Watching Annie with my roommate Grace, we notice how people used to really perform. Every actor talented in song and dance, unrestrained in their dramatic gestures and expressions. I wonder if this is lost. The contemporary conflation of life and performance has imbued us with a deep self consciousness. With cameras all around us, we try to behave and look in ways that shield us from negative attention. Our media reflects this itching desire for perfection. Even the imperfect is perfectly so. A leading lady will never have buckteeth, and her sidekick will have the cutest pair of them.
I want to witness more performance as art, and less performance as self-defense. Old movie musicals put my jaw on the floor.Cabaret, Annie, The Sound of Music, The Wizard of Oz, West Side Story, Mary Poppins, Little Show of Horrors, all great. I love watching the performers’ hands and mouths. I love watching them sweat and cry and try desperately—so desperately that failure would crush them.
Nobody is allowed to be so truly extroverted these days, with the exception of drag performers or anyone whose show can be written off as “camp.” Exaggeration must contain a hint of irony, a hint of “trust me, I know,” or else it is open ground for ridicule.
I think we need a little more earnest fun. Creative bravery. Sharp criticism, less gossiping.