked” in New York City. My day began with a rather hectic (but entirely predictable) start, as I woke up at a prompt 10:35 a.m. and was supposed to be at the Wawa parking lot at 10:45 a.m. Given my extensive experience with waking up ten minutes before class in high school, I remained quite calm, answered all of my friends’ panicked phone calls with ease, and began to make myself look slightly presentable. I hustled over to the Wa, realizing that I had unfortunately missed out on an extra half-hour of sleep, as the bus wasn’t scheduled to leave for another thirty minutes. After arriving in the city, we headed to a cute cafe, and I was immediately amused at the West Coasters’ eagerness to try a New York bagel, speaking as though it was a rare delicacy. As someone who grew up in New Jersey, it was definitely interesting to see how excited people were about seeing their first Broadway show and getting to finally see the city during Christmas. It made me re-appreciate the many wonders of the Big Apple. We sat down at the Gershwin Theater, and my friend embarrassingly began explaining the story of “The Wizard of Oz” to me, as I’ve never read it. Our conversation about who “Oz” was and what the “Emerald City” was elicited many confused reac-
tions from the people sitting around us, but I’d like to think that my lack of knowledge gave me a fresh perspective on the musical. In reality, it just led to me being lost during much of the performance. During intermission, one of my friends asked how I was liking the show, to which I responded, “I’m just a bit confused as to who’s good and who’s bad.” She laughingly said that that was the entire point of “Wicked,” so I guess I wasn’t too out of the loop. Despite my lack of background knowledge, I can still say that the performance was absolutely superb. Amanda Jane Cooper’s portrayal of Glinda, or “Ga-linda with a Ga,” as an absurdly ditzy blonde was so amusing that it was perhaps my favorite part of the show. The musical talent was of course mesmerizing, and as someone who considers herself musically-challenged, I sincerely admired and appreciated the performers’ abilities. I was also highly impressed by the set design, and found the mechanical Oz head to be one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen in a show, even though I admit it was a bit terrifying at first. After heading out of the theater, we decided to walk to Rockefeller Center since one of my friends from California had never seen the famed Christmas tree before. We joined the swarm of tourists, and while we were taking our cute Christmas-y photos, I realized how much I missed coming to New York during the holidays. Whether it was seeing the magnificent Christmas tree for the first time, coming to New York with new friends, or simply learning the story of “The Wizard of Oz,” this trip away from the Orange Bubble was full of exciting moments, and undoubtedly a great way to begin the countdown to winter break.
Image courtesy of The Segerstrom Center for the Arts The hit broadway musical Wicked is a different take on the magical Land of Oz
Image courtesy of Aishwarya Kalyanaraman Aishwarya ‘21 went to New York City recently to experience broadway for herself
THIS WEEK ON THE SEXPERT:
UTIs Dear Sexpert, Help! I think I have a UTI – when I woke up this morning and went to the bathroom, there was a burning sensation when I peed, and now I feel like I have to go to the bathroom constantly. What can I do to treat the UTI I have now and prevent getting one again in the future? --Toilet Tormented Dear Toilet Tormented, I’m sorry to hear you’re in pain! Urinary tract infections, or UTIs, certainly aren’t fun. However, they are easily treated and quite preventable, so you are asking the right questions! UTIs are bacterial infections of the urinary tract (most commonly the urethra and bladder), but severe infections may spread to the kidneys as well. To prevent this spread, it is important to see a doctor as soon as symptoms arise to get treatment. Symptoms include a persistent urge to urinate, a burning sensation when urinating, and only being able to urinate small
amounts. Unusual looking urine, including urine that is cloudy, off-colored (red, pink, or brown), and strong smelling is also a sign of infection. Pelvic pain can also occur in more severe cases. They are most common in individuals with female genitalia, as the urethra is closer to the anus and the bladder. However, the same symptoms and treatment plan are appropriate for individuals with male genitalia. A diagnosis is usually confirmed with a bacterial culture - which just requires urinating in a cup, like a normal doctor’s visit. A prescription of antibiotics should clear the infection in about a week or more. Symptoms usually go away within a couple of days, but remember to continue taking the antibiotics for the prescribed amount of time! Drink plenty of fluids, especially water, to flush out the bacteria. It is a common misconception that drinking cranberry juice treats or prevents UTIs. Only antibiotics can cure them, and although for most people there does not seem to be harm in drinking cranberry juice, there is no conclusive evidence that it helps with this type of infection. To alleviate pain, avoid drinks with caffeine, alcohol, or citrus, which can irritate the bladder,
and a heating pad on the abdomen can help with discomfort. A medication called Penazopyridine can also be taken to alleviate symptoms, but this is not a treatment and it is not a substitute for antibiotics. It is sold over the counter at pharmacies but first check with your prescribing healthcare provider about any interactions it might have with the antibiotics or any other medications you are taking. Also, try not to be alarmed if it makes your urine turn bright orange—that is a common side effect! Going forward, there are several steps you can take to prevent UTIs. After using the bathroom, wiping from front to back is the best way to prevent the movement of bacteria towards the urethra. Urinating after sexual activity involving the vagina or penis is also crucial for flushing out bacteria from the urethra. Using a diaphragm (contraceptive dome-shaped cup you insert into the vagina to prevent semen from entering the uterus during penilevaginal sex) can also lead to infection, as it should be used with spermicide to be most effective. If you are a diaphragm user who is prone to frequent UTIs, it might be worth considering a different birth control method. Finally, irritating
products with fragrances, such as douches or feminine washes or deodorizing sprays, can contribute to inflammation and infection; when cleansing your genital area, use only gentle, fragrance-free soap. Make an appointment at McCosh Health Center to diagnose your symptoms and if necessary, get you started on treatment. Armed with this knowledge, you should be able to prevent these uncomfortable infections in
the future! ~The Sexpert Information regarding Urinary Tract Infections provided by the Mayo Clinic Website. For more advice from The Sexpert, visit thesexpert. princeton.edu. To submit a question, email The Sexpert at sexpert@princeton.edu.
