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Held Captive By Daydreams
Chicago Tribune | Chicago Reader | Taz Hamburg Germany
PERFORMANCE ART
By Mitchell May, Tribune Staff Writer
CHICAGO TRIBUNE
MARCH 24, 1995
The theater community is filled with dreams.
Thousands strive to work regularly, attain stardom and have the freedom and money to bring their creative
vision to fruition.
Hustling to auditions, finding a space to perform, trying to build an audience-and dealing with the inevitable
rejections-is the reality for thousands more.
The dreams of the TeenStreet Theater Company are no different. But its members' reality also includes
homelessness, poverty, gangs, drugs, CHA projects, abusive parents (sometimes no parents) and institutional
tags such as "developmentally disabled" and "behavior disorder." Throw in the usual teen angst about sex,
school and trying to find out exactly who you are in the middle of a city that can be very unforgiving of mistakes,
and suddenly it's apparent that getting up on stage is the easy part. It's getting to rehearsals that's hard.
An off-shoot of the long-running Free Street Theater, TeenStreet, under the direction of Ron Bieganski, began
in summer 1992 as a jobs program in the performing arts for low-income youth.
In the 2 1/2 years since, the troupe has won steady praise for its plays, performed across the country (including
Stanford University and an engagement at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C.) and in London, and has
plans for a five-week trip to Germany this summer to take part in the European Theater Festival.
This year's group (Tameka Flowers, Tomeka Hayes, Valerie Hildebrand, Helena Marie, Melissa Marrero,
Trulawn McCray, Erica Miller, Fatima Mustafa, Jeffery Price, Antonio Suide, Melina Vezquez and Brian Vines)
was culled from an audition last fall that drew 150 hopefuls. Since then, they have met twice a week to rehearse
TeenStreet's latest play, "Held Captive by Daydreams," which opened March 17 for a twice-a-week run through
April 15 at the Pulaski Park Field House, 1419 W. Blackhawk St. (Performances are on Fridays and Saturdays;
call 772-7248 for reservations.)
Winston Damon (a multi-instrumentalist with the Drovers) serves as musical director and instructs members in
playing the drums.
The 12-member cast is truly an ensemble. They write, choreograph and perform the entire show, which includes
monologues, dramatizations, poetry, dance, hip-hop, opera, jazz and percussion. Once the play begins, all 12
members are on stage for the duration. Everyone gets a chance to shine, but the concept of the group, of
is a central tenet.
While being admitted to the group means a minimum-wage job, it's evident the teens and young adults who
make up the company are in it for more than a chance to earn a few bucks.
"You learn how to relate your life to other people's lives," says Hayes, 14, a freshman at Lincoln Park High
School.
"A lot of times I feel like the stage is my second home," says McCray, 21, a part-time student at Columbia
College.
"In the beginning I was very aware of the contact with others," says Helena Marie, 19. "I felt very vulnerable.
Now I'm more secure. We're more of a team."
For Suide, 22, it's simply, "A chance to pursue my dream."
On a mission
Bieganski, who approaches his mission with an almost evangelical zeal, believes deeply in the power of the
theater to add meaning to cast members' lives. Whether rehearsing or just sitting around talking, he prods and
encourages, cajoles and listens, teaches and learns, drawing upon his years in the theater to push the cast to
places they might not have even dreamed about.
"People go to the level you ask them to. I only ask that they go to the level of their highest intelligence," he says.
Yet it is an innate intelligence he is trying to unleash. "I tell them not to push," Bieganski says. He implores the
members not to overintellectualize their performances. "Doing is important," he says.
That's why TeenStreet's training includes plenty of improvisational work. "All emotions are right under the
skin. Movement improv helps to get the emotions out," Bieganski says.
Another central thesis-and one probably stressed above all other-is that everybody writes. No one, however,
performs their own work. "The reason why is, it gets old really quick for actors. It gets to be self-serving,"
Bieganski says.
Price concurs. "On stage you play it off better. I think it works better when you don't have the emotional recall."
While funding is always a challenge (the Mayor's Office of Employment Training, donations and fundraisers are
primary sources), and getting information to members can sometimes be difficult ("Some don't have phones,
some that do don't have anyone reliable to take messages for them," Bieganski says), TeenStreet has managed
to thrive.
