Do artists have an obligation to tell us the truth? Autobiography is inherently subjective and colored by creative license. But if it somehow holds up a mirror that reflects everyone, isn’t that true?
Playwright and director Aya Ogawa delves deep into her conscious memory in “The Nosebleed,” which premiered at the Clare Toe Theater on Monday and at the Japan Society last fall, so it’s finally possible Don’t be surprised if someone’s head leaks. Conversational, unflinching, and delicately layered, Ogawa’s memoir-like excavations test the boundaries of love and family obligations through intimate confessions. But the creators are not only freeing themselves from haunting regrets, they are also forcing the viewer to expose themselves in detail. It does not mean that
The lights are still on when Ogawa introduces himself, explaining that “The Nosebleed” began as a quest for failure. His four actors standing in the aisles of the theater, one of him at a time, come forward and briefly recount their own failures. Earlier in the day, Asir Lee got his mask caught in his eye while he was adjusting it, leaving him momentarily blinded on the street. His Drae Campbell, who walks his dog during the day, once had a stray dog defecate indoors because he was distracted by his cell phone. Memories of these incidents add another dimension of reality to the ensemble’s uninfluenced performance, establishing everyone on stage as infallible, imperfect, and human.
That bubbling schnoze belonged to Ogawa’s 5-year-old son, who was screaming in a bloodied bed on a family trip to Japan, jet-lag and deranged. Ogawa plays his son and his father on stage, but relinquishes his own role to a quartet of other actors. Aya, a character variably played by others, wakes up streaming bootleg episodes of “The Bachelorette”. I tried to connect, but the real quest seems to be finding her own sense of identity.
“Why can’t we be ‘normal’ Americans?”
“Why can’t you find a place that feels like home and live there?” another (Kairi Y. Turner) pleads indignantly.
Immigrants, their descendants, and anyone who has ever felt in-between cultures will feel at home in this unbroken and perpetual sense of middle ground. Ogawa’s introspection, like many self-reflections, goes back to her strained and often mute relationship with her parents, especially her late father. It starts with making peace with the ghost.
As a concept, “The Nosebleed” might have stared at the navel had it not been conceived with its generous perspective and unpretentious bid for audience engagement. (If there are too many on-stage requests to raise your hand over his 70 minutes of the play, I feel that a sustained exchange was at least obtained.) You may not want to. But breathing the same air means participating in a “nosebleed,” even for those who sit quietly still.
There is a blank canvas quality to Ogawa’s refreshing and evocative work, which likewise feels like a visual invitation to personal connection. , the depth of field increases. Even casual movements feel lyrical as the action shifts from almost pageant-like to communal ritual.
If only loss is certain, Ogawa speaks for herself in a way that addresses issues of death, forgiveness, and self-determination. But, as she argues from her painful experience, what sticks in your mind are the questions that aren’t asked.
nosebleed
At the Claire Tow Theater in Manhattan until August 28th. lct.orgRunning time: 1 hour 10 minutes.
