She of the Voice

Light­ing design for Eliza Bent’s She of the Voice, adapted from Hari Kunzru’s short story Magda Man­dela, and directed by José Zayas. It was pre­sented by the under­groundzero fes­ti­val at Per­for­mance Space 122. Music by Greg Portz, chore­og­ra­phy by Rebecca Marzalek-Kelly, music direc­tion by DJ Thacker, clothes and sets by Ásta Hostet­ter & Mered­ith Ries, video (not well rep­re­sented in pho­tos) by Keith Skretch, sound by Matt Tennie.

A Greek cho­rus of urban­ites dwell along­side the larger-than-life Magda (a dis­em­bod­ied voice over the loud­speak­ers) whose con­stant preach­ing and out­ra­geous, vig­i­lante antics pro­vide a wealth of gos­sip — and headaches — for her fel­low cit­i­zens. Magda may parade around in a lime green thong, offer up end­less apho­risms, and declare her­self kin to Nel­son Man­dela. Yet her calls to arms — though observed — for the most part, remain ignored. Is Magda a wise fool or crazy neigh­bor? In a frac­tured, apa­thetic world, can com­mu­nity exist if no one lis­tens? Though comedic in tone, at the heart of She of the Voice is an explo­ration of human fellowship.

Low-angled chartreuse-green flu­o­res­cent light cre­ates a limbo world where Magda’s neigh­bors tell us about liv­ing with Magda in hyper-theatrical group for­ma­tions. Abrupt tran­si­tions to very col­or­ful worlds of song and dance punc­tu­ate the anec­dotes, and per­haps offer com­men­tary on the neigh­bors’ sto­ry­telling. The fre­quent use of audi­ence blind­ers adds an ele­ment of abra­sion and drags the reluc­tant audi­ence into a messy world. The show cul­mi­nates in a col­or­less yet daz­zling dance after Magda’s arrest, where her voice and spirit shine through, lit­er­ally blind­ing the audi­ence in a final moment and forces it to listen.

Thanks to the fes­ti­val and my dear PS122 for the oppor­tu­nity to play. Thanks to Eliza and José for the fun ride.