During a recent Monday night taping of "Talk-a-riot-y," a cable-access talk show hosted by Marvin Tate (cofounder
of the Uptown Poetry Slam) and Gianofer Fields, six of TeenStreet's members-Hayes, McCray, Marie,
Suide, Vezquez and Price-have gathered at the Bop Shop nightclub, the show's home, for an appearance. They
are going to preview selections from "Held Captive by Daydreams" for a program that will air in April.
"Talk-a-riot-y" follows the structure of the modern talk show, and the expected trappings are in place: A chair
and a couch for the hosts and guests, a small coffee table with mugs of water, the house band set up just to the
right of the small, bilevel stage.
True to its Wicker Park surroundings, however, the set and atmosphere of "Talk-a-riot-y" is decidedly, well,
Wicker: A Magic 8 Ball, two fuzzy dice, a toy covered-wagon and a Mr. T doll are a few of the odds and ends that
adorn the table and floor of the set. Clumps of balloons hang from the ceiling, Tate (perhaps in a tribute to
Edward R. Murrow or Jack Parr) smokes during the show, Fields has every member of the audience introduce
themselves, and the band-guitarist, upright bassist and drummer-runs through reggae and acid jazz tunes
during breaks. A loose, funky vibe snakes its way through the room. Conan O'Brien would kill for this kind of
unforced hipness.
Bieganski, 35, wiry and intense, preps the company, giving a few last-minute instructions, making sure
everyone knows what's about to happen. The members, arrayed around and on the stage, seem at times only
half-aware of his direction, trying to listen but also concentrating on their individual run-throughs.
"I push them like hell in rehearsal," Bieganski says, "but I also let them know there's no such thing as a mistake
in a performance."
Showtime nears
The crew adheres to their own routine as they adjust cameras and do sound checks. The Bop Shop has a routine
as well: A waitress maneuvers through the crowd seated at small round tables scattered about the main floor
and takes drink orders.
"Is this mike on?" Suide bellows into a live microphone, startling everyone. He lets out a roaring laugh and
spins away from the front of the stage.
"About a year-and-a-half ago we couldn't get him to say anything," Bieganski says about Suide. "He had been in
special ed his whole life, until he was 20. Then he started to work with us, and nobody treats him `special'
anymore. He's a real human being now."
The once-animated McCray, who has been associated with Free Street since he was 12, grows quiet as showtime
nears. Hayes and Helena Marie practice their harmonizing. Later, Hayes will silently run through a dance
routine. Price gives Vezquez, 16, a sophomore at Lincoln Park High School, a few final pointers on her dance
routine. Price, 18, a senior at the Chicago Academy of the Performing Arts and now in his third year at
TeenStreet, does a lot of the troupe's choreography and also seems to make it a point of playfully harassing
everyone.
Once the show begins, Tate and Fields offer a rundown of the night's highlights and then take a break. When
they return, Bieganski and TeenStreet are brought up on stage. After an introduction and some small talk about
the troupe, the performances begin.
McCray steps up to a microphone stand at the front of the stage and launches into a monologue about spending
three days locked up in Cook County Jail. From the rear of the stage, Price begins singing an Italian aria, a
cappella, in a high tenor of aching beauty. Hayes dances slowly yet surely in front of the stage, her movements
in sync with Price's vocals.
McCray's monologue is searing. He talks about the jail food, the walls, the guards, the other inmates. A few
minutes ago the audience had no idea what was going to happen. Now they are held rapt as McCray transports
them to a place they've heard about so many times-a place seemingly familiar but unknown to them. No one
coughs.
After McCray is done, he retreats from the microphone and Suide takes his place for a brief, humorous public service
announcement regarding an escaped lion from the zoo that perfectly complements what has just
transpired. When he finishes, enthusiastic applause greets the performers.
Another break. The band begins a slow, throbbing, reggae tune. If you were watching at home, this would be the
time for a commercial. Those in attendance are treated to Price approaching the microphone and singing along.
McCray tucks himself off to the side of the stage, picks up his small conga drums and taps out a beat to match
the house drummer.
They're back. It's a slightly different arrangement now. Hayes and Helena Marie stand to one side, harmonizing.
