PATRIOTS OR MAD MEN CAUGHT MOVING THE NATIONAL DISCOURSE PAST PLATITUDES AND PRETENSE Armenian News Network / Groong February 12, 2009 By Bedros Afeyan "Out of the Cage," is a collection of "sramid" or sharp and witty sketches by the renown Armenian theatrical ensemble that is built around the considerable talents of Vahe Berberian. This band of brave Armenian performers dare to repeatedly skewer myths and legends, stereotypes and comfortable self-medicating dosages of delusion which usually take the form of banner headlines in party organs, fervent and melodramatic official speeches, oft repeated and hackneyed slogans, categorically stated national goals and other crutches which divert our eyes from what is really going on and where we are clearly headed. These strong voices of satire and caricature, absurdist exaggeration and farce, playfulness and seriousness of purpose all meld into a series of 11 or 12 skits and vignettes where ancestral heroes, Gods and goons, tough guys and mice, Satan's helpers and Pakistani chanters, troubled Japanese Samurai fed up with Tofu and an unimaginative cooking, nagging wife, meet and greet Armenian/Turkish negotiators who will settle their disagreements regarding the genocide and the reparations that are due, but can not stop insulting each other, remaining hyper-suspicious of each other, biting, scratching, and resettling on old notions and convictions, with no progress but the spectacle that this can create. Original ideas on how to recover Armenian Soil, gate keepers of hell rejecting a candidate for he has simply not sinned enough, and many more Monty Python-esque settings and sensibilities are served up in these sketches that are a must see, at least as far as this reviewer is concerned. You can do so next weekend, February 21 and 22 at 7 PM and 6 PM, respectively at Walter & Laurel Karabian Hall, TCA A. Dickranian School, 1200 N. Cahuenga Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90038. For tickets visit http://www.itsmyseat.com/OOC.html or call 818-941-4800. The brilliant conceit around which the piece is constructed is that these are just inmates of an Armenian mental asylum especially for artists and intellectuals which was necessitated in the late nineteenth century in Istanbul, then the Middle East and finally resuscitated in Fresno and LA by the mid twentieth century. This conceit of a set of playful crazies, being shepherded by an old psychiatrist and his staff who come on stage whenever convenient to tell them to "cut it out," and thus allowing them to "keep it short" theatrically, is a useful if obvious trick. And as if this is not enough, they also have an announcer of sorts who is also clearly one of them but aware of who and where he is! Who is he presenting this evening spectacle to? Other patients of the asylum presumably, and are we those other patients, perhaps? This in fact is the best angle of all. Our role as Armenians in the diaspora, living near our churches, schools and meeting halls, our athletic clubs and scout troupes, our women's associations and relief societies, and in the case of LA, especially, living near our specialty grocery stores, bakeries and restaurants as well. But who are we as a people? How are we self-organized? What are the driving forces and their motivations and instruments to attract and retain an illusive Armenian soul, an Armenian identity, to seduce or forcefully transmit that seed, that mythic urge, that melancholy call of the Crane, in song and spirit, alone like Gomidas, ostracized by his fellow (not as gifted) monks, misunderstood by a rich and thriving Armenian public unwilling to fathom or simply unaware of the impending doom to come at the turn of the 20th century, and after seeing the beginning of the genocide, Gomidas' silence, lunacy, refusal to speak Armenian, fear that any day the Turks will come and take him away again. Silence and illucidity in France, silence, and death. Gomidas' fate is very much on every Armenian intellectual's mind. What happened to that sensitive soul should and could happen to the rest of us. Even now, even here. So why not move the story along IN the asylum, in the hell or purgatory of doubt and uncertain identity. Why not sit and make our Kebob's here? Admit that this is where we have landed. Admit that we must move forward from here, not through denial and not through thin decorations with Mount Ararad on the wall or Sasountsi Tavit on his high horse, deflecting the humid, pealing pain of a nation of immigrants and outsiders, clinging to