Clairvoyant Considerations

On the surface, there was no reason for anyone to come. The play was a series of monologues based on the headlines from tabloid newspapers—not exactly the stuff of Shakespeare—performed by amateurs with barely any time to practice. The production space was terrible—a cavernous marble ballroom with three story ceilings which also houses the internet café of the International Zone. There wasn’t any proper lighting, and we all had to wear Madonna stage mikes (I’ll upload a picture when I get on a better computer) in order to be heard over the chatter of all the other activities taking place simultaneously in the room. However, even a clairvoyant would have been surprised at the reception our little play got during its four night “run” last month. Just as a reminder for those who haven’t not read all the entries, my piece is about a reluctant clairvoyant coming to terms with all the havoc the power has wreaked in her life, and the fact that her own death, which she has foreseen, is just a few weeks away. Click the link from the title to this entry to see a story about our productino that ran in a US paper!

All four nights the chairs in front of our stage were full, and often people from the rest of the room would turn and listen. At least during my part this was true. I only sat through the entire performance on the last night. This isn’t because I pulled a diva and only showed up for my bit. Instead, to calm my nerves, and convince myself that I had, in fact, learned all of my lines, I spent the first act pacing the hall behind the stage going over the lines. Since my piece was so long (30 minutes in total), it usually took the entire first half. I opened the second half…probably a good idea to put my piece immediately after a coffee break. Since we had never rehearsed on the stage itself, the first night was our first chance to try out our blocked movements. I added a few things on the fly, including going down into the audience to demonstrate my ability as a palm reader, and it worked so well, the movement stayed in the entire time.

The reaction has been mixed, as one might expect from a play with such a theme. The humor is subtle, and perhaps it was a strategic mistake, given the audience, to open with a monologue that pokes fun at the failings of the military industrial complex! Generally, I have been complimented on my delivery, but perhaps those who did not like it were gracious enough not to stop me to explain my shortcomings. Since we all share an email system, a number of people immediately went back to their desks and shot off an email to me, which is nice, although bordering on stalking a bit, especially when they continue to send emails every morning. I know I was not that good. My immediate supervisor came opening night, and the next day at work, she said something along the lines of, “Maybe you should reconsider your career.” Although clearly meant as a compliment, she is the type of woman who never really says thing with the right rhythm and tone—not an American by birth, English is actually her third language. It came out sounding more like a back-handed way of saying, “Your current job is not really for you!”

The attention has been fun, and always unexpected. I have taken to going to the gym every morning at 5:15 am. Sitting in a daze one morning on a weight machine, I suddenly see a hand in front of me. I look at the owner of this hand, don’t recognize the face, and think, “Does he need help? Do I need help?” I figure it is just an awkward introduction in a gym so I shake the guy’s hand. He laughs, and says, “What do you see?” A week later, I am at an Iraqi bakery, crowded with locals bargaining prices, when I get tapped on the shoulder. A high-ranking officer in the Italian army, surrounded by heavily armed escorts, has made the effort to come to me and tell me how enjoyable my performance was—hand kissing included! People come to the public service window, and start nervously giggling when they look up from their paperwork and see my face looking back, repeat back a favorite line. Again, I chalk this up not to such an incredible performance, but the novelty of the production amidst the monotonous life that plagues us all in Baghdad.

After the last performance (which was taped…someday I’ll torture you with a viewing), we were all presented with certificates of appreciation for significant and meaning contributions to “morale, welfare and recreation”, and were thrown a cast party. I’ve enjoyed people’s reaction, both the positive and the less than enthusiastic. More importantly, though, I met nine really great people, got out of my own head for a few months (at least during rehearsals), and felt like I added something to the history of this place. Perhaps Saddam’s antics in the various offices and ballrooms of this palace could be considered live theater, but I would guess that most people didn’t choose to listen to him. I can say honestly that we did not coerce a single person to come…except perhaps our office colleagues, but mine sat in the front row, I distinctly saw them laughing, which I could not have compelled!