Begin with that classic work of art: Oklahoma! As a native Cornhusker, it has always bothered me that the consensus ground-breaking piece of musical theater dances its way across the prairie of the Sooner State, and not the expansive, rolling Sandhills north of the Platte River. Why couldn’t there be a play called “Nebraska”? Part of the answer, of course, is Lynn Riggs: writer of Green Grow the Lilacs, and Oklahoma native. Maybe someday someone will make an extraordinary musical out of O Pioneers!, Old Jules, or My Antonia. Until then, Rodgers and Hammerstein’s first masterpiece will remain the classic “integrated” stage musical play.
Richard Rodger’s and Alan Lerner’s descriptions of the process of bringing a musical play to Broadway makes it very clear that the audience is an essential collaborator. Musical pieces added, scenes dropped, actors changed, even titles modified all happen in Boston, New Haven, Philadelphia, on the way to New York. Even before the first audience sees the first dress rehearsal, an anonymous public is constantly in the minds of those preparing the play: how the audience responds to the big song, laughs at the wrong time, produces no laughs at the right time. Their first-hand description leaves no room for doubt.
But an audience is not a single organism; it consists of several hundred individuals – and over the run of a very successful play, the numbers run to tens or hundreds of thousands. If the play is made into a motion picture, the audience grows into the tens of millions and more. They may well laugh aloud together, cry silently in unison. They are still individuals, with different histories, unique genes, and contrasting life situations. But a hidden commonality comes into view, as the story on stage or screen emerges.
Let’s try a kind of thought experiment, imagining oneself as a member of an audience of a noted musical play. As the characters are initially sketched and then enfleshed, as the plot advances, the drama on stage is taken into the mind, taps the memory and establishes links with the individual’s life. Imagination and myth merge and reality is transformed into fantasy without conscious realization of what has happened.
The stage is certainly there, concrete and distinctly not part of us, but what is happening on stage enters our conscious experience, and a distinct drama/comedy occurs within ourselves. As audience, we are participating in our collective response: laughing, crying, applauding, now restless, then uncomfortable, at times even transfixed. Our inner response is either reinforced or challenged by the outwardly expressed experience of our neighbors. Even their breathing, nearly inaudible sighs, coughs, and body movements have some effect. Nevertheless, the drama is very much interiorized and personalized.
The set that is the stage becomes a little world unto itself, an isolated room in which a little of each character become projections of inner, hidden facets of the individual observer. The man in the audience finds an identity not only with the hero, but the other males: villain, foil, buffoon, and, curiously enough, with the females too: the heroine, vixen, ingénue, klutz, wise old woman... Inanimate objects become symbols of discontent, progress, regression, cleansing, restoration... The pressure of conflict and tension of misunderstanding become symbolic of internal stretching, fragmentation, hurt, and brokenness, while the resolution of plot – hero and heroine joined, villains vanquished, a new day dawning – become symbols of hope, integration, fulfillment.
The overture anticipates the story to come. In retrospect, the degree of integration of plot and music within the play permits the music to convey a sense of the impending drama, comedy, fear, pathos, and joy. The overture ends, the curtain goes up on a surrealistic corn field, lonely homestead (called Laurey’s farmhouse in the script), and a solitary old woman churning butter. The woman continues her task as a tall young cowboy saunters onto the stage, declaring in song (with a near-operatic voice) that what we are seeing is a kind of Eden, with healthy tall cornstalks, quiet contented cattle, and sounds which are all music. The song sets the stage even more than does the set. (In the motion picture version, the artificiality inherent in stage setting is preserved; the film was certainly not made in Oklahoma—small comfort to Cornhuskers.) The pastoral content of “O what a beautiful morning” belies the conflict which is to come. Just as a maturing young man is convinced he is in control of his world, then, too, the world must be in harmony with him. The confidence, even cockiness with which Curly deals with the world will be shaken as he encounters that which he cannot directly control: the contrary, “irrational” feminine and the dark, obsessed and evil shadows. All is not in harmony. But then, even in the words of the first song, there is the subtle hint: A young maverick, an unbranded calf belonging to no one, winks her eye. Like the wink of a strange, attractive woman, the meaning is ambiguous. Is there a shared secret here or the first stirrings of surprise or even conflict? Adventure or crisis? Who is in control of this developing story? That operatic quality voices are typical of the male and female leads cast in the Broadway and cinema productions is probably also significant. Are there more unnatural and artificial performing art forms than opera and ballet? None of the other singing members of the cast are close to operatic in their style. There is also the curious ambiguity of the explicit and implicit role of the sung music. The very first song is to be accepted as a song within the frame of the story. Curly describes himself as singing. Laurey’s description of his song is, of course, purposefully absurd. Only some of the remaining musical pieces are explicitly part of the story, however. It is rare, after all, that we sing to one another in everyday life. The initial artificiality of Laurey and Curly’s relationship is thereby underlined.
