A Surprise Rendition of Marat/Sade at Pistarckle

This post is a bit more of a review than my other posts, but it is because I just cannot say enough good things about the job Pistarckle Theater did with this production. Marat/Sade is not an easy production to tackle as it is a play within a play. At first glance it may appear as though you are watching a bunch of horrid actors attempting to act out the assassination of Jean-Paul Marat. Then you may take notice to how dreadful they are being treated while enacting the production.


For many that may have missed the cleverly rhymed introduction, it is a play performed by the inmates of the Asylum of Charenton. In fact, the actual title of said play is The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton Under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade.


For those that may be a little weak on their history, Jean-Paul Marat was one of the more radical voices during the French Revolution despite being a physician that often mingled with the courts. He was considered a martyr of the revolution following his death. The Marquis de Sade was an aristocrat known for his libertine sexuality and for his disturbing (to me, anyway) novel, " the 120 Days of Sodom." Believe me when I say I am not by any means conservative about human sexuality, but this book was hard to finish.


Okay, now you have some back story on the characters. Without absolutely ruining the production, I will say, there is a movie that came out in 1967 based on the play and is just as convoluted and as intense as the actors at Pistarckle conveyed. The story line and subject matter are not easy ones to tackle. On an island as conservative as ours to even broach the subject of severe mental illness, freedom of sexuality, or the oppression of a people is an ENORMOUS undertaking and takes great bravery. For that alone I applaud them. It may not seem at first glance that there are all these messages in this humble production, but I assure you that you would be gravely mistaken if you missed them. Every single time an inmate gets to lines about oppression in the play (during the French Revolution) you see how excited they get because (as patients in an asylum) they can relate. They are not treated as equals and start to act up during their production. The entire story is peppered with overt references to what many would call "sexual deviancy." The dark lighting and the abrupt ending of the play leave you uneasy... and yet satisfied.


Some of the scenes are hard to watch. I won't lie.


There were many scenes I laughed, many scenes I teared up. I have never been shy about my battle with mental illness, I even wrote a detailed post on Potspoon! about it, so in many instances I related to the patients in the production. Yes, the actors at our awesome little island theater got me to cry. It isn't the first time either. I am continually impressed by the level of performance I get to witness on St. Thomas.


If you walked out of an early performance of Marat/Sade, do yourself a favor and go see it again from a different viewpoint. Watch the "patients" interact with each other despite what they are saying. Pay attention to the silent players on stage. There is so much to witness and take in and they did a hell of a job pulling it off. You only have two nights left to revisit this amazing production. You do yourself a great disservice by missing out.


Don't.

A Decade Come and Gone

Ten years ago today, I flew into St. Thomas for the very first time. I had never been here. I knew no one. The family I had that were from St. Thomas had long since left. I knew I had an aunt and uncle still in St. Croix but still hadn't learned just how far that really was.

My mother thought I was so adventurous and thought that it wouldn't last long. I will admit:  I starved that first year. I was the thinnest I had ever been. I had no car, no money, but I was so happy. For the first time in my life... well, I felt home.

I grew up in an interesting and unstable way. By the time I graduated high school, I had been to 13 different schools. Needless to say, I didn't have many opportunities to cultivate friendships. I never really considered anywhere to be my hometown. I didn't know one could feel a sense of belonging. I had just assumed that everyone was an outsider like me. Everyone had a dark past. Everyone had a horror story that we were too ashamed to admit. When I was younger I had learned, after all, that when you did admit something was wrong, no one believed you anyway. I figured a sense of self worth was just a charade people put on to better cope. I didn't know people actually belonged. Then, here, I belonged. Just 20 years old and I finally found it: home. Home just happened to come at a high cost.

After the first year, I attempted to return Stateside only to go to Puerto Rico, and then see the Rockies for the first time ever. I spent the next few years going back and forth between various locations to appease my then boyfriend and his desire to expand his resume.

Then I put my foot down. I wanted to go home.

And home we went. My home. St. Thomas. Man it felt good to be back. We settled, adopted an island mutt, bought a car. Grown up stuff. I went back to school. I never finished, but that is another story all together.

In the past decade, I found and lost love. I got my first tattoo. I played in a real band. I found my family. My real family. You know who you are. I became obsessed with invertebrates. I saw sharks in the wild. I went horseback riding. I went hang-gliding in a rainforest. I went whitewater rafting on the Yellowstone River. I got lost in a box canyon in the Southwest. I played in a waterfall. I saw monkeys steal my beer. I had my first white Christmas. I drove cross-country. I made art. I played radio. I had a knee fixed. I fell apart. I lost my mind. I found my heart.

I hope, moving into the next decade of my life, that I continue to have firsts. I wasn't fortunate enough to have a sense of worth or belonging growing up how I did. This past decade has given me that, at last. It was (and still is) very much a struggle, but it is one I would do all over again just to feel so good in this skin. Just to feel the moments of happiness I have felt. Genuine happiness.

The friendships I have managed to keep mean so much to me. It is so much more than that. They are my family. More so than people who are "blood" can be. They are the family I chose, or rather, they are the family that accepted and chose me. It is a small part of why this place feels so home to me.

Culturally, I fit. Being 1st generation stateside from two Caribbean island parents made the culture and way of life on island so easy to assimilate to when I got here. I had none of the qualms so many statesiders had when moving here. I still don't. I hate the phrase, "typical West Indian" because, technically, I am West Indian. My mother is from Puerto Rico and my father is from Cuba. Yeah. Also, this is the only place I have ever lived for more than two years. This is my home. Don't like it? Too bad. More beaches for me.

Really, though, I approach today with a slight sense of grief. I could have done more. Seen more. Loved more. I am sad that the decade is over without much left to show for it except for my memories. I guess that is all we really truly ever have, though, isn't it?

I can't wait to see what my home has in store for me next. I live and love St. Thomas. So much has changed yet so much is still the same. This is my home. And here I will stay.