Thanksgiving Recap

Several excellent experiences over thanksgiving break. Although lasting one day shy of a week in length, I was reminded of how unsatisfying my current living/life situation is.

Maybe it's my dislike of DC, or my seemingly never-ending enrollment as a graduate student, or the fact that it was a vacation, but spending time with my old friends and family in and around NYC is just a lot cooler than what I normally do every day.

The play, which I refer to in the previous post, was excellent, as to be expected. We sat in the front row (why my dad got these tickets, one can only guess), which turned out to be annoying because of the sheer number of cross-stage conversations that were going on. At certain intense exchanges, I found myself turning my head back and forth constantly, as if I were watching an exciting game of tennis.

During intermission an older gentleman who was there with his wife asked me out of the blue what I thought -- whether the play had made an impression on me thus far, or whether I was affected by it. I said No, that I hadn't, and followed up with asking if this was necessary for the play to have some quality to it. He seemed to feel that it did-- that the value of art could be found in its effect on the onlooker. And consequently, because of this lack of a palpable influence the play was thus far having on him, the man was dissatisfied with it.

I agreed with his interpretation, but after some thinking believe that he was looking for the wrong effect. Watching a Chekhov play is not like watching a Michael Bruckheimer movie. It's quality is not gleaned from loud explosions or passionate love scenes or violent confrontations, but the subtle idiosyncrasies of its characters. Their endearing flaws illuminate those that we hold, and their implicit, pervasive presentation is what gives Chekhov his brilliance.

The old man wanted to be affected -- he wanted to be moved. This is not asking too much of Chekov, but we must ask to be moved differently than we have been accustomed as children of materialism. The qualities of Chekhov's characters can tell us about ourselves. Though he doesn't ask us to change them, he does provide us with a mirror through which we can see that it might be valuable to do so.