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We Need to Talk About Tina Benko

We are in the final throes of preparation for Desdemona, in its Los Angeles premiere Thursday night.

Thus far, we’ve talked and heard a lot about the creators of this exceptional work of theater, with Toni Morrison receiving the UCLA Medal just yesterday, and Rokia Traore returning to CAP UCLA after a triumphant concert experience last spring.

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It’s time to talk Tina Benko. As the company has come back together over the last few weeks, remounting this work for our stage, we have been overwhelmed by the absolute greatness of this gifted actress.

Morrison’s language is as gently evocative and eloquent as you might assume, Traoré’s powerful ,musical presence and voice provides emotional tethering and texture, but Benko’s performance is what allows us to traverse time and space, to defy the laws of mortality and to experience the richness that is inherent in this quiet, but unmistakably potent piece of theater.

Benko stars as Desdemona, alongside Traoré as Barbary, but there are other characters in this play, other voices, all of whom are embodied and enlivened and shared with us by Tina Benko alone. It is a feat of performance that not just any actor could bear.

Tina is a stage actor who has performed worldwide, and is a consummate and commanding presence. She was nominated for a Lucille Lortel Award for playing Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis in Elfriede Jellinek’s solo play Jackie. She won the Bayfield award for her portrayal of Titania in Julie Taymor’s production of Midsummer Nights Dream at Theatre For a New Audience. Other theatre credits include the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation’s commissioned play Informed Consent, Katori Hall’s Whaddabloodclot!!!, Wallace Shawn’s Marie and Bruce, David Grimm’s Tales From Red Vienna, as well as Not About Nightingales and Irena’s Vow on Broadway. She’s appeared in several hit films and television shows including The Avengers, “The Good Wife,” “Blue Bloods,” “Mysteries of Laura,” “Person of Interest,” “Brotherhood” and “Flesh and Bone.”

In Benko, as Desdemona, worlds collide; Morrison’s words find heightened consanguinity with Traore’s lyrics. Inside this remarkable artist the centuries of ill-fated love between Shakespeare’s tormented Othello and Desdemona alchemize into a new reality, a new truth.

I feel confident in promising that her performance will be a gift we will carry with us long after the curtain has closed. Don’t miss it.

There are a few tickets still available for Friday, Saturday and Sunday performances.

And then it’s gone.

Join us, and help us applaud Tina Benko.

Diving Deep into ‘Desdemona’

If you’re the type who likes to take a deep dive into the story behind the story, take a minute to read this thoughtful and comprehensive essay from Desdemona director Peter Sellars, written for the program notes. If you’re the type who prefers surprises, stop reading now and simply purchase a ticket, you won’t regret it. 

Then join us next weekend. Just four performances of this elusive and magical work and it will be gone. 

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photo by Peter DaSilva

Desdemona Director’s Note

This project is a literary and musical collaboration between Toni Morrison and Rokia Traoré, moving across continents, shared and divergent histories, imagined “other worlds,” and the darkly resonant, open-ended poetry of William Shakespeare’s Othello.

Writing from Bamako, in Mali, Rokia Traoré is one of a new generation of African women, a clear and courageous citizen of the world stepping forward into leadership, musical heir to the griot traditions of the Mandean royal courts and the particular alchemy of Malian music that gave birth to the blues in North America. Her music is a rich blend of cross-Atlantic traditions in a distinctly feminine voice.

Toni Morrison has created fiction that imagines, evokes and honors the missing histories of generations whose courage, struggles, achievements, loves, tragedies, fulfillments and disappointments have gone unrecorded, but are still very much with us.

Shakespeare’s Othello is a permanent provocation. For four centuries it has been the most visible portrayal of a black man in Western art. It is a play seething with innuendo, misinformation, secrets, lies, self-deception, cruelty, and strangely luminous redemption. It has been read by generations as a coded, indirect reference to the coded, indirect layers of justice and injustice that move across racial lines in Western societies. Because the play is so intricate and ultimately disturbing, much of its performance history has reduced it to a kind of puppet show of a brilliant but dangerously mad black man framed by a devil on his left (Iago) and an angel on his right (Desdemona).