The Daily Princetonian
Thursday December 7, 2017
Continued from Page 1 You were very deliberate in creating this “accusatory rectangle” toward the end of the show, where each character in turn was accused of being the murderer U.N. Owen. Yes, the ‘accusatory rectangle’ moment would have been difficult with the ten characters because having too many accusations flying around chaotically would be hard to visualize and less powerful. I try to throw suspicion onto each character throughout the play. In the first act, Ethel acts with animosity towards all the ‘rich people’ that she has to serve, making her a murder suspect because of her vindictiveness, but then she dies. In the second act, Emily is an ultra-religious woman that hates young people. She acts suspiciously when she refuses to deny her murderous past. Her conversations with Vera makes her seem like a cold-hearted killer. But then she dies. At the beginning of Act 3, where the “accusatory rectangle” happens, I’m trying to create this “rectangle of suspicion” within a rectangular space, between the four characters left. I wanted to play with the idea of space throughout this play: the space of enclosure - condensed into
a rectangle on stage, a circle on the poster, a line invading the audience’s dimension and eventually a dot - is not a backdrop for this murder mystery but a constant participant, and a mirror of the characters’ psyche. Indeed, each confrontation emerges naturally as a result of plot developments. Now can you tell us about the ending? In the Agatha Christie version, Wargrave kills everyone in the guest house and later confesses it on a sheet of paper. Here, though, he is killed by Lombard. Lombard then reunites with Vera, but Lombard ends up shooting Vera, and then shooting himself. A lot of the audience came knowing the plot of the original text, so I wanted to do a version that was not a repetition of the book. The charm of a murder mystery lies in the uncertainty, in the fact that you don’t know what will happen next. The ending started with ten seconds of seagulls as the couple looked out to the sea... And then they realize there’s no boat and they’re not leaving the island. Yes, there were 10 seconds of silence when the two gazed at the sea, with sounds of seagull circling in the background. I initially conceived it as a reference to Chekov’s play Seagull which also ends with a tragic suicide, but probably no one would pick up on that [laughing]. We did no more
than 10 seconds so that people wouldn’t start clapping. The seagulls also gave a false sense of peace—maybe, just maybe, this would end happily ever after—but the seagulls, with their freedom to fly and escape from the island, remind the audience that the young couple is trapped with no boat in sight and no way out. And the final scene before blackout features Vera lying flat on the ground, and Lombard standing straight above her, holding the gun to his head: a vertical line that is about to collapse upon the horizontal, a cross that denies any possibilities of salvation. Then blackout. One last gunshot. A sort of double erasure. And there is this sense that Lombard is enacting a sort of justice. He and Vera couldn’t go on as if they were innocent. They had each killed someone. It would be naive for the two to end up together. Their relationship started with flirtation and lust. As the plot progressed, they bonded out of the dire circumstances, but these bonds were precarious. It’s not like Hunger Games—I was thinking about a happyever-after Hunger Games version but the contestants in Hunger Games, at least Katniss, know what they’re gonna face and even make the conscious choice to face it. Here, Vera and Lombard are thrown into this situation and forced to face their unspeakable pasts.
