Theories of the Mind week 9

 

Please consider the play So Far So Good from a Jungian viewpoint.

An important issue for all forms of psychoanalytic reading of literary texts is that you cannot normally get the associations of the author with any symbolism in the text. For this play, you can. But it's very important that you should meet and discuss the play in small groups and form your own opinion as to what it's about. The play is what gets communicated, or understood, not what the author is trying to say.

Another issue for Jung as well as for Freud is the difference for the interpreter in dealing with work where the author has knowledge of psychoanalysis. As in this case...

 

introduction to the play

There is a Theatre company known as the Théatre de Complicité. Their style is based on collective improvisation. This production was based on their method.

The authors were given the basic plot (the Orpheus myth, the setting (by a canal) and an outline of the modern retelling) and asked to provide a close synopsis of the play. The actors took this and workshopped it, ie improvised round it; the authors then wrote a more detailed synopsis based on that improvisation. They also provided 'voices', to give the actors an idea of how the characters might sound and behave, and, on request, some scenes that didn't work in improvisation and needed scripting. This is the result:

 

So Far So Good

 

Misha and Miriam are in love. On their wedding night, she dies. He follows her to Hades, to try and get her back.

The play begins in a (real) café bar in the Jewellery Quarter, The Tarnished Halo, and the audience follow the actors out on to a canal towpath and then to a space under a huge railway bridge: Hades.

1. enter the bride.
We are outside The Tarnished Halo bar, the pavement thronging with wedding guests. A white Rolls Corniche draws up. Miriam gets out, dressed as a bride. The car door is opened by the Master of Ceremonies, who takes her by the hand and purposefully guides her through the crowd and downstairs into the function room where the music is already playing and the wedding banquet is set. The bride is excited, joyful; she greets individual guests as she makes her way through the crowd.

2. wedding celebration.
It's clear that we are in a wedding celebration; the groom is already downstairs and he greets her as arrives in the room; they embrace. They are in love and very excited. The wedding guests applaud, drink toasts, engage in backchat as the couple stare into each other's eyes, hold hands, look at the crowd, respond to the congratulations and jokes. However, the guests, in their jocular, slightly teasing, sentimental celebratory mode are, in the most subtle possible way, beginning to create behaviour that will emerge, later, as impish; expressed for instance in the way that they impose on the physical space of Miriam and Misha.

They are saying things that well-meaning people say at weddings. "Isn't she beautiful … you're a lucky man … your parents must be so proud." But they are also talking to each other, and this is slightly more claustrophobic and judgmental: "it's really time they settled down … he's going to have to get a proper job now … I hope there will be babies soon, that will sort out those arty ideas and show them what the real world is like." (Important to have that phrase, perhaps repeated: the real world: this play can be about depictions and versions of the real world). These are little pockets of conversation which Misha and Miriam overhear and begin to react to.

3. the speeches
The guests call for a speech from the best man. He begins one of those disrespectful, rather ribald best man speeches; the couple listen politely and appreciatively, wanting to share in what purports to be joy on their behalf, to conform; but their smiles become increasingly strained, and their physical appearance stiffer (perhaps a contrast here with joyous dancing earlier on): they are physically at ease with each other, in rapport, but becoming less so as the constraints of expectation start to take hold. This is a theme which, subtly suggested here, will become very explicit in the mock wedding in Hades (later).

Misha has to make a speech in return. He is embarrassed, because he is about to expose some of the intimacy of their communion together, to a crowd that clearly is in the wrong mood. He says, I am a painter, not a speechmaker. I want to show you my love for Miriam and my wonder at her music: I will do it with images, not with words. Shows the film. The crowd reaction is discordant, either sentimental 'ooh, aah, isn't that sweet' or coarse, ribald (don't overdo this: suggest it. You don't want the audience to laugh with the coarse laughter).

