Ouroboros

Ouroboros, playing at the Baxter Theater in Cape Town, is directed by Janni Younge in association with the Handspring Puppet Company. I first became familiar with the Handspring Puppet Company when I wrote an essay on their play Ubu and the Truth Commission during my semester in Stellenbosch. They are also known for their work on Chimp Project, Tall Horse and War Horse (currently on the West End and Broadway). Earlier this year, the company was also awarded a Special Tony. To say that I was excited to see a Handspring Puppet Company production would be quite the understatement! The show did not disappoint me. As a theater major, I often find that my critical eye does not allow me to fully and completely immerse myself in a performance, let alone experience a sense of catharsis. A Streetcar Named Desire at the Kennedy Center was a notable exception. This was another. I was enthralled, scarcely moving and barely even breathing during the show and when it was over, I was aware of feeling alive and slightly weightless, almost buoyed by the beauty of the performance.



Ouroboros is inspired by the poetry of Billy Collins (former poet laureate of the US), specifically the poem "Aristotle" which explores what constitutes a beginning, middle, and end. The resulting performance is a deconstructed journey from beginning to end, birth to death; emphasis on the re-creation of self and stories brings to mind the ancient Ouroboros symbol of a snake swallowing its own tail and creating a circle. The performance piece is practically a poem itself- ranging across space and time, venturing into dreamscapes and pondering the relationship between life and death. And as in poetry, the audience must ultimately give their own meaning to what they experience.



This is my meaning:

Ouroboros is the story of a dancer and a poet. We are introduced to three versions of each character in different stages of their life: a child, an adult, and a senior. The characters interact with the various aspects of themselves and each other; while at first it appears to be the story of generations within families, it is soon clear that time is fluid and we are indeed only watching two characters. Past, present and future are interdependent, merging to create a web of interactions.

It is a love story. And like any love story, it gets complicated. Each character is afraid to trust, to commit. The poet is afraid of emotion after hearing his parents fight, while the dancer, who as a child lost an old woman she loved (herself?), is anxious about death (hauntingly portrayed in puppet form). Simultaneously, the performance shows children dealing with this pain, adults struggle to make a real emotional connection, and seniors demonstrate an abiding love for each other. In addition, interactions between versions of the same character reveal motivations, fears, and desires. There are far too many layers, both textual and symbolic, to explain properly, especially since they inspire complex feelings that I'm not sure I can put into words. Not to mention that unearthing all the ties between characters would require a second viewing, or even a third.

And yet, I do not feel the need to understand the piece. I am uncertain of the symbolism behind the random gemsbok/ghost gemsbok, but I know I felt deep sorrow when it was hit by the adult woman in a car and shuddered for breath as she clutched it (the puppetry was fantastic). A dream that moved from hand puppets to shadow puppets underwater (or were they in the air?) filled me with innocent wonder, while the occasional appearance of death floating through the air in her boat continually inspired awe and fear. I couldn't breathe when the adult poet stripped off his clothes and then his skin to reveal his endoskeleton; when he then interacted with his younger self, I cried--though I don't know quite why.

I took each scene as a moment in time and embraced the emotions it inspired, letting the poetry and imagery wash over me. As a result, Ouroboros was an emotional journey, both indefinable and unforgettable.