Performance takes unwelcome turn

All the world’s a stage. Recently I attended “a dramatic reading” of Shakespeare, provided by the Yale Drama School, at the Yale Museum for British Art. The event was divided into three parts, the first two of which took place on the fourth floor of the museum. Then the attendees were informed that, for the third performance, we would be heading down “to the lockers” in the basement.

“Lockers” can be indicative of various functionalities. Schools have them in their hallways, for instance. However, in actuality, upon arrival in the basement, no lockers in sight, we were all led thru an open doorway into what proved to be — a men’s room.

“Men’s room” indicates one thing only: a restroom just for men.

Yet, we — men, women and children — were all lined up against the wall of the facility, facing the urinals and cubicles. In walked one of the student-directors, proceeding directly up to one of the urinals. A lady in our group cried out involuntarily: “Not really!” Well, whether it was real or simulated, the director went through the action of urinating. The actor/reader, having just popped out from one of the cubicles, joined this director at the other urinal and mirrored his activity, all the time spouting Shakespeare lines which, I dare say, few gave much consideration, under the distracting and disturbing circumstances.

In the discussion period which followed, we were all treated to an explanation of men’s room urination etiquette. Such a delightful and wholesome family-friendly adventure, courtesy your local drama school and art museum!

Some might say that art is sometimes supposed to be shocking. So might defensibly declare a flasher one innocently encounters while on a stroll down the street. What we were subjected to was, to my way of thinking anyway, little better than what the flasher imposes on their unwitting victims.

Here’s an excerpt from the museum’s website description of the event:

“Using Louis Kahn’s iconic building as the structure for their dramatic interpretations, the students will lead visitors throughout the center to experience Shakespeare as never before.”

I’ll say. But having experienced this raunchy men’s room spectacle, my only comfort comes in knowing that if there’s a then there can also be a

last time for everything. God willing, I won’t be so naïve in the future as to think that a legitimate and well-respected art museum won’t, without any prior warning to its patrons, suddenly transform itself into a theater of the utterly absurd.

So-called “art” such as this makes the world a nastier, fouler and grosser place. Come to think of it, maybe this ridiculous supposed “Shakespeare reading” did belong in a restroom after all — more specifically, in the toilette. John Schwartz lives in Trumbull.

File photo The lobby of the Yale Center for British Art in New Haven.