4. the film
What the film is about is Miriam's beauty and the way she inspires his art. It is a celebration of Miriam's beauty (physical appearance) and of Misha's attempts to capture it in paint, against a soundtrack of her singing. There should be a feeling of struggle here (he might say that in his introduction): he is looking for a way of expressing her and her art in paint, and it's difficult, he's attempting, not succeeding. This should prepare us for the fact that he's going to make the wrong choice later on. Basically his vision isn't big enough to match hers, or her. He does produce a painting, which is then unveiled: the painting is wonderful, captivating, but it isn't her. There is discordance in the relationship, right there. The guests are very taken by the painting, but their reactions, though strong, are wrong. The couple look at each other, but there is a certain desperation, this isn't going well.

5. Miriam's speech.
In this speech she has to take over the play, never to let it go again. Until now she has only been seen as constructed by others, the guests, Misha: the bride. And that is precisely the problem. She has to establish that she is in fact not a muse, not the object created by the male gaze, but a subject with enormous power who is limited and constrained not only by the depictions of her implicit in the reactions of the guests, but also as she is depicted by Misha's art, and by his love. She is realising that his love (like his art) fails to depict her. He can't see her: no-one can see her. None of this is explicit. All of it is suggested. This is not a feminist tract. It has to be done by acting. What is her beauty? It is that which prevents people from seeing her. She has real music inside her, huge, disconcerting, overwhelming.

She starts small. Thanks everyone, smiles prettily, makes a little joke. You can see how strong she is, how she is holding back here to be polite; her strength must be really evident, while remaining entirely female. This is the happiest day of my life (you can see her beginning to disbelieve it as she says it, and to be amazed that she doesn't believe it). Misha is my soul partner, it is so wonderful to be the subject of his art (she really doesn't believe this, she is being nice, and he knows it: the audience says, aaah). I will show my love for him the best way I can: I will sing. So, she sings, and the music gets bigger. His art fails and falls back, produces an image that is ultimately sentimental; her art fails forward, goes beyond, becomes vast, consumes and transcends its theme.

This is expressed visually in the way that the painting, which is still there, is upstaged by this person, this voice.

Stunned silence. Someone (the master of ceremonies?) tries to pull things back together again by calling for a dance. Relieved, all call for a dance. Music starts, very tinny in comparison with what we have just heard. Miriam stays still, central, commanding, realising now the tragedy of her situation.

6. death
A noise, a clash of cymbals or suchlike: a big noise. Silence: freeze, forming a tableau with Miriam who has remained still all along as the centre. Fade to black. Lights up, same tableau, but Miriam is shrouded and white faced, the guests are in mourning. Fade again to black. Lights up, just Miriam (the guests are sprinting along the canal to become imps) in exactly the same position, and Misha, and the failed painting. He looks at it, he looks at her; he weeps, he can't bear it. He should howl with grief, here, and slink away somewhere, defeated. She unfreezes, looks at the painting, and with absolute grief in her face, exits.

7. The path to Hades
She closes the door. A pause, then, bang! It opens and an imp sticks its head through. Big shock, change of tempo. The upside down world begins. The imp must get us out of the bar and on to the. Along the towpath there is a string of imps that she and we have to pass in order to get to Hades. They are strikingly dressed and covered in colour and lights. They each do a standup act, with Miriam, then with us. They tell her (and us, because it's not really clear yet) that she is dead and has to go to Hades. She is courageous, bewildered, terrified, full of grief at what she has lost: nothing makes sense. She is now in the upside down world, and this is what the imps are telling her. Nothing is certain any more (if you give up on conventional certainties, which is what her speech and song (almost in spite of herself: her art is more than her) have forced her to do, then things get very strange). The imps hassle and mock us into Hades. Important: Miriam has to get on to the other side of the river, but we mustn't follow her (obviously). The imps organise that: you can't go that way, you're not dead (are you?); live people this way, and so on.

Winding its way through the music and mockery, sometimes faint, sometimes stronger, is Miriam's song.

8. Hades
We go into the tunnel and emerge into the big archway. It is empty, except for music and some sort of light show. We look around and wonder. The imps arrive, and imp around a bit, preparing us for the entry of the King. He emerges from backstage, overwhelming, silent. Cloaked. Imps take it in turn to vanish into his cloak and pop out to be his voice: they use the third person 'ooh, he doesn't like that, you'd better not get him angry, he can be a bit difficult if he's angry' to express his wishes: he remains majestic and separate, imperious, extremely powerful.

