In-Gene-Uity

A Comedy by Janet van Eeden

At the Grahamstown National Arts Festival in July

Roots run deep…

A humorous look at cross cultural adoption

When Jean and Lucy adopt the son of their deceased domestic worker, they think love and affection are the only things needed to bring up orphaned young James. However, when James turns sixteen he seems to turn into someone else. When they discover that James has been missing school, Lucy and Jean decide to intervene. Little do they know that they are not the only ones helping James to discover his roots.

Just Do It Productions presents this new play by Janet van Eeden. It will premiere at the Grahamstown Festival in July and is funded by the National Arts Council. It stars Kiara Worth as Lucy, Arifani Moyo as James and Janet van Eeden as Jean.

Janet van Eeden has been writing plays and screenplays for the last thirteen years. Her Savage Trilogy premiered in Grahamstown from 2001 to 2005. In 2006 her plays A Matter of Time and Expletive Deleted premiered at the same festival. Her feature film White LION will hit the national movie screens in July/August this year. She is currently producing her own feature film, A Shot at the Big Time. She has played cameo roles in The Savage Civilian and A Matter of Time. Her play A Matter of Time was unanimously declared the winning entry in the Olive Schreiner Awards in 2008.

Multi-Award winning actor, playwright and director, Ian Roberts, has been working non-stop in the industry since he graduated from Rhodes University. He has played the role of Alan Paton in Cry The Beloved Country alongside Richard Harris and James Earl Jones. He was also the only white actor in the Oscar winning film Tsotsi. He has directed Janet van Eeden’s plays, A Savage from the Colonies, A Matter of Time and Expletive Deleted, all of which premiered at the Grahamstown Festival. He is currently putting the finishing touches to his first feature film, Everyman’s Taxi, which he wrote, acted in and also directed, and is due for cinematic release later this year.

Kiara Worth is a consultant for sustainable development, working for Golder Associates Africa, where she specializes in the use of theatre in climate change communication. She believes that true development needs to focus on the transformation of the human spirit and that theatre is an efficacious tool in doing so. She calls this work “Theatre of Survival” and has recently returned from performing a piece at the UN Headquarters in New York. She is also an avid performer herself, having performed in Remembering You Like Something I’d Forgotten (2007/2008) at the Grahamstown Arts Festival, Trojan Women (2006), The Glass Menagerie (2005), Goodnight Desdemona, Good Morning Juliette (2005), As You Like It (2004) and numerous other shows at the Hexagon Theatre, Pietermaritzburg.

Arifani Moyo is a Zimbabwean-born underground singer/songwriter, music maker, actor, and playwright. He formally studied Drama at the University of KwaZulu Natal, in Pietermaritzburg, where he has been based. Moyo’s acting background includes participation in numerous student drama productions; a few commercial projects at Pietermaritzburg’s Hexagon Theatre; two Fringe shows at the Grahamstown National Arts Festival; a touring educational theatre project; and one conventional drama role at the Durban Playhouse. As a musician, Moyo has performed his solo acoustic songs at various folk and poetry club sessions in Pietermaritzburg, as well as participated in various recordings and collaborations. As a playwright, Moyo has been involved in community and school-orientated projects while preparing the groundwork to launch a new theatre company in Pietermaritzburg.

In-Gene-Uity

has 9 performances in MASONIC TWO in July 2009

2nd 18:00

3rd 20:00

4th 14:00

5th 16:00

6th 12:00

7th 16:00

9th 14:00

10th 10:00

11th 22:00

Duration of performance: 65mins

It's a Jungle Out There

“Don’t worry about the noise the birds are making in that tree. They’re just sounding the alarm because a snake is after them.”

The Camel Man Game Ranger throws this comment over his shoulder as he lugs my city bag across the rough veld towards the tiny upside down umbrella that is my new home for the next few nights. He unzips the tent and shows me in. It is definitely not five star.

“You’ll be perfectly safe in here,” he says, showing me hard wooden beds and space between them large enough to almost stand up straight. “Just keep the screens zipped up and the mosquitoes shouldn’t be able to get in.

