Nebulas
I've been thinking about the recent uproar, and though not one single person (surprise!) has asked, "And what do you think, Sherwood Smith?" I wanted to say something, I guess in part because I was tangentially connected to some of the sparks that flew up from the long-glowing bed of embers, and partly because we are primates who congregate together, and we like to hoot and be heard. But for those of you who have no interest in what Sherwood Smith thinks--if you've even read past the word Nebula--here's your break:
I tried to figure an angle of approach. Names? No. But leaving out names dwindled into a spaghetti-plate of diffuse pronouns.
So instead, I think--maybe it won't work, but it does connect in my head*--here is my attempt.
Lo these many decades ago when I was in high school, it was at last time for the final musical. The rules had always been strict: each teacher in charge of drama, dance, and music picked their best to perform, and senior year you at last got the plum roles. There were tryouts, but usually we pretty much knew who would fit what role.
So the P that B picked Finian's Rainbow for the musical. In a school of six thousand plus, these musicals were a big deal--big budget for a mostly blue collar school, but we had a good scattering of Hollywood trained kids, as we were close to MGM and the west end production houses. The many quiet industry professionals who were not Big Name Stars but had steady employment lived in our neighborhood, which was sea-breeze nice, but was prevented from ever being costly because we were directly in the LAX flight path. That means planes overhead every three minutes, stopping only for thick fog. Day and night.
Anyway. This year the P that B had decided to change things. Before, the three teachers worked in concert. Apparently the drama teacher had decided that she had to be the big boss. Now, many of us had drama experience, in fact, the junior high drama teacher had been brilliant. I still use some of her innovations today. But when we got to high school, we discovered the type B of teachers we dislike most (Type A being bullies): the "favorite child" teacher, who forms cliques around his or her person, and chooses them for their skills in kissing up, not necessarily for skill. The drama teacher was one of those, so I stayed strictly with dance, doing drama in other venues.
Okay, so we come to tryouts. The music kids were totally indifferent--kids who play instruments will always have a place. You didn't get too many violins in the sixties, believe me. But we dance students were really afraid, and for a good reason: our best dancer that year was J. She was short, duck-shaped, plain, but she was so gifted you didn't see a short, duck-shaped, plain girl when she moved, you saw comets, drifting leaves, cascades of water, herons in flight--you get the idea. She did get called back for the lead of the girl who dances out her emotions and doesn't speak. From the drama class came the drama teacher's favorite, a cheerleader who confidently bounced out in her tennies and turned the tryout dance into a cheery, bouncy little routine, complete with a cartwheel, which was about the only gymnastic thing they did in those days. It was a scene of sorrow, to minor key music...and she bounded through a cartwheel, and ended up in a cheer pose with a big smile.
She was picked. J was her understudy.
The dance teacher afterward would not talk about the tryouts. We went into rehearsal, W (the cheer girl) coming to dance in tennies. She bounced through all the routines, which had to be scaled down from ballet to little bounces and turns and more bounces, always with a big smile, no matter what was going on. We finally asked her to let J (who had to learn W's routines, but managed to make such a limited choreography look so good that the sad scenes were tremendously effective, just the way she turned her wrists and held her body) have just one performance. W agreed, but when it came time for the five day run, she told us she'd changed her mind. She'd even talked it over with her mom, and they had decided that since she was the best--or she wouldn't have been picked--it was cheating the audience to not perform.
If she'd been a bitch, I think someone would have said something to her. But she wasn't. She was just supremely self-confident--she'd wanted to dance, thought she'd sacrificed to give up a speaking role, and that was that. So the production went on, everybody clapped; at graduation she was given several awards, including for dance. The performing arts teachers voted on those, and the music teacher usually voted with her.
Afterward? On the strengh of that performance she applied to UCLA dance school, and got in. She dropped out after a couple of months--real dance turned out to be far too demanding. She married her high school sweetheart, became a housewife, and I was told she has all those awards on a special shelf, and that was that. J had also applied, got in, and within a couple of years had starring roles--far, far better than a high school production.
The moral? I dunno. The audience seemed to like W, and although that production was never named among the great ones done at that school, it was never called a disaster. W's many friends all thought she was brilliant. Only we dancers (and some parents who know ballet) were disgruntled, but J went on to fine things.
So maybe there isn't a moral. Everyone's taste varies, greatness is often in the eye of the beholder. So any kind of award thing has never gotten me excited since. I participate because the reward is free books, I do my very best to pick what I think best, knowing that there will be plenty who despise me heartily for my lack of vision. Finally that's all we can do, because no matter how much energy you put into byzantine rule changes, as I said elsewhere (and believe)you simply cannot legislate the human heart.