their fast fading memories of a collective self. Yes, from within the walls of the asylum, Armenians can shout and declaim! They can demand and revolt! But the gates are shut, the perimeter is monitored, dogs and guards are on the alert. They will let you have your annual summer picnics and Easter processions, as if you were on the outside and this was your free will. But the cognisenti know that something is just not right. There are confining walls, built up by history and death marches, organized caravans of dispersal, loss of stifled village life with all new choices and perils of self-redefinition and self- realization in lands of plenty and lands of new rules, and a whole new asylum for the memories that do not die. Vahe Berberian and his troupe of actors perform very heart-warming skits under these circumstances. The rest of us in the audience are well served to think about the absurdist stretches of an already improbable existence that is ours. With Armenian speaking or garbled speech Samurai and an Armenian translator with a set script. With a tree hiding a prompter who has to lead Levon Shant's conflicted priest's confessor from Ancient Gods, or New Doubts or New Gods and Goblins, how to deal with oneself in stormy doubts and bouts, in garbled lines and sighs, in absurdistan and calamitistan, in lamentistan and guffawistan, all in some fistan or koknots, a hot babe in a straight jacket crisscrossing the stage looking for her Persian Armenian husband who has changed his name to Claude, who acts as if he is a French Armenian, as if he is not married, as if he is free to come and go, in this very same asylum. We have Gomidas denying his roots and reality, his ethnomusicalogical and composer's talent erased. Hiding behind a meaningless capitulation, a forced and undignified descent from grace. And then there are the skits themselves: Sassountsi Tavit yev hink klkhani hreshe [Sasountsi Tavit and the Five Headed Monster] (Sassountsi Tavit - Chris Bedian, Hresh - Sako Berberian, Levon Shant Demirjian, Shahe Mankerian, Harout Dedeyan and Salpy Yerdemian) A five headed beast, all our political parties perhaps, all our talking heads perhaps? Eventually, the toughest goon in this lot, kills the rest (having killed two others in the past). Sound familiar? And what can Sasountsi Tavit do confronted with this beast? At first, he wants to slay the beast and become famous and dominant. What young rebel would want any less? But soon, he learns that this is not a romantic world. That he is in fact a coward. And this goon will have his way and so Sasountsi Tavit must take flight and try and establish his savior's credentials, his attempt to forge a better Armenian reality, some other day. -Japontsiner [Japanese Ones] (Vahe Berberian, Ara Madzounian, Tranlator - Sako Berberian, Hresh - Shahe Menkerian) Here, a Samurai comes to complain to his father-in-law that his wife is driving him nuts by cooking everything JUST with tofu. Tofu Kebab, Tofu Dolma, Tofu chikeufte, even! Who has heard of such a thing? His father-in-law agrees. But when he tries to return the bride back over to her family, a fight ensues. The goon from the previous sketch shows up and we are allowed to end this one with a juxtaposed Monty Python- esque sensibility and continuity tricks, all rolled into one big Shushi, Mashi. - Jenig and Dr. Loris (Helena Grigorian and Morris Kouyoumdjian) Here is that hot babe, like T. S. Eliot's "Women Come and Go Speaking of Michelangelo" in Prufrock, now chased by a white overcoat wearing and stethoscope bedangled shrink. She wants her husband back. His identity back. But is her plight pertinent? We don't care. She looks good and has a brilliant smile! - Ajuynner ( Vachig Der-Sarkissian, Harout Dedeyan, Sako Berberian, Levon Shant Demirjian) Taking human remains of dead fathers who longed and pined to visit Yerevan, to see Hayastan, how can that be done? One young faithful but pragmatic son comes to a "Remains Repatriation Agency" and asks whether his father who has now expired (Bring out Your Dead! From Monty Python's Holy Grail comes to mind) can be taken to Yerevan and his remains brought back for a reasonable price. The Mexicans around the corner have promised to do it for $2000. How much can you do it for? But is your father really dead?... Yes, yes, he's dead. He never got to see Armenia while alive. Let's try and do it now, before it is too late, but for a good price. The three players in this skit come form different parts of the middle east and have entirely different vernaculars