The Rice Thresher (Houston, Tex.), Vol. 80, No. 6, Ed. 1 Friday, September 25, 1992 Page: 11 of 20
twenty pages : ill. ; page 19 x 15 in.View a full description of this newspaper.
Extracted Text
The following text was automatically extracted from the image on this page using optical character recognition software:
arts and entertainment
the rice thresher friday, september 25, 1992 11
LAPD inspects Houston
Homeless people get the real deal out to Normalville in Nu-Art Series
by Greg Rice
In 1985 John Malpcde founded
LAPD (Los Angeles Poverty
Department), an experimental and
improvisational theater group, to
"advance a performance forum for the
intellectual, emotional, and spiritual
development of the homeless and
disenfranchised." The cast members in
LAPD performances consist of
homeless people, formerly homeless
people and a few emerging artists.
They do community workshops and
street performances as well as travel to
other cities in order to stage site—
specific performances about
homelessness.
LAPD has been in residency in
Houston since Sept. 8 and during that
time they have worked with local
artists, members of the homeless
community, and social services groups
to recreate the immediacy of today's
homeless situation. They confront us,
the viewers, with our own fears about
homelessness.
The play, The Real Version of Life
on the Streets, is based on the
collective autobiographical experi-
ences of a group of Houston homeless
people and is charged with an
anxiousness to be understood that
borders on anger. During rehearsals,
cast members beat on lead pipes and
chant, occasionally bursting into
aggressive and intimate monologues
about the fears and desires of being
homeless. The play itself is experi-
mental and open to improvisation and
confrontation with the audience. The
artistic director of LAPD, Malpede,
spoke to the Thresher about the play
and the issues it addresses:
Where did LAPD develop from?
^ I had done a lot of improvisational
* performance developed from
improvisational dance, plus I'd done a
Unleashed
OR
i
Malpede recruited his actors from Houston shelters.
lot of site specific stuff in that
context—works that fell under the
rubric of political theater. And I'd
done a series of monologues before I'd
left New York.
How did you become interested in
the situation of the homeless?
I guess because I'd always been
around them. I'd lived in bad
neighborhoods in New York and I had
always been concerned about that...In
the '80s I felt like I was reaching the
top end of bargain basement perfor-
mance art and had to make some
choices about what directions to go
in...I could go bigger and bigger, and
instead I decided to go smaller and
smaller. What motivated me to get
involved in this issue were a couple of
things. I thought the [experimental]
art world was getting too insular and
too removed from the rest of the
You wont find Jfaith with talking head Ted
by jeff kuhr
I don't think Ted Koppel has any
nose hair. Or maybe I just couldn't see
it.
Koppel was at Rice last week to
moderate an ABC News Viewpoint
special entitled "Politics and the
Media: Reporting or Distorting?"
I don't know where his nose hair
was.
The show, however, was broadcast
live from the Stude Concert Hall,
which is located in the Shepherd
School of Music. Because of this,
several Rice students were allowed to
help out in the making of the show that
had Koppel, along with 11 other
panelists including ABC's Jeff
Greenfield, the Chicago Tribune's
Clarance Page, and Texas feminist
Molly Ivens, gathered together for
almost an hour and a half to answer
questions from the "average person"
about the press and how it works.
I was an usher.
At least that's what I was supposed
to be doing and what Stacey, the ABC
woman with blond hair, thought I was
doing. But, in all actuality, what I was
really doing was using the title "usher"
as a way to move around the set freely,
without fear of being stopped or shot,
and to pursue my bigger goal: to learn
from Ted Koppel—a high profile TV
personality with big bucks, bad ties
and good teeth—the meaning of life.
For the majority of the night I
wandered around die set searching for
clues as to what drove Koppel. I
looked for inspirational staff members
who were employed solely to boost
Koppel's ego; for inflated head shots
of Koppel; for adoring fans, drooling
with anticipation of meeting their
media savior; for a Kriss Kross tape.
Nothing. Not even any drugs.