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After Lombard pointed his gun at Vera and Vera shot Lombard, there’s no going back, and no way out. Speaking of the couple, Vera’s character was really well done. The actress, Michelle, really fit the role. There was that one moment when Ms. Brent dies, but the audience doesn’t know it yet [because she remains upright sitting in the chair, facing away from the audience], but then Vera bursts out reciting the death [of the 3rd Indian] in the poem with hysterical laughter. How much did you write the characters according to the actors? I wrote the adaptation before we cast roles, but we worked on that scene a lot. In order to get an accurate feel, the whole cast watched ten
Youtube videos featuring “insane laughter” and then practiced. It was fun. We wanted to figure out exactly what kind of hysteria Vera was undergoing. Under extremely tense moments, people will break into laughter. But what kind of laughter is this? Also I was considering Vera’s physical relationship with Lombard at this moment. He reaches over to comfort her; she simultaneously rejects his physical comfort by pushing him away and accepts his comfort by clinging to him in a sort of bipolar way. It represents the ambiguity of their relationship. Yes, the very instinctive human desire for protection and connection, and its futility.
Images courtesy of Princeton Chinese Theatre
ACCLAIMED DANCER DAVID HALLBERG VISITS PRINCETON Anoushka Mariwala Contributor ‘21
“I remember what it feels like to dance. To move so freely that my body releases and creative intuition takes over, leading me beyond the worry of executing technique to a realm where nothing exists but the movement, the music, the emotions. I miss those memories of freedom, but they are embedded in my mind and my body. I can replay them whenever I wish.” Thus begins dancer David Hallberg’s poignant memoir A Body of Work, a cathartic volume where he retraces his childhood, grapples with his ambition as a Principal Dancer at both the American Ballet Theater and the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow, and struggles to realign his goals after an injury at the peak of his career. Hallberg’s novel is incredibly self-aware, and it came as no surprise that he exhibited the same candid frankness while addressing an intimate gathering on Nov. 30 at Cargot Brasserie, a cozy reception that preceded his conversation with Tina Fehlandt. The event was presented by Princeton Tonight in conjunction with the Office of the Dean of Undergraduate Students. In regard to his injury, Hallberg stated, “Riding high, all you can do is crash and burn.” He suggested that he was pushing himself too
hard leading up to the lifechanging injury. One “totally botched surgery” and a team in Australia helped him to understand that the human body is an “instrument that teaches itself to heal.” He acknowledged that he had “no concept of what was too much” and “learnt the hard way,” continuing on to describe his physiotherapy in Australia. For the first four months, he recounted, the doctors didn’t even look at his ankle, but rather, focussed on “building a support system for the ankle” by strengthening and conditioning the rest of his body. “At the beginning, it can be really slow, but then you hit a point where you can go into the studio and just do things.” Hallberg’s face broke into a smile, he gestured to emphasise his words — it was clear that he was still amazed at the magic that the human body is capable of. Hallberg is incredibly optimistic in relation to this injury, which unfortunately forced him off stage at the peak of his dance career. He introspected out loud, more addressing himself than the audience: “It’s the best thing that ever happened to me. It was only when I relinquished control that I started to get back up and really improve.” He continued on to enthuse, “Now I love saying no!” and elucidating how the injury has not made him less ambitious, but rather, has allowed him to channel his ambition in a healthier way: made it “more
human” and “less ego-filled” than before. Now, his definition of happiness includes “being satisfied with what is in [his] life and not craving the next thing.” The professional ballet world, however, is nothing if not competitive. It was incredible to see how Hallberg’s time away from the stage allowed him to view this world from both the inside and the outside, therefore generating utterly unique insight. A conversation peppered with candid humor (“I love some Taylor Swift”) and introspection about how
Image courtesy of Princeton Tonight
dance was more than just technique (“In the age of Instagram, it isn’t good enough to just get your toes to touch your ears anymore”), took a more political turn as he recounted his experiences in Russia. To him, it is a country where dance is ingrained in the country’s culture, where dancers like Hallberg are treated like celebrities, and there is a collective commitment to valuing the arts. This, he said, is in stark contrast to the culture back in America, where dance is treated as but a hobby, and the performing arts are unfortunately almost entirely alienated from daily life. Continuing with that very strand, Hallberg emphasised the growing importance of the arts in today’s political climate to his enraptured audience in the new
Image courtesy of Princeton Tonight
Hearst Theater. Artists, he stated, “have a responsibility to keep feeding art and making statements,” especially in challenging times. He described art as a form of escapism, suggesting that “politics aside, people would continue to go to the theatre to see something, whether It’s beautiful or challenging, just as a way of turning off.” I, for one, plan to escape to the Metropolian Opera House to watch Hallberg’s re-entry to the stage in Giselle this coming spring, a day which, coincidentally or not, also happens to be his birthday. Seems like the perfect way for this extraordinary, incredibly introspective dancer to enter the next stage of his life, for which we wish him all the very best!