Category — Margot

Susan Meiselas went places during times when I would have been constantly looking over my shoulder, not through my camera’s lens.  She saw terrible, radical things happen around her and instead of getting lost in the flurry, pulled back and took picture after picture, documenting rather then participating.  Though it’s not that simple.  There were a few photos that as I looked on, I tried to imagine the situation she was in, the immense emotions that she may have tried to keep at bay with her camera.  [Read more →]

In very, very short, Dr. Atomic was a letdown.  It was so built up in my mind, with all the talk of its radical libretto and dramatic background story.  I was ready for a mind-blowing first opera, both in the message that it would convey and the majesty of the actual performance.  I was shockingly underwhelmed.  As the brilliant stage lit up in stark light and growling music I stiffened my self in anticipation that there would be chills slipping up and down my spine from first note to last.  Fifteen minutes in and I was slumped, devoid of emotion and almost developing a headache. [Read more →]

The lights dim and the orchestra strikes a chord, pulling the audience into their seats.  As the overture concludes the stage silently creeps over the musicians’ heads, pushing the world of South Pacific into the world of the audience.  As the play progresses a giant airplane is brought on stage, setting it for the SeaBees to belt out their raucous rendition of “There Ain’t Nothing like a Dame”.  Their antics and underdog bromance keep the play glued together throughout the night, with the many plot lines separated by the different styles each actor will take with their role.  [Read more →]

Francine Prose as a writer is an exact one.  She makes every word count and tells us to do he same.  As a speaker she is sure of her words and herself, not giving a speech, more having a conversation.  Her humor holds a key to her being: dry, well placed comments that could be mistaken for passing thoughts if not for her perfect sense of timing. [Read more →]

After several unsatisfying and downright disappointing performances all semester Clay let me love theatre again.  I had almost become one of those anti-stage cynics, the opposite of what I had grown up as, because I was so disheartened by the boring performances I have been subject to as of late.  So this hip-hop musical, shining lights in my face and shoving sounds in my ears, brought me back behind the curtains and excited about the presence of one great performer. [Read more →]

We were on the top of the world.  Encapsulated in a tiny pod of yellow the three of us watched the lights get close and farther, closer and farther as we swayed in our make-believe rocket ship.  Sea-shanties echoed across the port, if you could call what that crazy Romanian chick in her red sparkly dress was singing sea-shanties.  Charlotte, in her French-accented, somewhat broken English, told a story constantly interrupted by our laughter.  She told a humorous horror story about our Ferris wheel breaking and the three of us falling to our deaths and the next day in the newspapers it would tell of the Englishman, Frenchie and American who died together in a tragic accident.  The Englishman, Ben, turned to me and smiled, and I smiled back.  After Charlotte went back to the boat that night we would lean against one of the warehouses and kiss while drunken French people made rude comments in the darkness.  [Read more →]