Carl Jung suggested that within the normal man whose outward, conscious face is “masculine” (strong, thick-skinned, controlled, rational, assertive…) there is a hidden, largely unconscious “feminine”, the anima (sensitive, emotive, soft, deferential, non-rational). The man encounters the anima most commonly by projections defined in part by the women of his experience (mother, sister, girlfriend, wife, co-worker). For the man in which the feminine has remained unconscious, the anima has been totally experienced by projection onto the women of his life, who, therefore, have never been dealt with as distinct persons. Typically, then, such a man’s female relationships may be superficial, childish, dictatorial, even abusive, or virtually nonexistent. The first female image for the man is his mother, and, conceivably, the anima projected onto her may be transferred unchanged to who should be the ultimately most significant woman in his life: his wife, if he ever has one. Male maturation for Jung involves withdrawing projections of the anima and the shadow (the repressed, undesired masculine attributes; even the most masculine of men still denies certain masculine characteristics), recognizing them for what they are, and then affirming the value of the anima and shadow and, equivalently (and more important) the distinct individuality of the women (and other men) in his life. The maturing man maintains his masculine character, but augments and refines it with the more feminine qualities of sensitivity, sociability, and softness. He also becomes aware of the power he has for evil and for good – to dominate and to defer.
Conversely, for women, the preferred mode of expression of feminine characteristics obscures the inner masculine qualities, which Jung collectively termed the animus. Maturation for women involves withdrawal of projections of their animus from the men in their lives, initially their fathers, eventually their husbands. Similarly, their feminine shadow must also be dealt with. A kind of subtext of much of Oklahoma! and any number of other musical comedies involves this precise maturation or, as Jung termed it, individuation process. It could be asserted that part of Curly’s and Laurey’s “problems” (their immaturity, artificiality, foolish dishonesty, and egocentrism) is manifest in the supporting characters: villain, comic lovers, dream-dancers, wise old woman.
For the individual audience member, the objective view of the play consists of a number of actor-singers and dancers on a decorated stage telling a story. The subjective view takes in each of the characters and their progressive interaction. With one another and connects them with elements of the individual member’s own experience, so as to make sense of the musical play as it evolves on the stage.
There are five principal male and three such female roles in Oklahoma! Curly dominates the play with his strong, charming, staggering baritone. Laurey is the pivotal character. We are allowed to read only her mind in the dream ballet. The surface question of who will be her escort to the social is fraught with greater consequences than the conscious Laurey has guessed.
It is clear from the beginning that Laurey and Curly belong together; and Will and Ado Annie also are “meant for one another”: Farm girl Laurey and cowboy Curly; farm girl Annie and cowboy Will. By quirks of illogic, stubbornness, immaturity, and circumstance, Laurey is almost disastrously linked with Jud, and Annie, most comically with the peddler, Ali Hakim. Come the social, a fight almost inevitably breaks out between farmers and cowmen. Disorder exists at every level of the play. It is not until the evil Jud is dead and the peddler out of the picture, that Curly and Laurey can sing honestly and openly to one another and to the rest of their world.
The drama of human life can be considered in part to represent the struggle of apparent opposites: male/female, honesty/dishonesty, eros/sublimation, charm/crudity. In Oklahoma! it is resolution of the conflicts of opposites that is sought.
The strutting, too clever, independent Curly in confronting his male opposite (the seething, too quiet, slow-witted Jud) absurdly and shockingly tries to persuade Jud to kill himself. But the time is not yet right. Jud has a function to perform. Laurey is still unconscious of the shadows of masculinity; her naïveté must be overcome. Similarly, Curly’s overconfidence in his own male attractiveness must be humbled; he cannot take the feminine for granted. In parallel Will’s ignorance must be dealt with, particularly the double standard he imposes on Annie. There are the male characters: Curly and Jud; Will and Hakim. Then there are Laurey and Ado Annie and Aunt Eller. Curly and Will are the straight and comic heroes; Jud and Hakim the straight and comedy villains. Laurey must choose between Curly and Jud – Annie between Will and Ali Hakim. There is the added background of open range (cowboys Curly and Will) versus farming-domesticity (Laurey; Ado Annie, Aunt Eller, Jud); untamed territory and future State. There is no oil yet and no mention of Indians (the latter omission heightening the artificiality of the story).
