4 from ritual to theater and back: the efficacy ... - AAAARG.ORG

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selective inattention
resulted in a wooden structure that completely filled the loft, wall to
wall, ceiling to floor. The performance was sparsely attended – Dunn
announced he would be “on” from 2 p.m. to 6 p.m., Wednesdays
through Sundays, October 2 through 13. People dropped in one or two
at a time. Upon entering the loft I signed a guest book (putting me on
Dunn’s mailing list) and donated a couple of dollars. Then I walked
into the honeycomb. I was alone. I wandered through, thinking my
own thoughts, and then (I don’t know why) I looked up and saw a
body lying on a sled near the ceiling. I was shocked, scared. I
climbed up and saw Dunn. He wore a touch of eye makeup, was
dressed all in white, and lay absolutely still. From the corner of his
mouth was drawn, very realistically, a trickle of blood. I leaned close
to his face and felt his breath: it was reassuring. Though I knew he
was alive, it was good to have my knowledge confirmed. I wanted to
touch him but thought this would violate some convention, so I did
nothing but contemplate him. Then I went to a corner of the loft, at
ceiling level (on a plane with Dunn) and dozed. A few other spectators
arrived and left. I napped and sometimes lay half-awake for
nearly two hours, as afternoon gave way to evening. Then the woman
at the desk came to the entrance of the performing space and said that
the performance was ending. I climbed down and left the honeycomb. I
stayed in the kitchen and when Dunn came out about 20 minutes later
we talked for a little while. Talking to him was important, comforting –
as was quietly walking home alone. I felt contemplative, rested.
Dunn told me that sometimes spectators tugged at him, pinched
him, tried to make him move or scream. I remembered what Judith
Malina and Julian Beck told me about the body-pile scene from the
Living Theater’s Mysteries:
Malina: In Europe, it was more common to be treated aggressively. I
have been kicked, stomped, tickled, had my fingers bent back and my
hair set on fire.
Schechner: My God, why, do you think ...
Beck: To get her to move.
Malina: To get me to move.
Beck: To get the corpse not to be a real corpse.
Malina: Only in America have we been comforted. Isn’t it strange?