What was the reality of Africa for Shakespeare?

Did he know any Africans? Clearly the man who called his theater The Globe was interested in Africa, and his two multicultural plays set in Venice, Othello and The Merchant of Venice, are filled with references to Africa.

This project grew out of an astonishing line which appears late in Act IV of Othello. Othello has just visited Desdemona in her bedroom and threatened her with terrifying and pointed menace. He leaves, and Desdemona, deeply shaken, asks her companion, Emilia, to help her get ready for bed.

Entering an eerily emotional twilight that will lead to her violent death, she tells Emilia that she can’t get a certain song out of her head. She learned this song, she tells Emilia, from her mother’s maid, Barbary, who died while singing it, of a broken heart.

In one line, Shakespeare has suddenly given us a series of startling images. The appearance of the word mother tips us off—Shakespeare’s plays are filled with mysterious, missing women and this is only the second reference to Desdemona’s mother in the entire play. But it is the word Barbary which triggers surprising associations. In 17th century London, Barbary meant Africa. The Barbary pirates were hijacking British vessels off the coast of Africa, enslaving their white, British crews.

In 1600, a delegation of ambassadors from the Barbary court, Africans of high degree, splendidly dressed, arrived in London to negotiate with Queen Elizabeth. That advent stirred much discussion in London. That Shakespeare, writing Othello in 1603, uses the name Barbary implies that there is another African character in his play.

Shakespeare has already been at pains to demonstrate in Act I that Desdemona’s parents don’t know their own daughter, and now as she sings her famous “Willow Song,” the quiet, dark, emotional still-point of the night, we are left to reflect that Desdemona—this tender, brilliant, courageous, generous young woman—was raised by an African maid with African stories and African songs. Barbary is one of Shakespeare’s powerful and enigmatic missing women—he did not write for her, but he imagined her. In Toni Morrison and Rokia Traoré’s Desdemona, we meet her at last, and Desdemona meets her again.

As a young woman, Desdemona rejected the usual suitors from the Venetian court—it was a black woman who taught Desdemona how to love and now, Desdemona chooses to offer her love to a black man. In Act I of Othello, Shakespeare has Othello tell the Venetian Senate that he and Desdemona fell in love as he told her stories—stories of his youth as a child soldier, stories of suffering, reversal, privation, salvation, transformation, and unexpected human generosity. Stories of other worlds. And with the image of Barbary lingering in our minds, we can now imagine that Desdemona could have grown up hearing some of those stories.

And of course Toni Morrison wanted to write those stories.

In Desdemona, Toni Morrison has created a safe space in which the dead can finally speak those things that could not be spoken when they were alive. And finally, the women inside Shakespeare’s play and those in the shadows, just outside of it, find their voices: Othello’s mother and Desdemona’s mother meet, and hidden histories are shared and begin to flow.

Desdemona was Shakespeare’s ideal creation —like Dante’s Beatrice, a vision of perfection, a woman offering love and forgiveness in the face of hatred, mistrust, and murderous lies. In Shakespeare’s late tragedies, the ideal woman— Desdemona, Virgilia, Cordelia—was mostly silent.

For Toni Morrison, the ideal woman is not silent. Finally, she speaks. And as she speaks, she reveals secrets, hopes, dreams, but also her own imperfections. Shakespeare’s Desdemona is divine perfection, but Toni Morrison allows her to be human, to make mistakes, and finally, with eternity stretching before her, to learn, and then to understand. Shakespeare’s play spans two days. Desdemona and Othello elope Monday night at 2 a.m., are thrust into a wild media-centric marriage as they travel in the public eye into a theater of war, and he has murdered her by Wednesday night. The play strangely offers no one much room for reflection.

It is pointedly odd that the author of Hamlet affords the title character in Othello only a single 12-line soliloquy. For the rest of the play, this black man is performing in front of white people and we have very few clues about his inner life. Desdemona is an astonishing teenager but is suffocated before she or we have a chance to learn her thoughts or feelings. In Toni Morrison’s creation, Desdemona is no longer a teenager but a mature woman with perspective and the opportunity to gradually recognize and let go of her own illusions.