The key dramatic question is: how are Curly and Laurey going to be united given their immature “pride” and foolishness and the real danger posed by the mystery man, Jud? The question is complemented by Ado Annie’s quandary: whom shall she choose: Dull, unimaginative Will Parker or “exotic, romantic” Ali Hakim? Jud is the dark, brooding shadow man with the mysterious, even ominous past. Ali Hakim, the unclothed girls on Hakim’s and Jud’s cards, and the Kansas City burlesque stage suggest the power of hidden eros beneath the surface of each triangle.
Despite the dominance of archetypal elements in each character, every one of the major roles has attributes of a real person. Even the evil Jud has some sympathetic qualities, and Curly’s crude attempt to encourage Jud’s suicide adds some tarnish to the hero’s image. Insofar as the interaction of the characters with one another is concerned, however, much of their communication appears to be indirect and artificial. For example, it seems that neither of the two principals really appreciates the full humanity of their opposites. As attractive as Curly appears in the beginning, his unwillingness to directly ask Laurey to the social is particularly frustrating, since Laurey refuses to show any interest in return; she has not been explicitly invited. The facades they each put on (transparent to Aunt Eller and the audience, but not to each other) lay the foundation for the drama to come.
Curly emphasizes the masculine archetype (“the best bronc-buster, best bull-dogger, Curly-headed, and bow-legged”)? What else should Laurey want? And he foolishly assumes that Laurey would want to socialize with him despite (or even because-of) his high self-regard. Curly’s stubborn self-centeredness almost forces Laurey to turn his indirect invitation down, and accept the blandishments of Jud. Despite her profound fears of the hired man, Jud, at least, is never indirect. In his dark morose world, there is some sense of reality: he sees the unique worth and value of Laurey. He believes that he does not “deserve” her, but wants her anyway. In this respect, Jud is the shadow of Curly. Curly refuses to acknowledge his desire for Laurey; Laurey is supposed to desire him. The shock of Laurey’s acceptance of Jud awakens Curly to action and too-long delayed humbling.
The presence of the comic could-be lovers, Will and Ado Annie, highlights another face to the Curly-Laurey problem. The two leads seem to lack a sense of humor; they seem to take themselves all too seriously. Curly’s non-invitation could be seen by Laurey as the teasing irony intended; similarly, her denigration of Curly’s singing (which in fact she has herself echoed) could be interpreted by Curly as ironic and teasing, but neither is willing to recognize that they can be the object of humor without undermining their own value. Curly could have called himself the “best baritone” in all of the territory, along with enumerating his bronc-busting talents; but clearly, the subject is not open for debate. Thus Jud’s hostility to folks who think themselves better than others (especially himself) is not difficult to understand; alas, Jud also lacks any sense of humor, unless we include pathos.
In order to vanquish the external rival for Laurey’s affections, it is necessary for Curly to give up everything he owns (most especially the saddle and gun essential for him to continue as a cowboy); he must so humble himself as to become a farmer. One of the more comic earlier events in the play, the dance of the farmers and the cowmen which degenerates into a brawl, symbolizes how profound the self-humiliation of Curly must be; to give up the status and freedom of the cowboy to become a domesticated farmer is not an easy step to take. In parallel Laurey is impelled to take a most frightening chance as she dumps Jud in the middle of nowhere, guaranteeing his future enmity, but, at the same time, protecting herself from his clear and present dangerous advances. Curly must defer and be humbled; Laurey must risk and assert. Each must exercise opposite gender and unconscious same gender archetypal qualities in order to achieve their unspoken goals. The need for conscious acknowledgment of their mutual love is clearly expressed early on through the song “People will say we’re in love”. The closest either comes to explicit admission of love in the song is Curly’s response that Laurey’s hand is so grand in his. The acknowledgement necessarily mean the loss of conscious capabilities, however, as Curly must still confront the hiding, scheming Jud. In the emergence of honesty and humility in Curly, the same qualities which Jud, in his perversity, already possessed, their very perversion must be dealt with in order for survival of Curly and Laurey to be assured: Jud must die. The best of the shadow is appropriated; the worst is eradicated. There is gain and loss inherent in change.