______________
* see matociquala's post on weird left=hander brains
I tried to figure an angle of approach. Names? No. But leaving out names dwindled into a spaghetti-plate of diffuse pronouns.
So instead, I think--maybe it won't work, but it does connect in my head*--here is my attempt.
Lo these many decades ago when I was in high school, it was at last time for the final musical. The rules had always been strict: each teacher in charge of drama, dance, and music picked their best to perform, and senior year you at last got the plum roles. There were tryouts, but usually we pretty much knew who would fit what role.
So the P that B picked Finian's Rainbow for the musical. In a school of six thousand plus, these musicals were a big deal--big budget for a mostly blue collar school, but we had a good scattering of Hollywood trained kids, as we were close to MGM and the west end production houses. The many quiet industry professionals who were not Big Name Stars but had steady employment lived in our neighborhood, which was sea-breeze nice, but was prevented from ever being costly because we were directly in the LAX flight path. That means planes overhead every three minutes, stopping only for thick fog. Day and night.
Anyway. This year the P that B had decided to change things. Before, the three teachers worked in concert. Apparently the drama teacher had decided that she had to be the big boss. Now, many of us had drama experience, in fact, the junior high drama teacher had been brilliant. I still use some of her innovations today. But when we got to high school, we discovered the type B of teachers we dislike most (Type A being bullies): the "favorite child" teacher, who forms cliques around his or her person, and chooses them for their skills in kissing up, not necessarily for skill. The drama teacher was one of those, so I stayed strictly with dance, doing drama in other venues.
Okay, so we come to tryouts. The music kids were totally indifferent--kids who play instruments will always have a place. You didn't get too many violins in the sixties, believe me. But we dance students were really afraid, and for a good reason: our best dancer that year was J. She was short, duck-shaped, plain, but she was so gifted you didn't see a short, duck-shaped, plain girl when she moved, you saw comets, drifting leaves, cascades of water, herons in flight--you get the idea. She did get called back for the lead of the girl who dances out her emotions and doesn't speak. From the drama class came the drama teacher's favorite, a cheerleader who confidently bounced out in her tennies and turned the tryout dance into a cheery, bouncy little routine, complete with a cartwheel, which was about the only gymnastic thing they did in those days. It was a scene of sorrow, to minor key music...and she bounded through a cartwheel, and ended up in a cheer pose with a big smile.
She was picked. J was her understudy.
The dance teacher afterward would not talk about the tryouts. We went into rehearsal, W (the cheer girl) coming to dance in tennies. She bounced through all the routines, which had to be scaled down from ballet to little bounces and turns and more bounces, always with a big smile, no matter what was going on. We finally asked her to let J (who had to learn W's routines, but managed to make such a limited choreography look so good that the sad scenes were tremendously effective, just the way she turned her wrists and held her body) have just one performance. W agreed, but when it came time for the five day run, she told us she'd changed her mind. She'd even talked it over with her mom, and they had decided that since she was the best--or she wouldn't have been picked--it was cheating the audience to not perform.
If she'd been a bitch, I think someone would have said something to her. But she wasn't. She was just supremely self-confident--she'd wanted to dance, thought she'd sacrificed to give up a speaking role, and that was that. So the production went on, everybody clapped; at graduation she was given several awards, including for dance. The performing arts teachers voted on those, and the music teacher usually voted with her.
Afterward? On the strengh of that performance she applied to UCLA dance school, and got in. She dropped out after a couple of months--real dance turned out to be far too demanding. She married her high school sweetheart, became a housewife, and I was told she has all those awards on a special shelf, and that was that. J had also applied, got in, and within a couple of years had starring roles--far, far better than a high school production.
The moral? I dunno. The audience seemed to like W, and although that production was never named among the great ones done at that school, it was never called a disaster. W's many friends all thought she was brilliant. Only we dancers (and some parents who know ballet) were disgruntled, but J went on to fine things.
So maybe there isn't a moral. Everyone's taste varies, greatness is often in the eye of the beholder. So any kind of award thing has never gotten me excited since. I participate because the reward is free books, I do my very best to pick what I think best, knowing that there will be plenty who despise me heartily for my lack of vision. Finally that's all we can do, because no matter how much energy you put into byzantine rule changes, as I said elsewhere (and believe)you simply cannot legislate the human heart.
______________
* see matociquala's post on weird left=hander brains