And so in Desdemona, we begin to glimpse some of the mysteries of Shakespeare’s Othello with new insight in the light of deepened histories. What was the dark secret that held Othello and Iago in a bond of mutual dependency and hatred? What were the moments of happiness and promise and fulfillment in the great love between Desdemona and Othello before it was tainted by the world?

One other silent woman in Shakespeare’s play enters into a new dimensionality: Emilia, Iago’s terrified wife (“I nothing, but to please his fantasy.”). She appears in nearly every scene of Shakespeare’s play and she almost never speaks.

She is the one person who knows the truth of the lie of the handkerchief—at any moment she could speak up and prevent the injustice and bloodbath that overwhelm the play. Shakespeare creates a portrait of silence that is complicit with mass murder, that hopes by not uttering the truth to save its own skin, but that will in fact become the next victim when the lie follows its inexorable course.

Shakespeare’s foil for Othello, the gifted, inspiring black leader, is Cassio, an ambitious, glib, weak career politician with a crippling addiction to alcohol and sex. Othello’s first act as Governor of Cypress is to fire him, with cause. Desdemona, whose openness of spirit urges rehabilitation, redemption, and forgiveness, challenges her husband to reinstate Cassio, privately, and then in public. Shakespeare’s mature tragedies strike a bitter note on their last page—the future will be even more bleak—after the flawed greatness of Hamlet we get Fortinbras. After Othello’s death the terrible irony is that he is replaced as Governor by the mediocrity and venality of Cassio. Was Desdemona wrong to support Cassio at the cost of her own life?

Toni Morrison responded to lacunae and poetic ambiguities in Shakespeare and to her own sense of unspoken truths. In communication with Toni by email, Rokia Traoré responded to Toni’s unfolding story with songs that answered or deepened the human questions and the metaphysical aspects in an African context. Her work references African tropes and traditions. Dongori for example, refers to a woven cloth of thorns, a lament and an image that evokes a bitter African proverb for young women: your bridal veil will be your funeral shroud.

In Rokia Traoré’s new version, young women rewrite that proverb and defiantly, tenderly and respectfully claim a different future. The dah and kaicedrat in the overwhelming refrain of Dianfa are fruits with a pungent, acrid taste. The song “Kemeh Bourama” offers a brief sample of the centuries-old griot tradition. This is the way that the exploits of great warriors were recorded, sung and celebrated in the courts of Segou and Timbuktu, and we begin to hear the epic mode in which Othello’s story would have been told in Africa in Shakespeare’s lifetime.

In performance, dialogues spoken by the actress playing Desdemona are in dialogue with songs sung by Rokia Traoré as Barbary. The only song lyrics not written by Rokia Traoré are Shakespeare’s “Willow Song” and the pendant which Toni Morrison wrote in counterpoint to Shakespeare’s “Willow Song,” “Someone Leans Near.”

Four hundred years later, Toni Morrison and Rokia Traoré respond to Shakespeare’s Othello, offering some missing pieces and wider perspectives.

Women now have the scope to speak their minds and their hearts, and Africa is real, not just imagined. The women speak to us from the other side of the grave, older now, no longer teenagers.

In African traditions, the dead are quite undead and very present, and for them, as Toni Morrison says, the past and the future are the same.

Desdemona and Othello meet again in the afterlife.

With difficulty, humility and remorse, a space of reconciliation is created. The apologies that we have waited four hundred years to hear are finally spoken. We are not simply left with tragedy. In a time outside of time that illuminates and infuses the present, Desdemona confronts her demons, reconciling the past, and now, no longer alone, prepares a future.

–Peter Sellars, June 2012

‘Desdemona’ Director Peter Sellars Says It’s OK to Fall Asleep

Well, maybe not exactly asleep, but while experiencing  his theater work Desdemona, if you find yourself slipping into a sort of meditative trance, or feel yourself straddling other unearthly worlds and universes…you’re doing it right.