The parallel uniting of Will and Annie, the comic leads, cements the sense of fulfillment in Laurey and Curly’s marriage. Will, the not-so-smart cowboy must rely on help from the trapped peddler, in order to snare his elusive bride. Ado Annie turns out to be smarter than previously thought. Her closing warning to Will is to never take her for granted. And wasn’t that Curly’s problem from the very beginning? The anima is rarely really hidden. Every man “knows” how to be “feminine”, if only in parody. His first teacher is his mother, after all. The problem with the anima is not so much that it is unconscious, but is ignored.
The unconscious level at which Oklahoma! operates is nevermore clearly emphasized as in the famous ballet. The musical is, again, known for full “integration” of music, dialogue, and dance. If its fame is justly deserved, it must serve a dramatic function. Swain has challenged this assumption, suggesting that the details of the ballet, particularly since they involve apparently indiscriminate reprises of previous songs, make no dramatic sense. He especially objects to the dance-hall women, come to dream life from Jud’s pin-ups, who dance to “I can’t say no”. Since the original context of the song humorously portrays the confusion of late adolescent girl, Ado Annie, one might question the bawdy context of this part of the ballet. The answer is that the dream ballet is not at all concerned with Annie; it is concerned with Laurey: her relationship with Curly and the implications of the ominous presence of Jud with the dancehall women. Her own latent eros is stirred by the raw assertiveness of Jud, who wants the real thing, not picture postcards. The song sung by Annie is certainly humorous, in part because of its double entendre. But, there is a truth in the dual meaning which the dream points out.
The dream ballet occurs in a surrealistic frontier town, somewhat like, yet unlike the Oklahoma frontier. Civilization is impinging on the territory, with horseless carriages and tales of seven-story skyscrapers and telephones in the big city. But the ballet lacks anything up-to-date, and there is little that is familiar. Laurey’s dream is within the non-rational world of the unconscious; powerful archetypal images point to truths which she has consciously avoided. Curly’s encounter with the unconscious is largely symbolized by his call paid to the smokehouse: dust and cobwebs, grimy bed, tobacco ads, the postcards, and covers off the Police Gazette. Curiously, Curly shows only passing interest in the Gazette covers and picture cards; they might give him “idys”. Rather, he begins an incredible game with Jud, indirectly demonstrating his contempt for the man, while trying to determine just what attraction Jud might have for Laurey. Curly’s behavior is almost shocking; it is difficult to rationalize his crude “attempt” to encourage Jud to do himself in, with the Curly who sings of “corn as high as a elephant’s eye”, and of “isinglass curtains ya can pull right down”. It is as if in his encounter with Jud, the “Jud” within Curly starts to come out. Curly’s control on his sexual drive, averting his eyes from Jud’s pornographic cards, is apparently greater than his control on his innate aggressiveness. The encounter of Curly with his shadow is bound to be eventful, but it is not destined to be fulfilled in the dark recesses of the smokehouse, but out in the open air, with Jud’s murder attempt. Ironically, Jud does end up killing himself in the encounter with Curly, but not before Curly has explicitly affirmed his love for Laurey and publicly confronted Jud.
Only the lead players have a distinct identity or color, achieved by their interaction with others, or, largely in Laurey’s case, illuminated by the dream ballet. The ballet additionally implies that the desired masculine must be humbled, in the apparent death of “Curly” in the dream. There is little Laurey can do prevent the “death” of Curly; in fact, she helps bring it about. Thus, there is a kind of inevitability inherent in the plot of Oklahoma!, just as there is a kind of inevitability in the lives individual people lead.
The internal interaction of the individual member of the audience with the play is hierarchical. The two leading characters are initially one-dimensional. Curly and Laurey are almost too sweet, almost like the royalty of many an operetta. In their initial game of pretended insult and offense, a little of the sugar goes sour, and then as they interact with the threatening character of Jud, even some bitterness is tasted. The sympathy or antipathy the audience members feel for the characters depends in part on their own experience, but, quite clearly, few would have any hopes for either Jud or Ali Hakim. There is little to Jud that is sympathetic, other than his reputation for reliable, hard work, and, perhaps, his shunning by the rest of the community. Hakim as alien and seducer is played for its comic value. Like Jud, however, Hakim shouts an appreciation for women (however superficial; they provide his livelihood, after all, and he is not shy about desiring their sexual favors) that Curly and Will seem to lack. (An undercurrent of the play is the apparent undervaluing of sexuality by the dominant men. Curly and Laurey’s wedding night is interrupted by the “traditional” shivaree.)
