I went to review The Sweepers, at the International City Theater in Long Beach and my first thought came about fifteen minutes into the play. “Why does this play exist?” It was a miracle my mind was quiet for that long. But I realized later it was hard at work for those fifteen minutes. It was searching for something while I was dumbly enjoying the pretty set. I dismissed the buzzing fly that was my mind several times before I began to swat at it (internally of course). Another part of my mind said “Listen to the part the you’re about to swat.” I swear all this went on in my head. I thought I better listen to both of these thoughts because maybe my mind was trying to communicate with me (duh). Like a game. It asks a question and I have to find the answer. The cumulative effect of this game would be that I had an interesting experience. Some doctor’s might categorize that as schizophrenic or something else along the lines of mental illness. I like my mind so doctor’s be damned, I decided to trust it and play the game.
I paid close attention to the author’s words. I searched for a poetic undercurrent of meaning and symbolism in every phrase. I absorbed every actor’s move and inflection trying pick up a stroke of genius or at least a glimpse of great. I asked myself “why does this play exist?” But nothing in the performances or writing clued me into the answer. Was I stumped at the hands of my own mind?! No. I couldn’t be stumped. I’m smarter than myself. It was the play that was off somehow. The only clue I had was the question I posed to myself “Why does this play exist?”
These things (plays) exist for various reasons. Usually a great story needs telling which illuminates the human experience in unexpected yet recognizable ways. Sometimes a character is so interesting they need a vehicle to exist in. Maybe a group’s journey through a particularly intense set of circumstances warrants a story to be written. Often times a playwright has a great wound to heal with their play. When any of these are the seed a decent looking plant usually springs forth. Depending on how good a gardener the playwright is the play can be anywhere from a mediocre dandelion to a great towering oak. If a seed is pure then no matter how well or poorly crafted a play may be it will have heart. A great story has heart even when told horribly.
An interesting character is interesting because there is heart behind the bells and whistles of characterization. When a group survives a harrowing experience it’s a triumph of the human heart and spirit that makes us cry. The Sweepers is missing it’s heart. That’s right I said it. This play has no heart. I had to look through the program and read the notes on the playwright to find the answer to my question “WHY DOES THIS PLAY EXIST???” There in the fine print was all I needed to know. This play exists because it ” was commissioned by the National Italian American Foundation to foster positive representations of Italian American Life ” A noble cause for sure, but no spring board for the high art of story telling.
The performances were good enough and the set was nice. The writing was technically proficient. But everything hung on a frame work that was warped by a committee’s agenda. Good performances and a nice set aren’t enough to make an afternoon with the blue hairs worth my while. Not that blue hairs aren’t wonderful people. They support the arts more than non blue hairs. But if I give up my Sunday afternoon give me some damn heart in the play I’m seeing!
Sure great works of art have been commissioned by different committees and governments before. I think a great deal of wonderful art throughout all time has been at the request of someone with an agenda. So what then? Do I call into question Playwright John C. Picardi’s ability to take an agenda and craft a staggering work of beauty and power? Sure I’ll do that. I think the situations were contrived and the resolutions were mediocre. The art of storytelling takes a certain purity to do it well. It’s our greatest art form and is the most sensitive to pollution. Just think of propaganda films and how obvious and un-engaging they are. This was a mild work of propaganda and as such was no great work of art despite the awards and inclusions in “Best Plays of two thousand and whatever” books.
The thoughts we have about whatever we’re involved with make up a large part of our experience. When seated in a dark theatre we have our eyes and our ears and our thoughts. We’re immobile and quite with the exception of laughter, gasps, and slight shifting in our seats. Our thoughts are the most active part of our experience until a story reaches it’s peak and we suddenly realize our hearts are deeply involved. When this delicate growth of a story into our minds and hearts is interrupted because people have polluted the water that feeds the fertile field of a writer’s mind our experience suffers. All the cheap laughs and melodramatic writhing of the characters won’t make up for the wicked and honest thoughts that dance through our heads. Those that have the power to control our thoughts and hearts must remember that when they set out to do so.
FINAL THREE PERFORMANCES:
Thurs, 7/3 and Sat, 7/5 at 8:00 PM
Sun, 7/6 at 2:00 PM
(no performance July 4)
Thurs: Orchestra - $37Â Â Â Â Loge - $32
Sat/Sun: Orchestra - $42Â Â Â Â Loge - $37
Buy Tickets Online or call the Box Office at 562.436.4610
Review By Dutch K.
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