Language : part of the list of apparent traits that differentiate us from other hominins, shining glory on our apparently well developed cerebrums. Yet of what true value is it to our basal existence?
A few nights ago, I accompanied my aunt to the established Playhouse in town. We had received complimentary tickets and were most enthusiastic about watching Cinderella – but little did we know, we had received tickets for a much more Afro-New Realism styled theatrical spectacle entitled “Just 4 You”. We only realised this during the final call for the production as we read over our tickets and decided to be good sports and join in.
Now, I had previously seen posters advertising this work along street poles – they comprised of a bright yellow background with a triangular tableaux of African people: one female taking the apex, flanked by grinning males. It seemed a hearty comedy, and my naive mind assumed the work would be in English. How wrong was I.
The play showed a distinct amalgam of Brecht and New Realism : relaying both the internal and external environment of the set, whilst using characteristics of Epic theatre to distance the audience from becoming emotionally identified with the characters via songs, dance and verbal dynamics/body percussions at moments of tension. Whether this was deliberate or the result of a workshopped concoction gone wrong, I cannot say. What I can say, though, was how interesting it was to be the only person in the audience who did not understand 80% of what was being said.
Indeed, at times the characters launched into spasms of English, with soliloquies belonging to a certain character being almost as plastically pronounced as the set (a downtown area). Despite the poor singing and the tension evident in the performer’s body, there was something vividly real in the way sweat poured down their faces. There was an earthen truth to the way they spoke their tongues and I was forced to blush for my choice to study Afrikaans for the past 7 years.
Yet knowing the details of every word became unnecessary. I began to notice finer details that I would have neglected should I have been exposed to the old Realism styled theatre of Shakespeare. Every muscular movement became a tome to interpret, the pitch, pause and rhythm of speech became more important to me than the actual spoken word : I began to detach from the logistics of the speech and focus on the tangible performance before me. It became an appraisal of emotional depiction rather than the comedic weaving of many stories about the seedy past of individuals.
I began to understand this emotion in a manner sought out by the highly praised, original “Woza Albert” performers (Percy and Mbongeni), where the portrayal of an emotion or feeling takes precedence to the spoken word. I understood the disposition of a few of society’s fragments, not an isolated character telling of his tragedy.
It was then that I realised that the finite study of play texts has become subordinate to the physicality of performances in most instances of theatre seeking to portray New Realism in its methods. Furthermore, maybe in our everyday conversations we should begin to take special notice of how something is being said : note the use of facial muscle in response to words, analyse the dilation of pupils and see beyond what is being said. All in all, this is but a means to fortify the way we understand each other : elite cerebrum or not.
What I’m trying to say is this : note not only what is being said, but how. . . and sometimes, words aren’t the only way to convey a profound message.
PS
The play’s title had nothing to do with the actual work.
Best Line (that I heard in English) : How we look, is not how we think.
Haha, that kinda negates my entire blog post, but they were talking from a more literal stance : how people dress and act on the surface isn’t equated to what they think, but a poker face can sometimes betray a man.
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