McCray continues to play the drums, Vezquez dances in front of the stage and Price remains at the microphone
for a monologue on life in a gang. Actually it's more of a tirade. He rails against those who ignore him, his words
lashing out in all directions with equal parts anger and fear. Vezquez's dance is slow, sensual. She moves onto
the stage and over to Price as he finishes. It's another chillingly real performance demonstrating the power
words can convey. Words, in this case, penned by Helena Marie.
Later Vezquez confesses that the dance she performed was not exactly what she had in mind. McCray, perhaps
still influenced by the impromptu session during the break, played his part differently than they had rehearsed,
so she quickly adapted her routine to the situation. But it was so smooth and seamless, no one noticed.
There are no mistakes in a performance.
Copyright © Chicago Tribune
By Mitchell May, Tribune Staff Writer
CHICAGO TRIBUNE
MARCH 24, 1995
The theater community is filled with dreams.
Thousands strive to work regularly, attain stardom and have the freedom and money to bring their creative
vision to fruition.
Hustling to auditions, finding a space to perform, trying to build an audience-and dealing with the inevitable
rejections-is the reality for thousands more.
The dreams of the TeenStreet Theater Company are no different. But its members' reality also includes
homelessness, poverty, gangs, drugs, CHA projects, abusive parents (sometimes no parents) and institutional
tags such as "developmentally disabled" and "behavior disorder." Throw in the usual teen angst about sex,
school and trying to find out exactly who you are in the middle of a city that can be very unforgiving of mistakes,
and suddenly it's apparent that getting up on stage is the easy part. It's getting to rehearsals that's hard.
An off-shoot of the long-running Free Street Theater, TeenStreet, under the direction of Ron Bieganski, began
in summer 1992 as a jobs program in the performing arts for low-income youth.
In the 2 1/2 years since, the troupe has won steady praise for its plays, performed across the country (including
Stanford University and an engagement at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C.) and in London, and has
plans for a five-week trip to Germany this summer to take part in the European Theater Festival.
This year's group (Tameka Flowers, Tomeka Hayes, Valerie Hildebrand, Helena Marie, Melissa Marrero,
Trulawn McCray, Erica Miller, Fatima Mustafa, Jeffery Price, Antonio Suide, Melina Vezquez and Brian Vines)
was culled from an audition last fall that drew 150 hopefuls. Since then, they have met twice a week to rehearse
TeenStreet's latest play, "Held Captive by Daydreams," which opened March 17 for a twice-a-week run through
April 15 at the Pulaski Park Field House, 1419 W. Blackhawk St. (Performances are on Fridays and Saturdays;
call 772-7248 for reservations.)
Winston Damon (a multi-instrumentalist with the Drovers) serves as musical director and instructs members in
playing the drums.
The 12-member cast is truly an ensemble. They write, choreograph and perform the entire show, which includes
monologues, dramatizations, poetry, dance, hip-hop, opera, jazz and percussion. Once the play begins, all 12
members are on stage for the duration. Everyone gets a chance to shine, but the concept of the group, of
is a central tenet.
While being admitted to the group means a minimum-wage job, it's evident the teens and young adults who
make up the company are in it for more than a chance to earn a few bucks.
"You learn how to relate your life to other people's lives," says Hayes, 14, a freshman at Lincoln Park High
School.
"A lot of times I feel like the stage is my second home," says McCray, 21, a part-time student at Columbia
College.
"In the beginning I was very aware of the contact with others," says Helena Marie, 19. "I felt very vulnerable.
Now I'm more secure. We're more of a team."
For Suide, 22, it's simply, "A chance to pursue my dream."
On a mission
Bieganski, who approaches his mission with an almost evangelical zeal, believes deeply in the power of the
theater to add meaning to cast members' lives. Whether rehearsing or just sitting around talking, he prods and
encourages, cajoles and listens, teaches and learns, drawing upon his years in the theater to push the cast to
places they might not have even dreamed about.
"People go to the level you ask them to. I only ask that they go to the level of their highest intelligence," he says.
Yet it is an innate intelligence he is trying to unleash. "I tell them not to push," Bieganski says. He implores the
members not to overintellectualize their performances. "Doing is important," he says.
That's why TeenStreet's training includes plenty of improvisational work. "All emotions are right under the
skin. Movement improv helps to get the emotions out," Bieganski says.
Another central thesis-and one probably stressed above all other-is that everybody writes. No one, however,
performs their own work. "The reason why is, it gets old really quick for actors. It gets to be self-serving,"
Bieganski says.