Peter Sellars visited our offices last week to talk about our upcoming performances of Desdemona, a magical and thoughtful re-imagining of Shakespeare’s Othello, written by Nobel Laureate Toni Morrison and the magnificent Malian singer-songwriter Rokia Traoré, who performs in the piece with exceptional stage and film actress Tina Benko and an ensemble of Malian musicians. As he reflected on the attitude of this quiet piece, he laughingly recalled a sentiment often expressed in Japanese Noh Theater—“dozing encouraged.”

One of the things Peter very eloquently conveyed to us was the powerful quietness and absolutely intimate nature of this piece of theater.

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“It is one of the most elusive things I have ever put on the stage,” he said. “You do sort of feel like you are starting to fall asleep and dream…your heart rate slows until you are feeling differently and aware of this flowing space between waking and dreaming, and this beautiful work of theater touches the edges of the dream state.”

The physical staging is purposely simple, designed to evoke the feeling of traditional African mourning altars, he said. We enter into this benevolent graveyard to be greeted by the voices of women—songs from Rokia Traoré that defy translation sung softly, eloquent language from Toni Morrison spoken softly and with deep intent.  The technical sound requirements require precision instruments and exacting attention to detail so that every gesture, every sound, every movement from the stage may nurturingly welcome us deeper and deeper into a sense of otherworldliness, Sellars said.

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The scope and shape of the play itself evolved organically over the course of its creation, Sellars said. There was no initial vision or design that the performers and writers were trying to match. Morrison essentially plucked one line out of the play, one line spoken quietly by Desdemona to the woman her husband was having an affair with, and amplified that one line into an otherworldly experience for us all, one that will change the way we think about the character of Othello, the historically revered man who invented him and the racial and social themes that continue to emanate through our society.

“In this age of big spectacle, what we are doing here is examining how valuable and rich is a single human being, and how many worlds reside within each of us,” Sellars said.

It is ephemerality laced with ephemerality packaged in ephemerality—and these are the trappings of transcendence.

We have a brief shining moment with these words and these exceptional performers. Just four performances in Freud Playhouse, a 500-seat theater. After that, the cast and crew travel to Australia for two festivals and it is not likely the play will be mounted again anytime soon.  Traoré is a rising force in global music and will be focusing on her recording career for the foreseeable future.  She is so integral to the casting, Sellars says she doesn’t see it ever being performed without her.

Be here with us. Let’s take this journey together.

 

Un-expectations and Loving Life

Sometimes things don’t go the way we plan. We all know this. We adapt and survive. And somehow, sometimes we not only adapt but thrive at the same time.

Late last Thursday we got the bad news that Toumani and Sidiki Diabaté would not be able to travel for their much anticipated scheduled performance on our program the following night. Clearly, this was a bummer. It’s been years since Toumani performed in Los Angeles, and never with his son here. They are amazing performers and we were eager to watch the 71st and 72nd generations from one of Mali’s most revered griot families.

Details were few in the moment and almost irrelevant as it was time for us to rally to make the necessary announcements to ticketholders and changes to the production schedule for the following evening. Luckily, this performance was always intended to be a co-headlining event with the one-and-only, the amazing Rokia Traoré so we knew there was still something great in store.

As I spread the word to the members of the media who I knew were coming, the resounding response was while the Diabatés would certainly  be missed, the evening was still a must-see concert with Rokia and her full band doing an extended set.

I talked to our box office manager who had spoken to several ticket buyers on the night of the show who said they used the Toumani and Sidiki cancellation as a reason to find out more about Rokia, and chose to attend just for her.

I don’t think anyone was disappointed. She was luminous. She was powerful. She rocked. She soothed. She got us up out of the comfy seats to dance along with her and her mesmerizing duo of backup singer/dancers.

At one point in the evening she started talking about why she doesn’t write traditional love songs.

“I am, in general,” she said in her liltingly sultry voice. “In love. With life. And so, in everything I sing, I am singing about love.”

I can get on board with that sentiment. And it seemed to me that everyone who stuck around to welcome this remarkable artist to the Royce stage for the first time, felt pretty much the same way.