and this causes endless pit and pratfalls, endless slips and slides, till the meaning of the sketch becomes not so much about land and death and pining about both but an implied battle cry: (Armenian) People, Can't We Just Get Along? - Sahe Ververian (Vahe Berberian) This is a masterpiece. The "lawyer" or national advocate in a cheap, plaid, wrinkled suite yet full of legalese splendor, offers a hot and urgent plan whereby we would travel to Turkey, the Eastern provinces, and simply make a grab for the soil in plastic bags from our ancestral homeland. Three to four bags per patriot who will participate in this heist, should do the trick. He offers us what to say to the export control agents at the airport in Istanbul so that they will let us out with the bags. He has thought of everything including how these lands can be immediately repatriated to Yerevan where they can be forged into a second story to the city and that story can be leased out for a fee, making the plan pay for itself, if not make net profit -Hai Trkagan Mejlis [Armenian Turkish Reconciliation Committee Games] (Turks - Sako Berberian, Henrik Mansourian Chris Bedian, Armenians - Ara Baghdoyan, Shahe Mankerian, Vachig Der-Sarkissian, Morris Kouyoumdjian and Levon Shant Demirjian) An earlier version of this is available on YouTube. The whole concept is just brilliant. It is a recurring game that the patients play, apparently. They pretend to be Turkish and Armenian negotiators taking on the thorny and delicate issue of reparations, restitution of dignity and honor, a recognition of the Armenian Genocide, forgiveness, reconciliation, etc. The wit here is hyper-effective. The multilingual jokes aplenty. The sensibilities are too well captured for comment. Look up Turkish Armenian reconciliation committee on YouTube and see for yourself or go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjO0vx97BfQ One of the inspired lines is the complaint by those playing the Turks, as to why they have to play the role of Turks? Why can't they be Armenians, for a change? I remember this kind of debate with my brothers and our neighbors when it came to playing Cowboys and Indians, in our yard or on the balcony. Second Act -Hayots Ayroutsi/Caballeros Armenios {Armenian Knights] (Sbarabed - Ara Madzounian, Confused Soldier- Vachid Der-Sarkissian, Cavalry - Shahe Mankerian, Sako Berberian, Henrik Mansourian, Harout Dedeyan, Shahe Boyadjian, Chris Bedian, Levon Shant Demirjian) Here we have the Cavalry being talked into battle, being wound up and being given marching orders, as it were, until they learn that the enemy is very near and disperse. This is more physical comedy than cerebral and is a good way in after a 15 minute break. It is also very heavily influenced by Monthy Python and works in its element very well. -Interview with Baron Hagop Baronian (Shahe Mankerian, Ara Baghdoyan) This is a cerebral sketch about the perils and insurmountable obstacles that face any attempts to redraw maps and reconstitute national boundaries. An absurd premise flips the problem around and in a mock television interview, we are led to hear how easy it all is, how simply one can just redraw, resize, rescale and redress centuries of injustice and conflict... The skit forces you to ask, just how is this supposed to be done, jackass! Not this way, right? Also Monty Python-esque and very effective. -Nor Asdvadzner/Hin Gasgadzner (Ara Madzounian, Chris Bedian, Hoosharar - Sako Berberian, Throwing up in the back - Levon Shant Demirjian) Here is that two monk, confessor and confessee, a tree with a prompter, an angry prompter and a dumb director/confessor sketch. It has great possibilities. The ideas and parody are that of Levon Shant's Ancient Gods, Hin Asdvadzner. The slipping out of text, intentional, or supposedly inadvertent, makes for many comic possibilities. This sketch can be developed much further. It is very meaty and not yet fully explored. It is just a wonderful wellspring of artistic stretching and somersaulting. Hope this does get revisited in the future. They have but scratched the surface of this gold mine, it seems. - Yerangouyn (Vahe Berberian, Henrik Mansourian, Vachig Der- Sarkissian, Morris Kouyoumdjian, Sako Berberian, Melissa Mazman, Harout Dedeyan, Helena Grigorian) Here the possibilities are also endless. We have a new organization known as Triangle. Not tri-color, not three-headed, just Triangle The three members of this organization are supposed to be equal but are not, they follow Robert's rule of order and proper procedures