Miriam says, where am I? Death, say the imps, you're dead. She says, that's impossible, I just got married. The imps say, wake up, smell the coffee. She comes to a horrified realisation that she really is dead and in Hades. Song stops. Defiantly, she tells the king that her beloved will come and find her, she knows he will; they cannot be separated. Everyone laughs uproariously (except the King), best joke they've heard for ages. He will, he will, she says, with a bit of uncertainty. They say, well, first he's got to get here, that's not so easy: can he swim? Then, when he gets here, he has to find you; that's not so easy either, this is the upside down world. You mean, she says, if he can get here and he can find me, then we can go back together? Oh yes, they chorus, with heavy irony, no problem at all, all he has to do is get here and find you.

9. Enter Misha
Enter Misha, on our side of the canal. Hades freezes into a tableau: Miriam at the centre, the King towering possessively and threateningly over her, imps imping it up. Misha reacts. She disappears into the cloak (maybe). Hades subsides, we are focussed now on our side of the canal.

Enter boatman on paddleboat, possibly with yellow rubber ducks. Comic interlude follows. The porter in Macbeth. Can you take me across? Yes. Will you? Not on your life, you're still alive. More than my job's worth. Threaten the structure of the universe. Don't even think about it. If you come, they'll all want to come too (indicating audience), it's not a very big boat you know.

Misha says, I'm looking for her; produces picture. It's the same picture as before: just the face. Boatman falls in love. Lend me your boat, and I'll give you the picture. Boatman entranced. (This is an ironic reference to the Orpheus theme, parodied: his art charms the ferryman). They change places. Misha clumsily paddles across, more comedy. Boat on a cord; after Misha disembarks, boatman pulls it back and paddles off, laughing, occasionally kissing the picture: Misha is stuck.

10. Misha in Hades
Subjected to impish upside down treatment. Spectacle, fire eating. Etc. Ok, you've got here, now all you have to do is find her. What he sees is three versions of Miriam. NB, they are identical. Identically dressed, identical build, each wearing a mask: the mask is the face of the painting. Misha is snookered by his own artwork. Despair. He chooses at random: wrong. Feeling of the three-card trick. Lots of movement. He is taking a chance. Fails. Laughter from imps: he has been tricked.

Miriam removes her mask: grief. he goes to touch her and can't, a glass wall. Enter king, big bang, blows them apart. The King's power is apparent. Misha is thrown to the ground, and just lies there.

10. Miriam and king
This is another big scene for her: she has to upstage Hades (not so easy…). She is mocked. We told you so. He doesn't love you, he can't recognise you. He has no idea who you really are. But I love him. I can't be separated from him, I will always be part of him, he will be part of me. King: I own him now, he failed. She says, I refuse: she says it, she sings it. The voice gets huge. It threatens the underworld, it is overwhelming. It is her power. (Ironic take on Orpheus: here it is the Eurydice figure who uses music to make a solution).

The king says, I will give you two choices. Either he goes back to life, and you will be forever parted, or he dies, and you are dead together, here. Which? Miriam can't choose. Misha chooses to stay. Willing to give up life and the futility of art to stay with his beloved. I will find the true Miriam in Hades, not in the world.

11 Mock wedding.
Rejoicing in the Underworld: the imps chorus "a wedding, a wedding!" Miriam is brought stiffly to a sort of half-life, in a cage-like wedding dress; Misha similarly has a cage-like formal outfit. The King dons a dog collar and becomes a gigantic Alan Bennett vicar; a parody wedding takes place, with an increasing tempo of riotousness. At the climax, the "I do" bit, the imps are all stamping their feet and shouting encouragement, "I do, I do" (like the trolls in Peer Gynt here).

Miriam stops it. Heartfelt cry: NO! Her love for him will not allow him to constrain himself in this way, she chooses life for him, and tells him to stop painting her and to paint his grief. Paint the grief and longing that is my soul. Paint the real me in the real world. Go. She sends him on his way poignantly and tenderly. Delicate leave-taking. They separate, the King in the middle, Miriam goes one way, Misha the other.

