Showing posts with label I had to do it. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I had to do it. Show all posts

Friday, January 27, 2012

As If. They Came Out. Of Birth. (Deconstructing Churchill)

Act 1

And this would be my personal and unabashed thoughts on the Caryl Churchill drama Far Away. As if I haven't said enough in class, right? Maybe I haven't. However, still, I have this suspicion that there is something rotten in Denmark. As if we have been lured away from the “real” truth that our auteur is wilier than we originally thought. This is to say that we have been led astray by the language, and baroque hats, and the language. The language seems to clue us toward the notion that there is a lot being concealed from Joan, and I’m beginning to wonder, has the language also clued us in on the fact that there is a lot being concealed from us; the reader?





Act 2

“We are far too trained? Have our noses turned up, to be hooked? Pulled? Are we the alchemists that our fathers warned us about?” By abusing the products of our knowledge, Churchill has reassured us that we can still construct full-fledged narratives from thinning mechanisms. I don’t know if I’m sold on seeing the apparent connective tissues that bind these three acts. Besides the dramatic schemas insisted on by Churchill, this work does not ensure a proper elucidation of how one should exactly understand what is happening in the text. Aside: From the normative aesthetics of the dramatic form, Churchill does not wish to explicate any single dramatic narrative. Yet, by being exposed to redundancy, we have constructed one. We are too gestalt for our own good?"




Act 3

Though we insist on confabulating notions that have not even insisted themselves, I think it would be rewarding to begin to see, that what is before your face lies, a simulacrum. As if some dream within a dream within a dream has given you enough cognitive information, to realize that they are indeed related. As if Joan is the same Joan, as if Harper and Todd are the same Harper and Todd. As if we are all Joans, who has had the world told to them, even though nothing adds up, yet and still, somehow we have managed to make a hat. As if we have been lured away from the real truth that our auteur is wilier than we originally thought. And perhaps somewhere in the meta-narrative we can find the differences or maybe the différance(s).