I force a smile, as if I’ve been camping all my life. Of course I’ll be fine, I answer. What with the snakes in the tree above my tent and the malaria-carrying mosquitoes and the two strands of electric fence keeping me from predators in the veld, I’m just peachy!

I’m in a section of the Kruger Park devoted to training. Field guide courses are run throughout the year and eager Europeans flock here in their droves to live on oats porridge and stew to learn more about the bush. Living in a tent in the middle of thorn trees and wild animals is exciting for them.

I’ve come up for three days to teach first time filmmaking students about writing scripts about wildlife. If only I hadn’t worn heels.

That night, I leave the community tented area to go back to my tent. I use my torch to light the way. Oh, did I forget to mention there’s no electricity in the camp? I sit in the dark – or crouch rather – on my bed, wondering how to spend the next twelve hours until my lectures begin. I decide I have no choice but to sleep. Ah, sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care, as dear Will Shakespeare said. He didn’t mention that sleep might be interrupted by the whooping of hyenas nearby or the definite growl of a lion. I think of the two frail strands of electric fencing. I am sure they wouldn’t stand a chance against a hungry hyena. And what’s that scratching along the side of the tent, right next to my face? It sounds like the claws of a large lizard type creature. How big do rock monitors get exactly?

Sleep does not arrive easily, especially with the rough snores of the man in the tent next to me. He’s sleeping like a baby. A very loud baby, I think jealously.

I have lots of time to think. Especially about the fact that my family did not do much camping when I was small. We were too busy having family crises to have family holidays. And we lived in the Free State for goodness sake. Acacia thorn trees and wide open stretches of veld were part of our back garden. We spent every moment trying to get away from the veld.

After the second night I vow that I will never go camping again. Especially as I’m not too keen to follow the example one of my students, a Dutch girl, who squats outside her tent at night in what she calls her “en suite”. The ablution block is miles of scary dark veld away and I am not happy.

On my last night in the camp, the students decide to throw me an impromptu farewell party. Two of the men produce guitars. The game ranger drags a skin drum out of a corner and the rest of the students grab various items to form a percussion group. The game ranger plies me with large glasses of whiskey. It would be churlish to refuse. Soon we are all singing Seventies songs, Beatles hits and eventually Johnny Clegg numbers. While we are all searching for the spirit of the great heart under an African sky, with the stars beaming down on us in milky way-ed splendour, I finally get what this camping business is all about. I can’t wait to come back.

And it really wasn’t just the whiskey talking.

First Published in The Witness 18 May 2009

Things We Lost

A recent Cinema Nouveau film was called Things We Lost in the Fire. It was a touching portrayal of two people coming to terms with the huge loss of a mutual loved one, as well as a loss of their own identities. Through dealing with these losses they came to a much deeper understanding of themselves. The prejudiced and narrow-minded woman, played by Halle Berry, found that the person she was most prejudiced about was the only one who truly understood her. The drug-addicted friend of the dead man realised that he didn’t have to evade reality in order to find peace.

At the risk of sounding like a Hallmark Card, I’ve also been thinking about the things we gain when we confront the things we lost. My daughter has been ill for six months with an insidious and almost invisible malaise. She’s had to leave the very good high achievement school she’d excelled in, especially during her time in the primary school.

I realised how much the loss of her apparent prospects had affected me when I listened to a chance rendition of Pia Jesu last night. My daughter had sung the same exquisite hymn in her final chapel service at primary school, doing a duet with another member of the choir. The two soaring sopranos had reduced the congregation to tears. Listening to the hymn last night left me heart-broken for a while at her apparent missed opportunities. Then I started to think about the film I saw almost a year ago. Sometimes the things we lose in the fires of life give us gifts we never expected.

Very often we have plans and ideas about our future and especially those of our children. We envisage a future for them which will hopefully be brighter and more successful than our own. We can’t help ourselves. I suppose it’s all to do with the propagation of the species. When these expectations don’t come to fruition, we can feel a little disappointed in some ways.