Lights up: the cold light of day. Hades turns into the bank of a canal. The feeling is that the play turns into realism, the real world; Hades vanishes and all that is left is Miriam beside the canal, Misha beside the canal, apart but not fully separated. They are balanced, one on each side of the set. Facing away from each other; each at exactly the same time turns back to look at each other. They do so because of the first note of some music, simultaneous with a splash of colour projected on to the wall. The music comes up, and art constitutes itself, amazingly, on the ceiling. It's huge, and the music comes to a huge equivalent presence. It's Miriam's theme, and his painting of her, transformed. It makes them look small and insignificant. They simply stand there, the art is much bigger than they are.

Fade to black. Actors bow, riotous applause. End.

Voices

Farai un vers de dreyt rien
Guilhelm IX (1071-1127)

I am before anything was. I am older than god. I am nothing at all. Before anything was thought of, was me. I am unstoppable: I am the facts. Nothing gets past me. I take no prisoners. Sometimes, I terrify myself.

Then, few moments ago, there was time. Shortly after, people started thinking things. And I found myself here. There I was, doing nothing (you think that's easy? Try it), being nothing, overwhelmingly nothing, calmer than mountains, bigger than galaxies, and then, out of nowhere (you can't imagine how wonderful nowhere is) came people, who immediately started to imagine me. And here I am. Under a fucking railway bridge. Surrounded with, crawling all over me, everyone's most entertaining nightmares.

I feel like a garbage disposal unit. I feel like a tip. Anything you don't like, here it comes. You flush the toilet: guess what? Right. Thanks very much.

The one thing I am not (I am absolutely everything else) is thoughts. I am empty of thoughts. I am richer than anything that you can possibly imagine, I am so empty of thoughts. I am the depths from which everything comes, into which everything goes, and I need me, and you need me, to get out of this place. Or any place.

Help me.

Why is true love like a fart in the night?
Why is true love like a fart in the night?
Because it means nothing at all.
Nothing at all, nothing at all,
because it means nothing at all.

People say, Miriam, Miriam, and I don't know how to answer. I do not know who is thinking these thoughts. I look inside, I look for myself, Miriam? Miriam? There is no reply. I love; yes, of course. I am in love. Look, now you can see me: that's Miriam, she's in love. That kind man, that beautiful man, that wonderful artist, he looks at me as no-one else can, with all of his talent: ah, now you can see me: that's Miriam, Misha loves her. She inspires him. What would he do without her. And look, they're getting married, everything is becoming a lot clearer. It almost seems real. Real, real, really real. When you love me, when you touch me, when your eyes create me, then I feel really real.

Except. When I sing, sometimes, when I call down into the depths where nothing is and out comes this sound, this big thing from nothing at all, then I don't feel real. I don't feel anything. All these feelings fall away, Miriam, Misha, love, talent, I am not, I am not. All there is is the sound, bigger than god, coming from god knows where.

Help me.

Sing me a song that's a non-event
won't pay the rent
isn't heaven sent
let me know you don't know what it meant
let me know it means nothing at all.
Nothing at all, nothing at all
let me know it means nothing at all.

I have this skill, in my hands, I can see with my hands. I don't talk so much, I am not a talker. I am a painter. I just let the hands do what they do. What they do is, they paint. I watch them as they work, watch these images come to life, these colours: I find them in the paint. I am always surprised. I don't know where the hands get it from, where they find what they find, or even much how they put it where they put it, on the canvas, up there in front of me. It's wonderful, what the hands do.

But they won't get her. You. Miriam. They won't do it. And so it means nothing at all, all this that they can do. I can paint flowers that look like flowers as god first imagined them. I can't paint her. I love you, I am nothing without you, I want nothing else but you, you are everything. I reach towards you with my hands, with my paint, and grasp and grasp: nothing.

Help me.

Paint me a picture with invisible ink
(it's not what you think, invisible ink)
paint me a picture that isn't pink
has no stink
the missing link
because it paints nothing at all.
Nothing at all, nothing at all
Because it is nothing at all.

