Holy the rap gestures!

Here is what I emailed to Kelly Kleiman, regarding her great review of The Beats. I have one "But" I must respond to though, so I share my email to Kelly here:

You know I love to dialogue so here are my thoughts RE: "rap gestures"

This ain't no period piece. The whole point of the show was to see how these words would sound and feel in the mouth's of today's hipsters. These actors play themselves right now right here in Berwyn reading the words of The Beats from back then. Only once do we go nostalgic and attempt to "bring back the dead" when Adam reads The Railroad Earth in the tone, voice and style of Jack Kerouac. (Our little theatrical moment.) The rest of the time, they let the words influence their own selves. They are not trying to become Kerouac, di Prima, Baraka, Corso, Ginsberg. We are not trying to bring the audience back to the 1940s and 1950s, we are bringing these words of that time right into 2011. But with no tricks and no "updates".

The influences of today exist on stage including the wordle painted on the stage wall and the fact that the actors wear their own clothes. (which is amazing that their clothes of today fit right in!!)

I am rarely interested in going back and going period. Going period most often to me can feel inauthentic and just a bit phony.

Rap on and gesture freely!!!

Thanks so much for coming and for your review. I always love to hear your thoughts especially regarding women's roles. Holy Kelly Kleiman!

oops: actors names misspelled: John Taflan, Carly Ciarrocchi

Holy the dialogue!
Ann Filmer

About Poetry

This from Artistic Associate Kirsten D'Aurelio (lead in Menorca)

Ann,

Bravo on a really spirited and beautifully-staged production!

When you talked about the light switch, I thought of this Billy Collins poem. Is this the one you meant? I always read it to my Performance of Lit classes when we start the poetry unit.

Have a great run!

Peace,
Kirsten

Introduction to Poetry
by Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.