Fortunately, because of my
esteemed position I was able to
influence, as best I could, what
Koppel did that night So I (along
with Thesher staffer and fellow
brown noser, Jill Salomon) took him
to the Pub. And it was here, far from
the camera's eye, that the real show of
It was at Willy's,
with cigarette
smoke hanging
low and the smell
of beer in the air,
that Ted Koppel
loosened his tie.
the night took place. It was here, with
cigarette smoke hanging low from the
ceiling and the smell of beer in the air,
that Ted Koppel loosened his tie.
And Koppel spoke. Wearing a
mask of political indifference and
playing devil's advocate on several
issues, Koppel discussed the coming
election, abortion rights, race relations
("You have to do more than just read
about it..."), the state of the nation's
economy ("Imagine if you could
never again have another beer..."),
and the future of youth in America.
Students, like anxious disciples of
some media Jesus, gathered around
Koppel, hanging on his every word.
Koppel, with beer raised to his lips
and pretzel dust on his fingers, told
the small, but focused, group that it is
the responsibility of the youth to take
action now locally. Make things
happen. Do something. The students,
eyes open, nodded their heads in
uniform agreement secretly promising
to themselves to do something. They
sipped their beer.
I looked at Koppel. I watched his
mouth move, his paper -white teeth
hidden behind stale red lips. He spoke
confidently and yet with no personal
attachment to his words. He let them
go to ears that took them in. His hair
didn't move. He looked tired. As the
night wore on, he continued to speak
and yet it seemed as if he was on auto
pilot answering when spoken to, silent
when not.
"What about faith Mr. Koppel?" 1
asked. People continued to talk loudly,
debating the validity of Koppel's prior
statements. I repeated myself. "What
about faith Mr. Koppel?" He looked
over at me, blue eyes hazy with
fatigue.
"What about it?" he asked.
"What is it to you?" I wondered. He
shook his head. His hair still didn't
move.
"I don't know. You're not going to
find it tonight" he said taking another
sip from his beer.
I looked into those hazy, blue eyes
of his. I think they were telling me a
story. One that was not a headline on
the news that night not one that would
later be debated on "Viewpoint." It was
the story of Ted Koppel. It wasn't the
one that spews out sides to issues every
night hopefully sparking debate. No, it
was the real one— the one no camera
nor group of students will ever see.
Taking another sip from his beer
and closing his eyes, Mr. Koppel, for
yet another night hides like his nose
hair from the world.
world and from real world problems. I
was interested in plugging into a real
world problem that I could have
firsthand contact with because I longed
to make a difference. And that put me
in closer contact with people—more
I thought the art
world was getting
too insular and
too removed from
real world
problems.
significant relationships with people
where my existence might matter to
them and their existence would matter
to me. I wasn't interested in something
like El Salvador because 1 didn't know
about the war in El Salvador...
You wanted to avoid formalism and
work from your own experience.
Exactly. There was a lot of big
word sloganeering that I didn't want to
be involved in...but it [my involve-
ment] also had a lot to do with
satisfying my own deep psychological
needs beyond career and finding a new
grounds for experimental arts that
would put itself at the pressure points
outside itself [instead of being so self
referential].
How do you feel LAPD is helping
people to understand the plight of the
homeless? Also, do you think that the
play helped the participants to deal
with their own situation?
I think maybe there's one answer to
both of those questions. What we're
interested in is something very
particular, mainly the three dimen-
sional reality of the people involved
and the unique interaction that they
create as a group. What we're doing is,
as one group member has said,
"Getting the real deal out to
Normalville." In other words what life
is like and who the people are m these
situations...its a way for them [the
audience] to address the deep needs of
homeless people.
Do you think that LAPD can
function as a dialogue between the
homeless and others or is it merely a
portrait of a disadvantaged ami
Ahoy, mates
overlooked segment of the population?
Yeah that's the intention....It's not
about how homeless people have one
set of feelings having nothing to do
with someone else's life. It's more
about the commonality of experience
across a variety of situations.
If you could refute any stereotype
about homeless individuals, what
would that be?
