Feathers on Egg Shells and Smoky School Hallways

Otilia Bulescu called me Friday and asked if I wanted to come out and see a local death metal band rehearse. The band, Avatar (http://www.myspace.com/avataromania), was prepping for a show in Bucharest, and were rehearsing in the dank dark basement of the student building near campus. On the way there, as I was walking across the courtyard of my apartment building, five or six dogs sprang up out of the leaves and lunged snarling and barking. Fear shot through me and turned quickly into anger, the same feeling I used to get in San Francisco when psychotic homeless people demanded money. As I backed away slowly, I wondered where I might find a baseball bat.

The nights are cold and wet now, and as I hurried across the town center, collar turned up and hands deep in my jacket pockets, I almost didn’t notice the new strings of Christmas lights that keep multiplying all over town... I’d expected a crowd of people at the Avatar rehearsal. Instead, there were seven of us: Otilia and three of her friends, and an earnest looking couple who sat glumly behind the band, nodding to the noise. The band’s been together since 1996, they’re great musicians, tight, and the lead singer has an excellent demonic roar. Later, while talking with the guitarist Cata Diaconu at the local pub “Play,” I wondered how a Romanian death metal band might find an opportunity to tour The States. I’m not a really huge metal fan, but I really liked how darkness sounds sung in Romanian. Are there metal bands that sing in Latin? Creepy-crawly!

Cata told me there used to be an underground venue in Craiova but that it closed last year. I told him my idea of directing a play with gypsy actors in the spring and that I’d like to find a decrepit, boarded up venue that we might take over for a couple of weeks. He told me about an ancient haunted house with a tree growing up through the middle of it, and said that he’ll show it to me soon. An ideal spot for death metal and theatre?

The dogs were gone by the time I came home. Other than burying themselves in leaves and crawling under cars at night, I’ve no idea where they go to escape the cold. I thought about how it would be to wander around Craiova with no place to sleep, hungry, a red tag in my ear, a skin disease, a broken leg, rotten teeth. And so rather than a baseball bat, yesterday I went to the grocery store and bought two boxes of doggie treats. I’ve filled one jacket pocket, and will carry them with me from now on, so that the next time the dogs come lunging out of the darkness, pissed off by cold and neglect, they’ll discover a little treat and kind words instead of the fear and anger. Soon, perhaps, I’ll be strolling Craiova, surrounded by sword-toting gypsies and trailed by dozens of wild dogs.

A few stray observations: students smoke in the hallways at the university. There are no overhead lights in most of the halls, and so it’s often through a dim dreamy haze I walk. Yesterday, someone told me that the reason the woman would not kill the duck (see earlier post), is that by custom it is only men who do the killing. Women here are gorgeous, though sometimes a bit too heavy with the makeup. Most men have no fashion sense at all. It’s rare to see an indie kid in Craiova; like Tampa, it’s a working-class city with a university, rather than a university city. There are almost no trash receptacles anywhere on campus, and so cigarette butts and coffee cups lie scattered everywhere. Construction goes on endlessly. Outside, gypsies beg on the street; one guy, a mentally damaged kid around 17 years-old outside the Premiere Market, can’t keep still; he copies kung fu moves, awkwardly spinning and kicking at the air. At cross-walks, people wait for the light to change. I asked a student if there were heavy fines for jaywalkers, and she told me that it’s not the fines that people are afraid of, it’s the cars that will hit you if you do not wait for a signal. There are no parking garages in Romania, and so cars fill the sidewalks and it’s like an obstacle course getting anywhere, especially in Bucharest. Theatre is still very important here, but it’s rare to meet anyone familiar with any underground music or independent film. There are only two movie theatres in all of Craiova, and, like most other cinemas in Romania, they mostly show the worst mainstream flicks America has to offer. Because Ceausescu banned Western music, until 1989 it was only the biggest names that got through. Rare to meet fans of The Velvet Underground, T.Rex or Joy Division, rarer still to find anyone familiar with today’s indie bands like Cocorosie or The Arcade Fire. Restaurants are pretty limited to traditional Romanian, Italian, and the occasional Middle-Eastern influence. I’ve heard there’s a not-so-good Chinese restaurant here, but nowhere since arriving in Romania have I seen any Vietnamese, Thai, Indian, or seafood restaurants. Quite often my dinner is rice with a side of tomatoes. The other day, while fixing eggs for breakfast, I noticed that one of the eggs still had feathers on it. I’ve also not seen an English-language newspaper in two months, and so I read my news online…

Cata Diaconu told me that for some reason, Romanians try hard to be like everyone else, that there’s shame in being Romanian. I’m not sure I get a sense of that here. And though I hear stories of the best-educated and most-talented people emmigrating, nearly everyone I’ve met in Craiova wants to stay, even those getting their PhDs. Things seem to be changing quickly. As Avatar sings on Hymn to the Ancient Ones: “Dog-faced demons will live between the fog of eternity/ The time of the entering of the Gods has begun!/ The time of breaking through the gates has begun!” As long as it comes with seaweed salad, a dragon roll and wasabi.

WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL!!!

Last night, history was made. As the sun rose, I stood in front of my Bucharest hotel room television, wiping tears, proud of my country, finally proud to be an American. I'm reminded of a quote from the play, Angels in America: "In this world, there is a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we've left behind and dreaming ahead." In one night, America is again a beacon of hope, and has stepped from shadows into brilliant light. From this day forward, I rededicate my life: to reach out to others with love and courage, to build bridges, to lift up and inspire. I ask all of my fellow Americans to do the same, to put our differences aside and to unite as one people. All eyes are upon us now. Let's get to it. Let's fulfill the dream.

Wild Dogs, Mad Monks and Smoke

The picture to your left is of a mannequin in a storefront window on a bustling
street in downtown Bucharest. Note the cat o' nine tails across the lap, the bored but sexy Eastern European body language. I am here for the National Theatre Festival, and since I cannot take pictures inside the theatres, this storefront bit of static performance art will have to do.

I got here two days ago, and, arriving at the train station, one of my dreams finally came true: two people from the festival stood on the dusty platform holding a sign with my name on it. I have The Astounding Cristina Modreanu to thank for this. She and I met at the playwriting festival in Timisoara, she told me she was in charge of the festival here, and offered to set me up. And boy did she. They have provided me with tickets to the shows, ten nights in a swank hotel, and handed me an envelope filled with a cash per diem.

The first night here, I saw an amazing production of Anton Chekov's The Black Monk, presented by Moscow New Generation Theatre. The play was in Russian, I did not understand a word of it, but it did not matter, the acting was so spectacular that I was entranced, edge of my seat. Tonight, I'm seeing a production of Electra. Yesterday, I had breakfast with Gerard Bell from Stan's Cafe Theatre Company in Birmingham, England. They're here with a production called The Cleansing of Constance Brown, and I hope to link them up somehow with the University of South Florida in Tampa. For those of you who don't know, I am on a year's leave of absence from USF. I have applied for a PhD program in Film Studies at Victoria University in Wellington, NZ, and, if Obama wins the election tomorrow night I will apply for a PhD in Theatre at Northwestern in Chicago.

This morning, I taught my first acting class in Romania. Mihaela Sirbu, the actress/teacher extraordinaire from the National University of Theatre and Film, emailed me and explained that she's been cast in a major motion picture and wondered if I could lead her class this morning in some warm-ups. I could barely sleep last night, up late planning what I would teach. It was a 9am class, and I did a bit of everything: Chekov, Viewpoints, breath work, etc. Afterwards, the students seemed really jazzed and asked if I could come back for more workshops. Mihaela and I have been trying to work out a weekend that I could come back and teach a rasaboxes workshop. I hope that it happens soon. Though I love teaching Contemporary British and American Theatre for the English Department in Craiova, when I teach and work with actors I see love, courage and divinity. Soon, I hope to meet the head of the Theatre Department in Craiova. But until then, I will do what I can where I can.
Tomorrow morning, I take the train back to Craiova, discuss August Wilson and The Piano Lesson, then return back to Bucharest at midnight and taxi over to the grand ballroom at the Howard Johnson's.

Oh, and last Friday in Craiova, Halloween night, a group of my students took me out on the town. The first stop, Pub's Pub, was down a winding brick staircase into a basement room made of red bricks and arches: a tiny place, packed with college students, soupy with smoke. Pub's Pub has occasional live music and eternal red wine from barrels. Friday, an unseen dj played an eclectic mix of just about every sort of rock music from every era you could imagine. At one point, Iggy Pop's The Passenger brought me to my feet. Then some Clash got me boppin', but soon the smoke overwhelmed me and I had to go out for some air. My gracious hosts came outside and asked if I wanted to go to another, larger club, and we moved on to a place that played a mostly 80s, mix. About half the crowd wore costumes, and Oana explained that during Ceausescu's rule nobody was allowed to celebrate Halloween. So costumes are new, daring, and everyone seemed really excited by it, the liberation that a costume sometimes brings.

After Oana and her boyfriend dropped me off, I was walking along a short alley and a savage devil dog leaped out at me, barking and snarling. I froze, and the dog harumphed back to its hedge and laid down beside it's (perhaps dead or sleeping) doggie friend. Next year for Halloween, I am going dressed as a rabid dog.

I have been making notes on the new screenplay, aching to sit down once all of these festivals are over, and start writing. Last night before drifting off to sleep, I was channel surfing and there was Petru's father Nicolae Margineanu, being interviewed for his new film. I hope to write something beautiful for him, a gift in return for all of the hospitality this incredible country and its people have blessed me with. What an journey. What a life!