But again, at the risk of sounding like a multi-forwarded feel-good email, I realised that this time out of the rat race has been a huge gift to my daughter and me. Taking all the pressure off her (which is extreme in today’s schools) has allowed her to relax for the first time in a number of years. While she doesn’t feel terribly well, she’s rediscovered her sense of humour and we’ve grown much closer than ever. She’s also had time to think about her identity, without peer pressure or external demands. This is one of the mose rare gifts. She said to me a few nights ago: “When I’ve found out who I am, I’d like to do more drama and comedy and make people laugh.”

Maybe we all need time out of the rat race to find out who we are and, if at all possible, make people laugh. The high achieving society we live puts huge pressure on us to produce visible outcomes to justify our time on earth. Some things are prized more highly than others. Growing an excellent vegetable garden is not prized as much as writing a novel. In fact, it is as much of an achievement if not better, in my opinion. And being able to say you truly know yourself is far more valuable than winning an Oscar for playing other people. They won’t write articles about you in Heat Magazine, however, about your incredible insight into yourself but that is a good thing!

So this time out of the world-which-is-too-much-with-us has allowed our whole family to re-evaluate the essential values in life. Firstly, it’s a cliché but it’s true: there is nothing more important in life than health. And if that is compromised, perhaps there are benefits to taking things slowly and more contemplatively. Also examining the pain that comes with illness or loss of any kind allows one to open a window into another world. This world doesn’t have as many photo opportunities as being an Oscar winner, but I would argue that its rewards are greater. Wisdom, compassion and patience far outweigh being chased by the paparazzi or having Heat post sleazy videos of you on their websites.

To ensure I don’t say anything as cheesy as a Macdonald quarter-pounder again, I’ll end with the words of the Sufi poet Rumi: “Look to your wounds: that’s where the light comes in.”

First Published in The Witness 20 March 2008.

Alice through the Glass.

Things are not always what they seem. The thing is, very often we set our minds on something convinced that it is this one thing alone which will a) Bring you eternal happiness; b) Bring you financial independence or c) Give you your heart’s desires. And then when you finally get what you think you want, you discover it wasn’t what you needed at all.
This came to me when I flew to Joburg for a meeting recently. I’d put so much store into this meeting, my expectations and hopes were high. When I arrived, the person I was meant to meet hadn’t arrived yet. I didn’t mind as it gave me time to go over my proposal again.

Almost an hour crawled by as I sat on the couch. Then a couple came in to meet someone else in the organisation. Eyes slightly glazed by now (I’d been up since 5 am) I became aware of them as they announced themselves at reception. The young man of twenty-something was talking non-stop to his companion. She was older than he was, her hair scraped back from her finely boned face. Her legs were as long and graceful as a thoroughbred horse. There was something very familiar about her. I’d seen her in a film. I stared a little as they sat next to me, my memory doing flick-flacks as I scanned the trillion films I’ve seen. Eventually my brain found the file. Chariots of Fire. Ghost Story. The Borg Queen in Star Trek. Alice Krige. It really was her. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help sneaking a few more surreptitious glances.

When the receptionist called me to the desk to say that the person I was due to meet would be arriving soon, I walked back to the couch straight into Alice’s warm smile. “I’m a huge fan,” I blurted as casually as I could. She graciously asked me about myself. We talked and I learnt that she is producing a film in South Africa after just finishing work on Skin, a film to be released here soon. I told her I was producing my own film too.

That’s when she asked for my card. Oh dear. An enthusiastic member of Postnet recently decided to get creative with my latest set of business cards. She’d produced something so awful that I’d thrown them all in the bin. I still hadn’t ordered new ones. Not sounding terribly professional I tried to explain about my lack of cards. Then she and her companion were summoned to their meeting. “Just write your details on a piece of paper, and leave it at the desk,” she smiled as she glided up the stairs.

Well, there was no way on earth I was going to leave a scrawled piece of paper at the desk for Alice Krige. I wracked my brains, and mentally thanked the person I was due to meet for being late. I had to come up with something special so that it wouldn’t be thrown in the bin soon after delivery. I searched my diary. I often keep mementoes in its pages. And there it was. The perfect thing: a beaded dragonfly of delicate beauty which my daughter had made. I’d stuck it on the front page with Presstik at the beginning of the year. That would do. Scrounging an envelope from the receptionist, I stuck the pale blue dragonfly on the front and wrote a note to go inside. I asked the receptionist to deliver it to Alice while she was in her meeting as – at last - I was called in for my own.