Well 1 guess the stereotype that
there is a stereotype. Because it's an
incredibly diverse situation with
infinite variations. It's totally
confusing as to what the word
[homeless] means. Do you have to be
sleeping in a cardboard box to be
homeless? It's very confusing. Here
[in Houston] we recruited people out
of existing shelters, day centers and
programs. They are all very focused
individuals, none of them fit into the
caricature of the dazed person
wandering the street None of them
live on the street They all come from
shelters and they're not people who
will be homeless forever. However in
Philadelphia it was a totally different
situation, we were dealing with people
living in railway toolsheds. It's a
hugely diverse situation. It's like the
tip of the iceberg on so many other
problems.
What's made the Houston project
different from the others?
Well, it's been the most enjoyable!
We've had a very focused group and
we've been able to really do theater
work in a much more concentrated
way than usual. Generally speaking,
the bigger the city the nastier the city.
The bigger the city, the more
psychologically fragmented and
aggressive the city, as well as
everybody in it. Not just the people at
the bottom, the people at the top, too
However, in Houston, despite its big
size, the people have a friendly attitude
and that has made it an easier working
situation.
How spontaneous is the per for-
mance going to be this weekend'?
Well there's a scenario that we've
been working on, but within it there's
lots of improvisation. Nothing's
written down.
Los Angeles Poverty Department
Sat.-Sun., Sept. 26-27, 8 p.m., $10
Dmrseworks Artspace, 223-8346
Drop anchor at the Boat \vd
by Eric Stotts
If you're in the mood for a down
home, moderately honky tonk,
intensely great time or would just like
to settle back with an ice cold
HH® Woodchuck Cider (always on
special), then the place for you
has just emerged on the
Houston bar scene. The Boat
Yard, which is located off of the
feeder road just north of 59
*|||| between Kirby and Greenbriar,
offers not only a reasonably
priced selection of good beers,
but an amazing array of great
tunes almost every night of the
week.
While it is still unclear
whether or not the bar is
officially open, owner Wayne
Geddes would be more than thrilled if
you stopped by to take advantage of
one of the many specials that the Boat
Yard offers. If you're in the mood for
draft beer, the Boat Yard offers Polancr
Oktoberfest Shiner Bock, and Samuel
Adams on tap for $2. If longnecks are
enough of a stretch for you. Red Stripe,
Polancr Light and NcwcasUc Ale are
available.
Although the weekly music
schedule is still in the works, some acts
are already emerging as semi-regulars.
Wednesday night is bluegrass night
featuring People with Hands. Dennis,
one of the Boat Yard's exceedingly
friendly bartenders, is a member of the
band and is a great guy to hang out
with, so introduce yourself! Thursday
night is "Songwriter's Nite," where
aspiring musicians can show their stuff
to an ever-supportive Boat Yard
crowd.
Finally, on Saturday Night the
Road Dogs rock the joint. Even if you
happen to show up on an off night
grab yourself a Bud Light which is Si
daily before 8 p.m., and lounge on one
of the two outdoor patios.
Ultimately, in weighing your
options about which establishment to
hit after a day of complete hell, ask
yourself if a place where you can walk
in at 10 minutes to closing, sit down,
have a cold beer, and eat a late dinner
with the bartender over a game of
Family Feud appeals to you.
If it doesn't then opt for the
Daiquiri Factory. If this down-home,
around-the-comer watering hole feel is
right up your alley, then you're sure to
find that the Boat Yard could easily
become the next best thing to home.
The Boat Yard, 942-7774
Noon-2 a.m. daily
Upcoming Pages
Here’s what’s next.
Search Inside
This issue can be searched. Note: Results may vary based on the legibility of text within the document.
Tools / Downloads
Get a copy of this page or view the extracted text.
Citing and Sharing
Basic information for referencing this web page. We also provide extended guidance on usage rights, references, copying or embedding.
Reference the current page of this Newspaper.
Kim, Leezie & Carson, Chad. The Rice Thresher (Houston, Tex.), Vol. 80, No. 6, Ed. 1 Friday, September 25, 1992, newspaper, September 25, 1992; Houston, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth245819/m1/11/: accessed July 18, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Rice University Woodson Research Center.