Is a text supposed to die?

That’s the question that crossed my mind as I walked out of the Merrick Barn, where I attended the Johns Hopkins Theater’s recent production of Christopher Chen. Passage: a variation on the novel by EM Forster A passage to India. Even though I have never read A passage to Indiamy rough understanding of the novel’s plot is that it is about the tension between Britain and India during the former’s colonial rule over the latter. This helped me identify the main difference between Passage and his muse. The play never mentions “Britain” or “India”; instead, locations are named Country X and Country Y (with sometimes an arbitrary allusion to Country Z).

The rest of the play can be abbreviated as follows: F (Finnigan Keane) and Q (Kate Ketelhohn) are “Country Y-ers” in Country X who have different approaches to playing tourist in a foreign country. F is wary of imposing the culture of the natives, as evidenced by his offer to leave the temple when he finds Country X’s native D (Qiushi (Chris) Tian) worshiping there. F is characterized as being impressed and respectful towards Country X, but this attitude is called into question when his praise of the country’s famous cave turns out to be false and he betrays his relationship with D.

Q – on the other hand – has an equal fixation with country X, but she is less aware of her status as a visitor to another country. She often makes ignorant statements that she tries to walk back, such as calling country X unwelcoming to country Y. Q’s empty praise of country he guided her – at her request – through the cave. It was revealed that F feared the cave due to the hallucinogenic effect it seemed to have on the people of country Y, prompting Q to shoot D. The main thread of the play is the prevalence of xenophobia as well than the desperate wish of an “ideal tourist” who, in the face of conflicts, will ultimately remain faithful to his homeland.

Looking through this summary, it is not clear whether I have described the plot of a play or the steps of a mathematical proof. This facetious comparison underlines the most tragic trait of Passage: It’s too confusing. Similar to how Q claims that countries X treat countries Y, Passage becomes a variation that – while trying in vain to remain consistently relevant – alienates those unfamiliar with the original text.

Even while taking notes during the performance, I missed points that seemed essential to the worldbuilding because they were underdeveloped and rarely mentioned. There was a political conflict over the imprisonment of a child for theft. He just stole batteries, but according to the strict laws of the host country, he still had to be punished in the harshest way. This in turn is what sparked the chaotic protests that surrounded the entire room. With a flurry of letters flying at my ears, the details and significance of this detail (like the country this happened in and the child’s country of origin) escaped my notice.

The actors did the best they could with what they had. Across the roster, everyone boasted expert body language that often helped clarify the script they were forced to deliver. Where appropriate and necessary, they all attached appropriate emotion to their dialogue, which further illuminated the meaning of the convoluted text.

The only aspect where some of the performances failed to move the play away from obscurity was the delivery. Rather than reproducing an organic conversation, they engaged in rote recitation, waiting to hear their partner in the dialogue stop making noise so that they could continue the din without problem. It was like watching an aggressive tennis match where both players relentlessly threw the ball from the front half of the court, never allowing the ball to touch the ground; the audience becomes exhausted, helplessly turning their heads back and forth, minds reeling and eyes strained.

It was during the discussion after the performance that an audience member said something that inspired this article: “I don’t believe in timelessness. A play should die. This was in response to an actor suggesting that the choice to use letters rather than details allowed the text to transcend both context and time. I found myself on the side of the spectator, asking the essential question: was it really a matter of transcension or rather a serious negligence?

History is context. A historical event cannot be separated from what preceded it and what surrounded it. In turn, every literary work – prose, poetry, play – is itself a historical event, given that it is the product of the era in which it was formed.

The question: “Is a text supposed to die?” has a more complicated answer than “yes” or “no”. It must not die in the literal sense of the term, that is, it must not stop being played or studied. However, if he is not going to die, surely the texts should have an expiration date. After the expiration date – when the context has passed – it should be the responsibility of one interested in the text to recognize that the piece has become anachronistic or removed from its time. For example, if someone read Jonathan Swift’s essay A modest proposal Today, without considering its integrated explanation or recognizing the historical context, they can then only wonder why this man so ardently advocates the cannibalism of Irish babies, and the original irony of the essay is lost.

PassageThe choice to remove the historical context of Britain and India from the play is an insult to the audience and reader. Chen may have believed that his deliberate generalization of the plot was a small price to pay that made Forster’s work more accessible and newly applicable. This is not the case.

Any reader wishing to apply the history of A passage to India in modern times can do this without Britain and India becoming country always there, like old wine in a country. new bottle. On the other hand, using letters instead of details will not suddenly make the apathetic reader apply the story to modern times.

Removing the play’s message from specific historical context supports the dangerous rise of anti-intellectualism. By proposing this alternative, readers of Passage against A passage to India are enabled to not learn history. When people are not forced to consider history and learn from it, they are prone to repeat it. This creates a catch-22: Passage warns against Country X-Country Y relationships by removing context to make it timeless; however, in doing so, readers lose the story and become more likely to repeat what they were warned against.

Through no fault of the actors or those who worked on the production of the performance of PassageI ultimately walked away from Merrick Barn confused – not confusion hinting at curiosity or deeper philosophical questioning about the current state of the world, but simply a “What was that trying to say?” ” confusion. If one good thing came out of my first viewing of Passageit was a Barnes & Noble e-receipt for Forster’s novel A passage to India, which will be sent to me soon.