My meeting wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for. It didn’t seem as if anything would come of it after all. But as I walked down the stairs afterwards, I saw Alice through the glass walls where she was having her meeting. She spotted me, gave me a huge smile. She waved the envelope with the dragonfly on it and gave me a big thumbs-up. That affirmation was enough. She affirmed that we are two women on a similar path. The outcome of my original meeting didn’t matter so much anymore.

That’s when I realised that we don’t always find what we’re looking for in the places we expect. But if we keep our eyes open, perhaps we’ll find our joy where we least expect it. Sometime even in the looking glass.

FIRST WORDS: Published in The Sunday Independent, 15th February 2009

Width of a Thread

One of Katie Melua’s songs has a verse which goes like this: “The line between wrong and right/ is the width of a thread of a spider’s web.” It’s one of my favourite songs at the moment. It makes me remember that only the tiniest shift in perception is required to make something appear positive or negative. As usual, good old Will Shakespeare said it first: “There’s nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so.”

This thought appeals to me, especially at the start of a new year. Perhaps this is a good time to renew a commitment to stop believing that things are hopeless and rather to look at how good they actually are. If we compare our situations to people in so many other countries - Tibet, Iraq and Zimbabwe are just three that spring to mind; or if we look back at our country’s very recent bloody past, our lives come out pretty much as half-full as the clichéd glass.

I’ve been observing this phenomenon lately in my daily life. For example, I’ve tried changing my dread of going to one of my least favourite places in the world: the Home Affairs offices in the city. Actually, that’s a bad example. Even Norman Vincent Peale couldn’t turn that into a positive experience. So perhaps I should think of something less challenging.

Okay, let me start with something smaller, like the way we treat others in shopping malls or on the roads. I’ve had more successes in these arenas. If someone bumps into you in the mall, for example, or tries to overtake you on a busy intersection, instead of blowing up with a barrage of well chosen invective, it will take the offender completely by surprise if you simply smile and graciously wave the person past. It’s so much less stressful to do this too, especially in South Africa where an angry comment can ignite a violent reaction fuelled by sixty years of bitter resentment. At the risk of sounding like Pollyanna, I’ve noticed many times that if you offer a smile when one isn’t expected, anger melts away like mud washed away by rain.

Many more books have been written about positive thinking since the days of Norman Vincent Peale. In fact there’s an absolute glut of books on the shelves telling us that we can manifest our own destinies. From The Secret to books written by almost everyone else on the planet, these prophets of joy make it all sound so simple. Just think positively they say and you’ll be sailing a yacht in the Bahamas in a month.

I’ve read a lot of these books and thought a great deal about the whole issue too. I believe Quantum Physics is a very real phenomenon. It makes sense, really. Our way of thinking affects our way of being.

But there is a flaw in many of these books in my opinion. Demanding a wish-list of material goods for the satisfaction of our egos isn’t positive at all. Especially if the demands are largely selfish. I’ve noticed that expecting to get exactly what you want simply because you demand it, is doomed to failure. The reality of the matter is much more Zen. Being positive means that you, like the Zen Buddhists, remove all expectations of the outcome from your thoughts. This doesn’t quite suit the “large list of must-have items” brigade. Being positive means that you see the worth in every situation, even when you don’t get exactly what you want.

So if the person overtaking you on the intersection still chooses to show you the finger, just keep smiling and try not to wish he’ll hit the next lamppost. And if you see me forgetting my own advice and giving rude signs to the taxi, please forgive me. I’ve still got my training wheels on.

And I think for the sake of universal sanity, all of us should do all in our power to avoid a visit to Home Affairs!

First published in The Witness, 19 January 2009.

Hadeda Haven

Most people I know hate hadedas. I used to too. Especially when they wake me up at four am screeching like wounded babies. I even understood neighbours who set off crackers in their trees to chase resident hadeda families away. After all, everyone needs some peace.