We were also fortunate to have among us KCRW’s Tom Schabel. I don’t know about you, but I consider this man to be my world guide. I trust him. I need him to help me hear sounds and songs and voices I might not otherwise encounter. KCRW in general is a great place for just that, but Tom’s focus on artists from around the globe as made him our local ambassador to the music of the world. He was on hand that night for a pre-show DJ set and to talk about the extraordinary music of Mali.

He shared some background information on the Diabate family, noting that Toumani’s sister had passed away which is what prevented the artists from traveling, which helped everyone listening understand, empathize and perhaps even celebrate the present moment more deeply.

The whole situation reminded me of a story I read about Afrocubism. Back in 1996, the plan was to gather in Havana a group of singers from Cuba and a group of musicians from Mali, including Toumani. For some unexplained to this day reason, the Malian artists never arrived. Instead, recording carried on with just the Cuban contingent, and a little album known as The Buena Vista Social Club emerged. (Afrocubism was finally recorded and released 14 years later).

A couple of years after that, I was working for a DVD/home entertainment magazine, covering the emerging music DVD market. The Buena Vista Social Club DVD blew my mind and made me think about the phrase “world music” in a very different and much more eagerly exploratory way.

It’s so interesting to know that it came into being by a sort of accident of fate. It’s had such a lasting impact on my music tastes. Many artists who come to our program have such an impact on my music tastes, deepening and broadening them at the same time. Rokia has taken her place among that list now.

We can’t control the fates, but we can control the way we react to them. Friday night we were thrown for a loop, but we still came together in celebration of music and the people who make music that speaks to our souls, music and artistry that maybe helps us all be just a little much more…..

well…..

In Love.

With Life

An evening with Rokia Traore Sept. 26, 2014-Royce Hall

Our unsigned editorial from the evening’s program notes

It is not untoward or hyperbolic to apply the word magical to Malian music. Music is an integral part of the country’s culture, its societal structure, its entire way of life and way of being in the world. For an art form to play such an important role in the history and ethos of an entire nation is magical. And it follows that Mali is a country that has become known around the world for its extraordinary musicians.

The ancient griot tradition of Mali weilds roots that run deep and yet branch themselves across time and space, through generations and into hearts and minds of peoples of all races, creeds and religions around the world.

The modern musicians who share the blues-based music of Mali share with us their certain magic. A soul-stirring, uplifting, and yes, even sometimes heart-wrenching magic.

In 2012, Islamic extremists overtook Northern Mali, imposing harsh Shariah Law that included an attempt to ban music. Mali’s artists refuse to be silenced. This art, so magical, so integral to the culture of Mali, will not slip away thanks to the bravery, the artistry, the purpose and intention of the people who continue to create and share it with us.

Tradition and exploration coalesce in Rokia Traoré, who we are utterly delighted to present tonight with her full band. Rokia, like so many artists from Mali, serves as a bridge between worlds, between the modern and the ancient, between memory and reverie. Rokia’s music speaks a magical language, deftly traversing themes of hope as well as sorrow and defiance.

This evening has taken shape differently than we originally intended. One of Mali’s most-revered artists and a man who is known as one of the greatest instrumentalists in the world, Toumani Diabaté was set to appear with his son Sidiki as they toured in support of their recent album of duets.

Unfortunately, just yesterday we were informed by Toumani’s  management that they have experienced unexpected personal and logistical difficulties to start the tour. These factors, complicated by Toumani’s poor health, have resulted in their inability to come to the States.  Everyone deeply regrets the circumstances that have lead to this outcome.  We are working with the artist’s management to review the feasibility of rescheduling this tour.

We’re very grateful you are here tonight to help us welcome Rokia Traoré to Royce Hall for the first time.

Make no mistake, she is going to rock this place.

Mali’s most precious assets are its music and culture, its traditional faith and the bonds that bind its many different peoples. And its artists have an innate ability to create ties that bind between us all.

That part of tonight’s performance is unchanged.

Thank you for joining us.