Author: Christy DeSmith

Fishtank: n. a diffuse, silent comedy ostensibly done in the
spirit of Buster Keaton and Jacques Tati. I couldn’t help but make comparisons
to Play Time, my favorite Tati flick (I just re-watched the restaurant scene
last week). This was Tati’s all-out screed on modernist architecture, if you’ll
recall. In my mind, the physical acting is less funny than the extremist
perspectives of the filmmaker. Tati goes to great, comic lengths (and toes the
line of tedium) to illustrate his disdain for contemporary architecture and its
sullying effect on the Parisian streetscape. Now, to make my point here: I’m
not the sort of theatergoer who demands a message, or even a point, from the shows
I see. Nor do I require a cohesive narrative arc (although I do happen to
believe that story is inherent to the best art). However, this show is
something else–lacking in both perspective and narrative.

The basic premise: examining the little obstacles and comedies
in our mundane, everyday existences. But there were only two instances in which I,
as an audience member, recognized something in the situations: one performer (Nathan
Keepers) encountered a few problems when passing through an airport metal detector,
which was played to great comic effect and ended up being the show’s highlight;
another performer (Dominique Serrand) got stuck on the phone in voice mail hell.
Man, I’ve been there. But other than that, the situations were too obscured to breed
familiarity–or, for that matter, any emotional investment in these characters.
And it’s pretty, damn boring to watch a show that’s inhabited by people you
could give a rat’s ass about.

It’s got to be said: Jeune Lune has a history of omitting the
playwright from its creative process. In fact, I believe their adaptations of
operas and classic texts have succeeded because of the built-in storylines.
Plus, the company demonstrates reverence for their preferred dead
scribes (Shakespeare, Molière). But their "ensemble-created" work, in my
opinion, has often been diffuse, disjointed, lacking in any sort of thread, too pleased with itself, and therefore emotionally
isolating (bear in mind here: I wasn’t around for the benchmarking Yang Zen
Froggs).

I "get" the clown thing. But the key to succeeding, as a
clown, has always been to cultivate an alliance between audience and performer.
In other words: The two of us ought to be in on this joke together. For
whatever reason, I wasn’t invited to attend this joke. In fact, by the end of
the night, the only thing that was clear to me about these characters was this:
They’re awfully enamored of their own cuteness.

So, the gloves are off. But before I dispense with my final criticism,
I suppose I ought to make the disclosure I always make when writing about Jeune
Lune: I used to work there, in administration. I have no lingering
hostilities. I liked the job. Many of my most memorable theater-going
experiences were at Jeune Lune. I want to see this company succeed. But of
course, I was sad to see some of my favorite people (to say nothing of their
artistries) leave the company, in 2006.

My final point on Fishtank: Jennifer Baldwin Peden’s
character–the sole woman (it felt somewhat like watching the Smurfs)–speaks baby-talk. Also, she seemed to be costumed as a Japanese schoolgirl. So,
obviously, there’s a huge difference between finding one’s inner idiot/clown and
infantilizing the sole female character. For many women, I’m afraid, there’s
nothing funny about watching a grown woman behave and be treated as a precious, little six-year-old.

When was the last time you entered a Wilson’s? For me, it’s been a while. But the
trip that’s forever etched in my memory goes all the way back to junior high.
My sister had just scored a cool Michael Jackson Thriller-style red
windbreaker. Not wanting to be outdone, I commenced to scour the shopping mall for my own status jacket.
Eventually I settled on a black suede bomber from Wilson’s that had a lil’ feminine flourish: a
tiny puff at each shoulder (the closest approximation of a Juliet sleeve that
can be done in buckskin, mind you). All that remained was begging poor mom to shell
for the modest pricetag, which she happily did. "You’ll have this coat for a long
while," is what she said, the foolish thing.

Of course, subsequent visits to the store, years and years later, proved
disappointing. But rather than trash this local "heritage" retailer (the Strib
sez it’s been around since 1899), I’ll merely point out that it failed to
fulfill our expectations for such businesses. Consider the example of, say, Duluth
Pack, another centenarian company (sine 1882) that, rather than get greedy and
try to mass-market its products, concentrated on steadily crafting their
simple, quality line of luggage, sacks, and bags–all of which are united by a
singular rough-hewn aesthetic. Meanwhile, Wilson’s
knocked off every which department-store trend in leather coats and
accessories. Plus, I noticed they use really shitty buttons. "Disposable" is
how I later came to regard my sole Wilson’s
possession, and I don’t suppose that’s an enviable position for a leather
jacket.

It’s not surprising, then, that the business is starting to
tank. Still, it’s always a shame when jobs are lost–especially Minnesota jobs!