And then a Hadeda was left at my doorstep. She wasn’t quite wrapped in swaddling clothes (let’s say it was a she) but her parents brought her to my back door because she couldn’t fly properly. Well, perhaps the parents didn’t actually see me as the SOS Hadeda’s Village. But the baby was left in my back garden while the concerned parents fretted nearby. Darkness fell. We still had a large aviary in our garden left over from my children’s enthusiastic bird loving days. So I gently guided the baby Hadeda into the aviary. Then I closed the large wire door on her. In the morning I opened the door a little when her parents returned. They spent the day with her, coming in and out as they fed her. After a few days she was gone. She was strong enough to fly. That was that, I thought.

I was wrong.

The mother and her babies began to arrive at my doorstep every morning. I threw out stale bread for them, pleased that they remembered my kindness. Over the years the mother has continued to bring her babies to my back door every morning. If they hear my voice in the front garden, they’ll flutter down and see if I have any treats for them there too. I must say that this familiarity from the Hadeda community has not pleased my Springer spaniel. Trained to chase everything with wings, she has a real battle every time I tell her to leave the Hadedas alone. Her nature arm-wrestles her nurture, and every now and then, when I’m not looking, she’ll chase them away in ecstatic doggie delight.

The younger generation of Hadedas have exceeded their mother’s trust in me. They’ve become so tame that they now walk into the kitchen to help themselves to my spaniel’s pellets. Pedigree is their favourite. They’ll even walk in when I’m sitting at the kitchen table having tea with my quieter friends. Noisier guests, who don’t know that we have visiting pterodactyl look-alikes, have frightened the Hadedas and themselves by walking into the kitchen boldly. A large feathery creature has often been scared into a state of apoplectic panic. Pot plants scatter and bird poo plops until I can grab the terrified Hadeda and guide it outside again. The worst case was when a Hadeda flew straight through the kitchen window. It was classic. There was a Hadeda shaped hole through the window and fortunately the Hadeda was back unharmed the next day.

R500 later, I now try to keep the kitchen’s security gate closed and throw dog pellets out every morning to prevent anymore damage. But the moment the door is left open, the Hadedas are back en masse.

After the recent bad storms I was distressed to see one of the younger Hadedas unable to walk. It had squatted down in the grass and then took off with a large string of plastic netting attached to its left claw. I spent ages trying to get closer to her so I could remove the netting. (I think she’s a “she” but who knows?) Each time I was close enough to touch her, she’d take off.

After a few days the trail of netting got shorter, and I was relieved when it fell off entirely. Unfortunately the bird’s claw is badly damaged. She just manages to hobble around. So I leave out special titbits for her, and talk to her, trying to encourage her to use her foot a bit more each day. She seems to be getting a little better. And when she isn’t eating, she rests on the grass just outside the back door.

I never thought I’d include a family of Hadedas in my menagerie but I’ve discovered that even the noisiest creature can have its attractive side. My spaniel, on the other hand, does not agree.

Published in The Witness on 10 December 2008.

THE HERO’S JOURNEY – WHAT IS IT AND HOW CAN IT HELP?

Good story tellers have always known one thing: people want to hear a story about the underdog who has to overcome huge obstacles against the odds, an underdog who has every evil twist of fate thrown at him to thwart his success, an underdog who looks like he might not actually make it to the end. And of course, every good story ensures that this poor, brow-beaten underdog is made of such indomitable spirit to overcome all the odds… In spite of it all our beloved underdog succeeds!

Oral story tellers relied on this formula for success; ancient mythologies used this recipe and even very good sport promoters use this outline… How many of us have cheered for the team which isn’t the favourite? For the player who has had the most injuries? Just think of South Africa and the 95 Rugby World Cup… Think of Lance Armstrong and his battle with cancer… Think of the South African cricket team… Actually, no. Scrap that last one. Perhaps the SA Cricket Squad is doomed forever to be tragic heroes! 

The point is that all good stories - the ones that keep you emotionally invested right until the end - usually have a hero or heroine we know and love in spite of his or her flaws, and who has to go through enormous battles to complete his or her journey of self discovery. Most religions and mythologies follow this pattern too. Just think of how abused Jesus was, how mocked and maligned. But his resurrection was a victory over the odds in the most supernatural way. 