Price concurs. "On stage you play it off better. I think it works better when you don't have the emotional recall."
While funding is always a challenge (the Mayor's Office of Employment Training, donations and fundraisers are
primary sources), and getting information to members can sometimes be difficult ("Some don't have phones,
some that do don't have anyone reliable to take messages for them," Bieganski says), TeenStreet has managed
to thrive.
During a recent Monday night taping of "Talk-a-riot-y," a cable-access talk show hosted by Marvin Tate (cofounder
of the Uptown Poetry Slam) and Gianofer Fields, six of TeenStreet's members-Hayes, McCray, Marie,
Suide, Vezquez and Price-have gathered at the Bop Shop nightclub, the show's home, for an appearance. They
are going to preview selections from "Held Captive by Daydreams" for a program that will air in April.
"Talk-a-riot-y" follows the structure of the modern talk show, and the expected trappings are in place: A chair
and a couch for the hosts and guests, a small coffee table with mugs of water, the house band set up just to the
right of the small, bilevel stage.
True to its Wicker Park surroundings, however, the set and atmosphere of "Talk-a-riot-y" is decidedly, well,
Wicker: A Magic 8 Ball, two fuzzy dice, a toy covered-wagon and a Mr. T doll are a few of the odds and ends that
adorn the table and floor of the set. Clumps of balloons hang from the ceiling, Tate (perhaps in a tribute to
Edward R. Murrow or Jack Parr) smokes during the show, Fields has every member of the audience introduce
themselves, and the band-guitarist, upright bassist and drummer-runs through reggae and acid jazz tunes
during breaks. A loose, funky vibe snakes its way through the room. Conan O'Brien would kill for this kind of
unforced hipness.
Bieganski, 35, wiry and intense, preps the company, giving a few last-minute instructions, making sure
everyone knows what's about to happen. The members, arrayed around and on the stage, seem at times only
half-aware of his direction, trying to listen but also concentrating on their individual run-throughs.
"I push them like hell in rehearsal," Bieganski says, "but I also let them know there's no such thing as a mistake
in a performance."
Showtime nears
The crew adheres to their own routine as they adjust cameras and do sound checks. The Bop Shop has a routine
as well: A waitress maneuvers through the crowd seated at small round tables scattered about the main floor
and takes drink orders.
"Is this mike on?" Suide bellows into a live microphone, startling everyone. He lets out a roaring laugh and
spins away from the front of the stage.
"About a year-and-a-half ago we couldn't get him to say anything," Bieganski says about Suide. "He had been in
special ed his whole life, until he was 20. Then he started to work with us, and nobody treats him `special'
anymore. He's a real human being now."
The once-animated McCray, who has been associated with Free Street since he was 12, grows quiet as showtime
nears. Hayes and Helena Marie practice their harmonizing. Later, Hayes will silently run through a dance
routine. Price gives Vezquez, 16, a sophomore at Lincoln Park High School, a few final pointers on her dance
routine. Price, 18, a senior at the Chicago Academy of the Performing Arts and now in his third year at
TeenStreet, does a lot of the troupe's choreography and also seems to make it a point of playfully harassing
everyone.
Once the show begins, Tate and Fields offer a rundown of the night's highlights and then take a break. When
they return, Bieganski and TeenStreet are brought up on stage. After an introduction and some small talk about
the troupe, the performances begin.
McCray steps up to a microphone stand at the front of the stage and launches into a monologue about spending
three days locked up in Cook County Jail. From the rear of the stage, Price begins singing an Italian aria, a
cappella, in a high tenor of aching beauty. Hayes dances slowly yet surely in front of the stage, her movements
in sync with Price's vocals.
McCray's monologue is searing. He talks about the jail food, the walls, the guards, the other inmates. A few
minutes ago the audience had no idea what was going to happen. Now they are held rapt as McCray transports
them to a place they've heard about so many times-a place seemingly familiar but unknown to them. No one
coughs.
After McCray is done, he retreats from the microphone and Suide takes his place for a brief, humorous public service
announcement regarding an escaped lion from the zoo that perfectly complements what has just
transpired. When he finishes, enthusiastic applause greets the performers.
Another break. The band begins a slow, throbbing, reggae tune. If you were watching at home, this would be the
time for a commercial. Those in attendance are treated to Price approaching the microphone and singing along.
