Exeunt Collaborations

lùccricK DuCharme continuedfrom previous page -----------It 's worth noting that the text does not shy away from this issue—though the manner in which it is addressed hardly resolves my misgivings. First, in a rare moment of introspection, Motokiyu comments, "What is the meaning of what I am doing here? Does it make a racism?" Of this, Johnson and (the fictional?) Alvarez remark: Whether he [Motokiyu] entered it as a personal, meditative note to himself, or whether he intended it for public consumption , cannot be ascertained. Nor can it be ascertained, finally, ifit is we who are ascribing the above words to Motokiyu, putting them, falsely, into his apocryphal mouth, without his permission. But inasmuch as the note's nature reflects our own uncertain, ambiguous feelings and functions as editors, we do feel that it demands to become a part ofthis work. For what is the meaning of this work? Which side is which? Can you tell us, reader? Here, the sense ofthe author's satisfaction at his own cleverness isjust a little too palpable, the deliberately awkward "Does it make a racism? [sic]" just a little too glib, even at the very moment at which one of the work's most interesting and nuanced questions is raised. Throat is a work whose reception will be colored by how convincingly it poses such issues, no less than by the contemporary poetic community's often heated response to Johnson himself. If in "misreading" it as a North American poetic text, a romp through shattered poses, I found it darkly funny and invigorating, I'll admit that in reading it as an attempt to come to terms with the distance between two cultures, much less the inflated roles of author, "editor," and reader, I haven't quite made up my mind. Ifthis challenge to not make up our mindsjust yet—to endure in a moment of doubt—is precisely the point, then Johnson's audacity, conceptual and otherwise, may well be worth our trouble. For that reason, iffor nothing else, I hope this footnote to the Yasusada story won't be dismissed out of turn. Mark DuCharme is a poet whose latest collection is Infinity Subsections (Meeting Eyes Bindery). His essays and reviews have appeared in Jacket, 26, Talisman, and the Poetry Project Newsletter. Exeunt Collaborations Lauren Pretnar How t? Stage a Play, Make a Fortune, Win a Tony, and Become a Theatrical Icon Charles Marowitz Limelight Editions http://www.limelighteditions.com 168 pages; paper, $12.95 There is no such thing as a director. Yes, your playbill clearly lists a name to credit with the job, but breaking down who did what is far less concrete than most audience members will ever know. Theatre is a collaborative art; it does not allow for firm or precise identities. Its creators often don primary job descriptions but—especially in local, underfunded, and experimental companies—tasks have a way of shifting among cast and crew until, by the completion of a production, everyone has had a hand in everything. Charles Marowitz would be the first to declare that theatre is a collaborative art. In the same breath, though, he would likely assert a construction of "director" that patronizes every otherjob in theatre. This apparent contradiction is the most interesting and under-discussed element of Marowitz's How to Stage a Play, Make a Fortune, Win a Tony, and Become a Theatrical Icon. Though he repeatedly alludes to such quandaries and seems drawn to these larger discussions, Marowitz cuts short all philosophical tangents and sticks to his legitimate, if suspect, goal of writing a dummy's guide to play production. In this he is successful, and anyone who picks up this book in the hopes of learning the basics will thank him. Marowitz approaches what is often a chaotic and manic art form as if it were an engine, something to study, analyze, and then tune to a steady purr. There is a seemingly endless list of responsibilities to be doled out, yet few novices know, for instance, exactly what a dramaturge or stage manager does, much less what to look for in a lighting or set designer. Marowitz makes clear from the outset...