REVIEW: Janaki Ranpura’s 'Ububu' and other conflicts of interest

In the past few months, I’ve had several discussions – formal and informal – about the inherent conflict of interest when a professional playwright reviews his own community. I bring this up in the context of Janaki Ranpura’s Ububu, because Janaki is a friend – and because she asked me to come to her show and review it. Does her request pose an ethical dilemma – and, if not, should it? A recent review of my new History Theatre musical was written by someone who invited me into her club of fellow music-theater librettists – I went to one meeting, but was both uninspired and too busy to keep to their schedule. Is it a coincidence that she not only mocked my lyrics, but specifically cited my book as taking a really good idea and mucking it up? Should she have recused herself because of our prior relationship? Can anyone be objective about something so personal as art? Probably not, but our field often requires it. There are very few awards, grants or fellowships, for example, that aren’t chosen via some kind of panel – and many of us sit on these panels from time to time. Suddenly we are granted a profound power to influence a fellow artist’s life. We are meant to recuse ourselves when personal relationships are involved – but such recusal is voluntary, and the grapevine hums with high profile examples of awards given out because the panel happened to be stocked with supportive friends. Then there are the rejection letters, where we see the names of friends and colleagues and wonder how they could have failed to rally the panel to our cause (does the thought they might have recused themselves console us – or make it worse?). Even more complicated are relationships with the Artistic Directors and Literary Managers who have direct control over our careers. Should we not befriend the people we hope to work with? Do these friendships invalidate us from working in those institutions – or do they make it more likely? Should producers refrain from choosing writers they feel simpatico with on a personal as well as professional level? Am I going to stop asking questions and answer a few? I can only speak for myself, but whether it’s a panel or one of these essays, my only worry is that friends and colleagues will hate me – I’m never concerned my judgment will be clouded by personal animus or affection. That same new musical was also clobbered in the Star Tribune – if I give Janaki Ranpura a similar review, is there any chance we could remain friends? More pointedly, as one of the folks who originally raised the conflict issue put it: will any theatre in town remain open to mounting my work after reading an article that dismantles one of their cherished productions? It often seems to me athletes and musicians have a much better time either shrugging off criticism or agreeing with the critic and quickly incorporating the new insights into their work. Is it possible to think we in the theatre could actually do that for each other? Or are we only here to provide a service for the audience (consumer). What’s the point of all these reviews, anyway? Some years ago Workhaus Collective produced my Sense of What Should Be at The Playwrights’ Center. Matthew Everett gave me half a rave – at the end of the first act, he was thrilled by the piece – so thrilled he was terrified I would ruin the play in Act Two. Which, according to Matthew, I went and did. Obviously, I would have written a different play if I agreed with him – but reading through his thought process, I couldn’t really disagree, either. I remember his review 5 years after the fact, and still recommend Matthew to newer companies seeking press. Because I trust he sees the play in front of him. I don’t mind getting clobbered – I grew up in Brooklyn with two older brothers, my skin is thick. But much better is a review like Matthew’s, which actually caused me to take a look at the second act of Sense, and whether or not it lets down the promise of the first (I think maybe it does). So my goal as a critic is to have no preconceptions when I walk through the door – not a sense of relationship, whatever that might be, nor expectation, nor even judgment really. I just want to see clearly what’s in front of me. And then bring my history as a theatergoer (since my grade school field trip to Godspell on Broadway in 1971), and theatre-maker (also since grade school, thanks to Mrs. Centrone, who accepted a performed play instead of a book report), to bear on whatever it is I’ve just seen. And then hope, since I’ll leave the praising and damning to others, that even friends and colleagues will appreciate the depth of the conversation. Which brings us, at long last, to Janaki Ranpura’s Ububu. Because we’re both part of The Playwrights’ Center community, I know Janaki’s been working on Ububu for a long time. I’ve been to several readings over the years, and a rehearsal of the current iteration. The plot and characters have shifted, but the themes she hopes to explore remain consistent. The piece stems from Janaki’s obsession with the story of St. Francis, and his attempt to mediate with Sultan Malik al-Kamil of Egypt in the middle of the Crusades. I’ve been a little obsessed with this story myself – it’s an echo of the intimate Gospel conversation between Jesus and Pilate (whether either of these stories is historically accurate seems beside the point), and interests me dramatically as a confrontation between the ultimate worldly power and its extreme opposite. Janaki, with the help of director Lisa Channer, and a truly amazing cast (Maren Ward, Skyler Nowinski, and Elise Langer), takes a more theatrical tack, which by the end reveals itself as the origin story of St Francis, who was (like the Buddha) a scion of wealth and power surrendering all for a more spiritual life. Did I mention the puppets? Or the garage? Or dramaturg Sarah Saltwick sitting outside the garage on a creepy Halloweenish night, taking money and serving wine from behind a TV table? The experience of Ububu is half the fun, the garage in question Janaki’s own, completely (and incredibly) remodeled as a sauna-smelling (I mean that in a good way) mini-theatre, the puppets ingenious and delightful/creepy (as the piece warrants) – both environment and creatures designed and built by Janaki herself (at least it seems so – there’s not a traditional program so I may be a little off on the some of the credit). Way back in 2004, I was accepted into Nautilus Music-Theater’s Composer/Librettist Studio – an intensive-two week workshop run by Artistic Director Ben Krywosz. We were discussing the Wilson/Glass opera Einstein On The Beach and Ben pointed out that I seemed prejudiced in favor of the dramatic and against the purely theatrical. I consider my taste in theatre extremely eclectic – and I’m no fan of sitcom realism (often mistakenly called “Naturalism”) – but I had to admit Ben was right. I could put up with any flavor of formal or linguistic exploration – provided that somewhere in the mix there were characters and drama. I say that as caveat, since about halfway through Ububu I felt the somewhat frantic theatricality smothering the story. Which would be fine if I didn’t get the impression Janaki wants us to follow events pretty closely. It reminds me of some of the devised pieces I’ve worked on, where the actors and the director – after weeks of non-traditional creation – suddenly expect the piece to have the plot clarity and character depth of “All My Sons”. Janaki seems torn between not really caring about narrative at all, and wanting the old-fashioned satisfactions of a good story (albeit satirical and bawdy) well told. It’s an important dilemma, since the length of the piece is more appropriate to a story that’s really pulling us along. But aesthetically and environmentally the piece is unique and powerful, and the puppets are great. I only hope Janaki will still want to have a drink with me after reading this.