Bird Shit Performance Review

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Bird Shit

A multimedia performative work

World premiere | April 7, 2013

MoMA PS1 | VW Dome

Producers: Shruti Ganguly, Anna Kooris

Upon entering MoMA PS1 in Long Island City, Queens, one cannot miss the massive VW Dome in the middle of the front courtyard. Inside the dome, Bird Shit is performed in the round, on an elevated white stage complete with a large overhead truss.

Bird Shit looks to portray celebrity culture with its empty promises and false connections through the use of theatrical dialogue, choreography, video projections, live band, lighting design, and various physical materials including paint and feathers. The show is primarily based off the play The Seagull by Anton Chekov (1895), as well as Allen Ginsberg’s seminal poem, “Kaddish” (1959). The choice of The Seagull as basis for the content of the show was highly relevant, for the plights of the four main characters in how they relate to fame has not changed in today’s celebrity culture:

-       the young actress: willing to do whatever it takes to become famous (turning her back on those loyal to her, sharing her bed with an acclaimed director)

-       the aging starlet: who dates younger men for any attempt to hold onto her youth (including the director who is sleeping with the young actress)

-       the successful director: who admonishes his fame (easy to do when you are famous) and takes direction from his penis rather than his heart or head

-       the aspiring playwright: who claims to stay true to his art though his actions reflect that all he really wants is attention (exemplified by his numerous botched suicides)

Though generalizations, these characters represent archetypes of personalities we still see in celebrity culture today, and their relationships are heightened and enhanced by the video projections. The two characters who retain fame (the director and the aging starlet) are portrayed via video recordings, and projected at larger-than-life sizes on the inside of the dome walls, while the characters looking to achieve fame perform live and “interact” with the characters on the video. This structure proves successful in portraying the disconnect between those with true fame and those striving at all costs to attain it.

As far as the other multimedia aspects of the performance, they remain neither meaningful nor superfluous. Whenever the projections do not show pre-recorded video, they display a live-feed from the actions onstage. These recordings are taken from three perspectives onstage as well as a fourth angle from beneath the stage itself through some kind of window in the floor.

The choreography is interesting but far from prolific. Inspired by the Release Technique, the movements remain fluid and constantly moving, perhaps in an effort to represent the passing of time. The dancers—there are five including the actress playing the young starlet—become strangely sexualized when white paint and feathers drop on them from above the stage, and they begin to smear themselves with the materials. Considering the seagull itself in the narrative represents the free-spirited soul killed by the whims of the hunter as a metaphor for the ingénue being corrupted by the fame machine, having the girls roll around in “bird shit” crudely accomplishes this theme.

Other than these aforementioned elements, the rest of the performance turns into a highly self-righteous display of ego, starting first with the program. Actor James Franco, though he should be praised for extending his own celebrity by participating in less-mainstream work, is mentioned numerous times throughout the two pages of the pamphlet as “James Franco presents Bird Shit,” “special thanks to James Franco” and “under the guidance of James Franco.” As one then opens the pamphlet, it is revealed that Franco will also be playing the role of the successful director. It is extremely difficult to believe the character when the words “Fuck fame. Before I was famous, I was a broke asshole; now that I am famous, I’m still a broke asshole” as they come out of James Franco’s mouth when his face is twelve feet tall and projected in three places around the audience.  Any irony on the part of the writers is overshadowed by the exploitation of Mr. Franco’s name and face, and the arrogance of the character intended to shine through fails to do so.

Furthermore, the role of the aging starlet is performed by none other than Marina Abramovic, whose majority of screentime is spent on the brink of making out with James Franco. Intending to provoke the audience by showing sexuality between a notably older woman and young man feels over-the-top: is this even provocative anymore? we see it all the time on reality tv and newsstands. Additionally, the personalities of Abramovic and Franco are too prevalent, making the scene less artistic and more egocentric. Albeit the director and aging actress characters are supposed to be self-absorbed, and the massive projections certainly add to the spectacle, but Abramovic and Franco seem to want to challenge the audience with the subtext: “We are these two great, multimedia, artistic individuals… Do you want to see us make out?... Well, we are just going to tease you.” Here, the projections actually hurt the storyline by enhancing Abramovic and Franco so much that they no longer seem part of the cast.

If the live and recorded roles were inversed, with Abramovic and Franco performing live to the larger-than-life wannabe celebrity characters, the performance would have reached a much deeper level. Arrogance would be traded in for a yearning to connect. It would have been much easier to believe Franco’s “Fuck fame” comments if he were the small person trying to interact with the oversized “nobody” characters.

Unfortunately, the glimpses of artistic thought and development are not strong enough to shine through the momentum of the Franco (anti-)Fame Machine, and upon exiting the dome, one feels that all they did was simply encourage Mr. Franco’s celebrity status.

*A note must be made about the live band, aptly named Yeah Well, Whatever, who live up to their name but are excused since apathy seems to be their shtick.