during their meetings but are not far from absurdity at every moment. In this episode, they are looking for an official anthem for their triangulations. So they have invited some composers to offer options from which they will choose. The killer is the one offered by Claude, who is our Gomidas stand in, after all, remember? He does an Aznavour knock off with brilliant wording but just following Aznavour's song La Boheme, musically. The members revolt. It is not original enough, they claim. Claude is heart broken. Another composer offers a quadrangular solution song, but is summarily dismissed just as he was the previous year. A triangle is a triangle, after all. In a revealing twist, the psychiatrist comes in to offer a ditty (he is an inmate acting as a doctor in the evening's program, after all), but he is a horrible singer and his composition is trite. Then, the Turkish translator, another hot babe, arrives (too late for the TARC skit) and she has a song to offer. That too is rejected and the cycle of searching but coming up empty, rigid demands and no solutions, continues. -Tjokhk (Salpy Yerdemian, Ara Madzounian, Vahe Berberian, Levon Shant Demirjian) A hapless, tall, thin, white Eastern-garbed, soft spoken simpleton (miyamid) arrives at the gates of hell sent down by Gabriel the angel but without the proper paper work. Even Gabriel did not know what to do with this fellow. Alas, he can not enter hell. He has not sinned enough back on earth. He tries to pretend that he has and keeps lying more and more extensively to pass the illusive threshold. But it is too late. Lying now does not help. He should have lied before he got up here, or at least killed someone. But my friends are all in there! Comes the cry, the plea, the begging. Its no good. Nothing doing! Comes the reply. Meanwhile many others are ushered in. Finally, he too is led in, but provisionally, the gatekeeper will keep her eyes on him. She hopes he does not become an embarrassment to her... Hell, at least, is temporarily made available. A small but significant victory perhaps. -Peshawar Ensemble (Singer - Vachig Der-Sarkissian, Vahe Berberian, Drums - Ara Madzounian, Shant (I forgot his last name) Accordion - Ara Dabanjian, Harout Dedeyan, Choir - Sako Berberian, Shahe Mankerian, Levon Shant Demirjian, Chris Bedian) This is brilliant and mind blowing on many levels. Parts of it are also available on YouTube. Please catch it on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jRWmetCuurU&feature=PlayList&p=451EC3412B716EDF&playnext=1&index=2 and see if you can stop yourself from laughing and feeling uneasy at the same time. Every song sounds authentically Pakistani, keeps on going in its expanded musical tones, as if it is a wild improvisational number, only to be morphed into a simple, Armenian pop song! They sing that and continue the cycle again with the quarter tones lost in Western twelve tone music, they froth themselves up into a frenzy and over and over again show the close connection musically between supposedly this foreign culture, this muslim, far eastern, strange collective brand of self-expression inevitably morphing to pop trite fare. The goal might be to show that we are all the same, we all sound the same, feel the same, dream the same, and only hate and discriminate seemingly differently. Deep down inside much more should unite us than help destroy our humanity. Deep down, Armenian or not, lost in the diaspora or resurrected on YouTube, we are here, we can roar, we can laugh, we can face down our absurdities and who knows, perhaps one day, rise above them as well, as a second story, right above old Yerevan and rent the space out for profit and for national rejuvenation. If only we could find enough plastic bags to transport those morsels of ancestral land, three or four bags per working patriot, to their final resting place, or take them there for a tour, through La Boheme, under the stars of Peshawar, peshkirjee's all, or dawning Sharwals still, sitting in the Asylum, eating mezza, before curfew, before strong medication is administered by TV, by the daily grind, that makes for an interesting conversation with good strong Turkish/Armenian coffee in the morning. -- Dr. Bedros Afeyan is a theoretical physicist who works and lives in the Bay area with his wife, Marine. He writes in Armenian and in English and also paints and sculpts. Samples of his work can be found on the web by clicking on his personal web pages at: http://208.177.152.139/
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