Two scenes:

Miriam

I will not have this. I WILL NOT HAVE THIS! This is not enough. I will not accept this shadow-play, this lunacy, this idiot show. IT IS NOT ENOUGH! I have my voice. I have my love. I have my lover. We are more than this. We are much more than this. We will not accept this mockery, this shoddy pantomime. He will come for me. He will come and get me. My lover will find me, because this is NOT ENOUGH!

Ferryman

The Ferryman arrives in his dinghy, singing:

Ferryman
Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Death is but a dream

The Ferryman is a manic-depressive. He is a larger than life circus ringmaster who is prone to self-doubt. His bravado and panache are interrupted by a miserable anti-persona, an Eeyore: the critic. He bravely tries to overcome this doubting voice, but eventually it's all too much for him, and Eeyore takes over. This is the basic character: plenty of room for comic business, clowning, etc.

Ferryman leaps out of boat, with considerable panache. He is holding the oars, throughout: uses them as props.

Ferryman
Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, may I present: Myself. Who are you, I hear you cry? Only the most important character in this entire play.

--Job, call this a job? Back and forth, up and down, in this bloody silly plastic boat, I feel like a rubber duck.

Not only in the play: the most important person you'll ever meet in the whole of your life. Or death. Why? I hear you cry. Why? Because…

--Drifting along, no direction, no prospects, no chance of promotion. I wanted the big man's job. I could have done that. I could have made something of myself. Did they give it me? They just laughed. On yer boat they said, on yer boat.

(Loudly) BECAUSE… I'm the one who gets you from a to b, aren't I? Without me you'd be stuck on that side of the canal for the rest of your natural death. Er, wait a minute. You are dead, aren't you? (confidence starts to wane).

--Dead? Dead? They're obviously not dead. Well, most of them, anyway. Oh, no. This is a serious mistake. This is a clerical error of BIBLICAL proportions.

You must be dead. You wouldn't be here, if you weren't dead, would you (starting to lose it)--would you?

Deflates, all the bravado gone out of him, pleading now.

Misha steps forward out of the crowd.

Misha (intense, monosyllabic, single-minded)
Take me across. I have to get across now.

Ferryman gingerly takes his pulse; shock horror, he finds it. Misha maintains his integrity and intensity through this.

Ferryman
That's a pulse, that is. You're a clerical error. You're an aberration. I won't guarantee the rest of them, but you're a live one. Get out of here.

Misha (intense, determined)
You must take me across to that place. Now.

Ferryman (trying to get a grip)
Absolutely, completely, and utterly out of the question. No chance. You'll bugger up the atomic structure. Major entropic reversal, that's what'll happen. Armageddon. The end of death as we know it. And: they'll give me the sack.

Misha
Now: take me now.

Ferryman (he is shaken by this intensity; he tries another tack, to talk him out of it)
Why? It's a horrible place. Why do you want to go there?

Misha
My wife is there. My new wife: I married her today. It's not right that she is there and I am here.

Ferryman
Er, what universe have you been living in? Right? Right? You're a weird one, you are. What's the difference between her and all the other millions of ex-people?

Misha
Look: this is her.

Ferryman
Do you have any idea how many former persons I take across this river? Do you have any idea? Day in day out, eons upon eons, it's no life...

He sees the picture. Jaw drops. He is thunderstruck. His voice trails away. He is in love; he is completely and utterly transformed, just by looking at the picture. He could fall on his knees, maybe. Meaning has entered his life. He is entranced. This is not comic: this is his moment.

Misha (focussed, intense)
Take me across.

Ferryman (different voice: hypnotised)
Give me the picture.

Reaches for it. Misha holds it up; the ferryman shuffles forward on knees, reaches out for it. Drops oars. Misha allows him to take picture. Ferryman is entranced. Misha picks up the oars, paddles himself across, the Ferryman still entranced. Then wakes up, panics: he's lost his boat, falls back into self-doubt. Scrabbles in the water, finds the rope; frantically pulls boat back. Whew. Kisses picture, sets it where he can see it, and rows away.