The Coherence of Fiction

My response to this last PB show I attended felt all over the place—from the ping of recognition when Bill described the way the “whole world was choreographed” as he drove along listening to Beethoven’s 7th, to the pang of sorrow when Simone spoke of learning of a special needs child who was restrained for the teacher’s convenience, to my wince as my husband narrated the mutual avoidance of him and his former U of M student whose name he couldn’t recall—and who probably couldn’t recall his.  But in its refusal to hew to one obvious course or theme, this evening at Playback showed the fiction of coherence shattered again and again only to be revived at the strangest moments and in the strangest ways.

An African-American student leader, seeking help with a problem with some committee members, had been told that she was “unrelatable” by another black student; according to this adviser, she wasn’t “black enough” because her background as a “military brat” had exposed her to so many different ways of life.  Virginia asked what her plan was, and her answer, “seek to understand them as people, not as constituents,” seemed preternaturally wise.

A social worker described seeing people building their families through interracial adoptions, saying “this could change the face of Memphis.”

Julie told about her husband's belch in response to a romantic-minded friend who asked her what is was like being married to an artist.  This devolved into hilarious Playback built around “the musk of an artist.”

The student whose groceries were stolen by a fellow shopper from Wisconsin, then had them replaced by the cashier, yields a playback with Portia flying free and Josh muttering “I can’t do this…”

In the break before the big story, I talked to a woman who had met with two traumas here—in one, her partner was beaten with a pole—and said, “I hate Memphis.”  But then she backed off.  “I’ve had bad luck.”

In the playback of Leah’s story of having to turn away the knock at the door she’s been hoping to hear, Ondine’s commanding “tick, tock,” transformed into the voice of guilt: “I don’t think they believe you… you ought to be ashamed of yourself…”

The wonder of it is that I feel the weight of so much conflict lifting with every tick, tock.

February is for lovers

“The more you love Memphis, the more it will love you back.”
- Joe


A young man with long, windswept curls remembers a time that downtown Memphis was his. His to park freely. His to roam. A downtown of empty, abandoned buildings where he could run and explore and yell and no one would be the wiser.

He’s all for the community embracing the downtown that was once his, for the loft apartments blossoming from the empty factory shells, for the lack of parking spaces. But he’s a little sad his landscape is changing.

* * *

There is a woman in Northhaven who is afraid to go outside. The very name of her neighborhood is now a bitter irony. Gunshots ring out at night. Shadowy figures are her nameless, faceless neighbors. Across town, residents in a duplex apartment should maybe be a bit more concerned about going outside. A woman’s boyfriend goes missing but later reports that the next door neighbor was awfully understanding when he climbed into bed with her by mistake.

* * *

Chris was done trying to find Miss Right in Memphis. The dating scene was a game of chasing magnets; you push one harder only to have the other just scoot farther away. The California desert seemed right. Not about finding HER, exactly. More about finding himself. But he noticed the blonde at the seminar almost immediately. Her open smile, the things she claimed were most important to her. It was like she was talking about his values, too. Their small group got even smaller. She told him she was from Jackson, a place he never would have heard of just outside of Memphis.

Chris’ wife beamed at him from her seat in the front row.

Afterthoughts from February shows

So we had an amazing turn out to the shows this go round.People continue to voice a deep appreciation for Playback. They talk about the magic of it, how it invites you to see things anew, makes you feel you're part of something bigger then yourself,that it honors joy and tenderness with equal reverence,and turns things inside out and back again leaving you feeling more alive then before.

It feels like a big wave of energy has built and we can now enjoy the ride without feeling like we have to push so hard. I am amazed by how the ensemble work is growing and deepening and we are working hard to prepare ourselves for playing in contexts where the stories will be deeper,the content heavier, the need to tell and be heard much greater. I know we all feel the experience is a tremendous gift and blessing, that we are growing with it. I am trying to track themes that are emerging- in Playback we call them red threads - with the hope that they will guide me towards what is needed at the next show and in the bigger picture. I have sketched this out here loosely- I'd love writers and actors to contribute to this process and hope this can be part of our dialogue when we meet again.

How does 10:30am, Tuesday, February 22nd work for folks? First Congo-
same space. Let me know ASAP.

Also, still need one or two writer for upcoming shows- Victims to Victory- Friday, Feb 19th and Head Start- Thursday, March 11th.


themes emerging:

November shows:


- when the personal becomes political (the mystery of "de facto"
segregation in the public schools in Memphis (from the perspecitve of a former Montana teacher), the complexities in choosing to send your children to public schools in Memphis- when you are not part of the dominant culture of the schools/ the excitement and hope in starting a movement to do the aformentioned)

-living so close to darkness/ despair- (hearing gun shots a few blocks over, realizing the man who mugged your wife rides by on his bicycle every day)


- parenting-an enormous calling ( the overwhelm of parenting a special needs child when the educational system that is suppossed to support and help is so broken and dysfunctional, a father's love for his daughter comes full circle as he has to embrace her moving out of his arms and into the arms of her new husband)

- how Memphis take root inside you - thorns and flowers- to stay or go

Feb shows:


- committing to Memphis- the flowering of friendships

- Memphis changing- hopes, fears, realities ( changing face of Memphis families with mixed race adoptions, neighborhoods ravaged by violence that were once stable,cycles of abuse- broken lives/ abused animals, a good place to grow a business- big fish little pond, the painful reality of the Memphis city Schools, growing downtown- pluses,minuses)

- the deep disappointment and loss in recognizing when your parent will never parent you ( mom who can't fill out financial aid forms, dad who appears and disappears and disappears)

- the things we do for love and things love does for us (bowling
tournament,dog rescue,finding love in Palm Springs)

- when our own values clash (inviting more diversity into yoga studio, but only if diversity arrives on time)