The tensions of masculine-feminine, farmer-cowman, sexuality-repression, popular-outcast, frontier-modern are gradually worked through in the play and in the mind-experience of the audience, achieving fulfillment in the climax of marriage, celebrated in the singing of the title song, and in the anticlimax of the death of Jud. The closing celebrates the joys of domesticity and removal of facade: “Let people say we’re in love”.
The drama-comedy of Oklahoma! becomes a microcosm of the lives most people live. And the outward lives mirror the inner struggles of growth. The typical man lives out of his masculinity (although without a rich baritone), but at various crisis points, whether due to interior or exterior forces, is confronted with the need to grow: to deal with the undervalued masculine traits submerged in the unconscious and to allow the feminine characteristics to emerge, as well. The facilitation of inner growth often requires humbling of the dominant characteristics and acknowledgement of the shadow tendencies (symbolized by death), and the emergence of the gender-opposite characteristics (symbolized by courtship).
Acknowledgement of balance of transformed masculine and emerging feminine is the goal of fulfillment, in the Jungian scheme (symbolized by marriage and sexual union). The process is not smooth, nor without pain and suffering. The success of a play such as Oklahoma! rests in its ability to capture the process of human growth and maturation in such a way that it corresponds with the inner and outer experience of the audience. The exhilaration of a theater encounter manifests the resonance of the onstage performance with the inner drama of one’s life. So it is in the climax piece: the first verse, sung by Curly, becomes an ensemble effort, with full chorus. Everything is together, in harmony, except the individual voice of Laurey is not obvious (because Jud still has to be deal with?). Then, in the anticlimax, Curly and Laurey sing a duet-reprise of “O, what a beautiful morning!” and “People will say we’re in love”, the latter changed to “Let people say…” The hero and heroine are free of their self-consciousness, willingly and publicly expressing their love for one another, and the villain has been vanquished.
The grand metaphor of integration, fulfillment, and completion is achieved in the typical musical play, with or without some bitterness, pain, suffering, and death. Resolution of the plot gives the audience a temporary vicarious experience of integration and fulfillment. To the extent the individual audience member recognizes himself or herself in several of the characters, the experience of completion is not without its rewards. At least the experience of the individual has been recognized outside of himself or herself. Some degree of commonality of the human journey has been recognized and identified.
Still another kind of commonality present in this play (and in many others) needs to be more concretely emphasized. The two love-triangles complement one another, with the comedy triangle bringing additional meaning to the primary triangle. Similarly, the dream ballet provides added meaning to Laurey’s dilemma. There’s a “wedding” in the ballet that anticipates the wedding that culminates Curly and Laurey’s bumpy courtship. Imagined death in the smokehouse and death in the ballet are prophetic of Curly’s ego-death, and the eventual violent death of Jud. Eros in Will’s account of his Kansas City experience, in the smokehouse, in the dream, and in the lens of the “little wonder”, and the shivaree must be dealt with.
The repeated themes of the play, both musical leit motives, and parallels in plot, imply a kind of self-similarity in word, music, action, and dance. Each element of the play produces coherence with succeeding elements, bringing out hidden meaning. It is rather like applying a decryption code to an encoded message. What is obscure in a single component of the play becomes clearer when illuminated by a succeeding component. All is not perfect in the initial “beautiful morning”. The winking eye of a maverick heifer anticipates what is to come. Quickly Curly learns that all is not as he expects. Laurey’s reluctance is further complicated by the challenge Jud presents. In parallel, Will triumphant arrival to claim Ado Annie is quickly deflated when the $50 prerequisite is revealed as already spent. Add one more complication: the peddler, and Will is not in control, either. A message develops and is progressively reinforced.
Through Laurey’s eyes, things are not the way she wants them, from the very beginning of the play. Curly takes her for granted. Jud appreciates her value, but Jud is dangerous. Like the dream, Laurey has little control over what happens, except to run away and call for help. At first she runs the wrong way and asks for help from the wrong person. Ado Annie is not in control, either, subject to the “charms” of whichever male she is with. Like Laurey, Annie runs for “help”, but from a slick charmer.
A musical play such as Oklahoma! succeeds by an integration of word, music, and dance which reinforces a message whose coherence becomes apparent in retrospect. Consciously or unconsciously, Riggs, Rodgers, Hammerstein, and Agnes deMille forged a classic of internal self-similarity and consistency which continues to delight audiences more than sixty years later.
Next: Alan Lerner's Defense
No comments:
Post a Comment