Jack Kerouac’s Essentials of Spontaneous Prose plays at the Bondi
Pavilion as part of the Bondi Feast Festival from July 22-26 2014. By Jessica
Bellamy and David Finnigan, directed by Gin Savage.
Jack Kerouac’s Essentials
of Spontaneous Prose is a gentle, contemplative, rich piece of theatre.
Actually, I’m not entirely sure it’s technically “theatre” per se (but then we
would get into a whole debate about what constitutes theatre and there would be
definitions and stuff and no one wants that). It’s certainly not theatre in the
traditional sense. It’s more akin to a radio play, but it’s not quite that
either. I wondered for a while if it would have been best as prose – I think I
certainly would have liked to read it, because there’s a lot in it and I’m sure
I’ve forgotten a bunch of stuff – but on second thought, I think theatrical
conceit added a lot to it. We as audience sit around a pool of water, watching
and listening as conversations and snippets of stories ripple across its
surface.
One of the stories Scheherazade tells in the Arabian Nights
(I think that’s where I remember it from!) is about a man who, entranced by a
pool of water, sticks his head into it. While his head is in the water, he
lives lifetimes: he conquers cities, defeats dragons, rescues princesses, all
that kind of thing. When he removes his head from the water, only a few seconds
have passed. (This story was part of Kenneth Slessor’s inspiration for Five Bells, BTW.) It’s easy to imagine
that the pool of water in this show is the same kind of pool – full of infinite
stories.
In this case, the stories were framed by, or came from, or
maybe even emerged in spite of, Jack Kerouac’s guideline for writers, which are
being discussed and talked through by two writers sitting in a café. Normally,
I would find a show about two writers sitting and talking about writing
unbearably self-indulgent – and there is certainly an element of indulgence
here – but one of the things I really liked about this show was the way that
stories kind of kept crowding their way over the top of the rules for prose. The
two writers describe the best way to get close to the story, a kind of
monstrous creature which you must submit to. There was one line which described
language not as a dress you can pull off but as a tattoo, something imprinted
on you, something bound to you. And yet in the midst of this, story is
happening anyway without much interference from them – they are distracted by
people sitting a few tables away, wondering if they’re getting married or
divorced.
There’s a Daoist meditative ritual called zuowang – literally, sitting and
forgetting – where you sit and stare into water and forget all your training
and education in an effort to learn simply to be, to return to a state of pu (lit. “uncarved block”), which is the
natural state of humans. I was reminded irresistibly of this during Jack Kerouac’s Essentials of Spontaneous
Prose, staring into the limpid pool that was our theatre. Many of Kerouac’s
rules were kind of about this: removing barriers and preconceptions and
pretensions to literary technique so that you were able to face the story in a
kind of pure state. I don’t think we as audience ever exactly achieve a
meditative state – there is way too much to think about in this – but there is
something very enchanting about staring into water and letting words bubble
over you. It removes a number of the barriers that usually stand between
audience and language in the theatre. There seems to be an inherent
contradiction in Kerouac’s rules, in that rules in general seem to be figured
as a kind of restraint. I think Jack
Kerouac’s Essentials of Spontaneous Prose is fascinating in its theatrical
realisation of this idea.