In the early twentieth century, Carl Jung, a student of Sigmund Freud, broke away from Freud’s sexual obsessions and devised his own belief system based largely on the idea that humanity shared a common set of symbols which are universally recognised. Jung studied dreams, mythologies, religions and cultures and asserted that humankind shared a common set of stock characters, to which all cultures related. He believed that there were standard recognisable characters which kept cropping up in stories and myths throughout the world and which played universally recognisable symbolic roles. He called these ‘Archetypes.’ Think of the Wise Old Man, for examples, a reoccurring figure in so many fairy tales and stories: Merlin, Gandalf the Grey, Dumbledore the Wizard, and wise old Sangomas. Think now of the young ingénue, the Innocent Virgin: Cinderella, Little Red Riding, Snow White. Think of the Wise Old Crones: the witches with supernatural insights in Macbeth, ancient female Sangomas. There are many more. But for good story telling purposes, the most important archetype is The Hero.

The Hero, who often has a flaw, overcomes many, many odds. He fights all the battles we wish we were strong enough to fight ourselves. He (or she) is one of our most powerful archetypes. Think of Ulysses, Moses, Hamlet, Indiana Jones, James Bond, Shrek and many, many more. 

Following in Jung’s footprints, a writer and academic named Joseph Campbell began to analyse the similarities between myths, legends and archetypes. He spent much of his life devoted to comparing common themes in world mythologies and great stories. Eventually he wrote a book which changed the way people viewed story telling. It was called The Hero with a Thousand Faces. In this he showed that there is a classic structure behind most, if not all, of the best stories in the world. He clarified this structure and wrote a blueprint which could be applied to most stories. In the 70’s a struggling first time writer/director discovered The Hero with a Thousand Faces. This writer/director had been stuck in development hell for years with his story about fictional, futuristic worlds in which a young man called Luke had to find his way. Desperate for help he applied Joseph Campbell’s structure to his unwieldly story and, like magic, found his way into a classic hero’s journey. The young writer/director was George Lucas. And his story was a little tale called Star Wars. 

In 1992, Christopher Vogler adapted Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces into a simpler structure, specifically for use in films. As Vogler says, ‘Campbell had broken the secret code of story, with its set of principles which govern the art of story telling.’ As a story analyst for Walt Disney, Vogler wrote a seven page memo as a practical guide to writing story. Soon this memo became required reading for Disney development executives. It led him to write The Writer’s Journey, Mythic Structure for Storytellers and Screenwriters. 

It is this simplified structure I use to help the scriptwriting students I lecture at UKZN, and it’s the same structure I use to solve any problems I have with scripts I am working on. Apply this to your screenplay and it will undoubtedly help clarify problems you might be having with your story.  

Essentially, Chris Vogler’s Hero’s Journey blueprint follows this simple pattern. The terms Vogler uses are on the left of this blueprint. I have equated the usual scriptwriting or playwriting terminology on the right to show it follows the usual patterns of traditional play structure. The Hero’s Journey is just more sophisticated.  

I have found this blueprint has helped me so much in teaching (with two of my students in consecutive years winning the M-Net EDiT awards) as well as in my own work. Ever since I began using this blueprint my screenplays and plays have become much more successful. There must be something in that!

THE HERO’S JOURNEY

Chris Vogler

(Vogler's terms in Italics)

SET UP (beginning)

 
Ordinary World ACT 1

Call to adventure

Refusal of the call  

Meeting the mentor  

Crossing the (first) threshold (First turning point – at +/- 30 mins/pages)

   
   
  CONFRONTATION (middle)


Tests, Allies, enemies ACT 2

Approach to the inner most cave  

Ordeal CRISIS – 2nd Turning Point

Reward (Seizing the Sword) (about 60 mins/pages)



  RESOLUTION (end)


The Road back ACT 3

Resurrection CLIMAX

Return with the elixir (about 30 mins/pages)


For in-depth study of scriptwriting one should always go back to the source, Joseph Cambell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces. I cover this in my scriptwriting workshops. 

For more information go to www.janetvaneeden.com