McCray tucks himself off to the side of the stage, picks up his small conga drums and taps out a beat to match
the house drummer.
They're back. It's a slightly different arrangement now. Hayes and Helena Marie stand to one side, harmonizing.
McCray continues to play the drums, Vezquez dances in front of the stage and Price remains at the microphone
for a monologue on life in a gang. Actually it's more of a tirade. He rails against those who ignore him, his words
lashing out in all directions with equal parts anger and fear. Vezquez's dance is slow, sensual. She moves onto
the stage and over to Price as he finishes. It's another chillingly real performance demonstrating the power
words can convey. Words, in this case, penned by Helena Marie.
Later Vezquez confesses that the dance she performed was not exactly what she had in mind. McCray, perhaps
still influenced by the impromptu session during the break, played his part differently than they had rehearsed,
so she quickly adapted her routine to the situation. But it was so smooth and seamless, no one noticed.
There are no mistakes in a performance.
Copyright © Chicago Tribune
Chicago Reader
ARTS & CULTURE | PERFORMING ARTS REVIEW March 30, 1995
Held Captive By Daydreams
By Adam Langer
TeenStreet, at Free Street Theater.
The predominant motif of TeenStreet's highly impressionistic theater
piece is that of a young boy being held out the window of a housing
project by his ankles and dropped to the ground below. The image
serves as a handy metaphor for the young cast's view of adolescence
in Chicago, where violence is so bad that people hide in tubs on New
Year's Eve to escape errant bullets.
The issues TeenStreet tackles in this collectively written script--gang
violence, project living, suicidal fantasies, prison experiences--are
sobering but not particularly surprising. The play's authors and
performers come, after all, from Chicago's high schools, housing
projects, and homeless shelters. What makes this production so
engaging is its complex, sophisticated treatment of these issues: it
daringly interweaves cathartic dance numbers, eerie songs, and
intensely personal stream-of-consciousness monologues.
The object of most theater is to contain talent within the acceptable
boundaries of plot, character, and movement. But here the
performers explode across the stage in a stunning display of
unfettered energy, driven home by the percussive, intense music of
Chicagoan Winston Damon. Once in a while the obscurity of the
material and the reckless freedom director Ron Bieganski has
allowed his actors make Held Captive by Daydreams a trifle
bewildering. But when the play hits its targets it packs a powerful
punch.
The postshow discussion wallowed in pomposity and self congratulation,
so to preserve the mood of the play you might want to duck out right after the curtain call.
https://www.chicagoreader.com/chicago/held-captive-by-daydreams/Content?oid=887053
|
Training fürs Leben
■ Eine Chicagoer Theatergruppe für Streetkids spielt in Hamburg Tomeka ist 15, sie tanzt und spielt Flöte. Helena, die Sängerin, ist zwanzig. Tru trägt seine Texte vor und spielt Trommel. Ihre Performance Held Captive by Daydreams handelt von ihrem Leben, von Gefängnis, Drogen, Elend. Sie alle kommen aus Chicago, aus dem sozialen Wüsten von Cabrini-Green und Edgewater. Und sie alle sind Mitglieder von TeenStreet: einem Ausbildungsprojekt, in dem Jugendliche ihre eigenen Theaterstücke entwerfen und aufführen. Da TeenStreet ein Arbeitsbeschaffungsprojekt ist,erhalten sie ein festes Gehalt. Ein wichtiger Punkt, denn „einen bezahlten Job zu haben, heißt, daß man etwas Wert ist, besonders in Amerika“, so Ron Bieganski, künstlerischer Leiter und Regisseur der Gruppe. Nur ein gutes Selbstwertgefühl und Vertrauen in die eigene Schaffenskraft kann den Kids helfen, den Mahlstrom von Ghetto, Arbeitslosigkeit und Gang zu vermeiden. Finanziert wird TeenStreet durch einen Fond Chicagoer Geschäftsleute, die nach den Aufständen von Los Angeles den Kampf gegen die soziale Verelendung ihrer Stadt unterstützen wollten. Regierungsgelder fielen in diesem Jahr der neuen Sparpolitik zum Opfer. TeenStreet existiert seit 1992, als Projekt von FreeStreet, einer Theatergruppe, die in den Sechziger Jahren auf den Straßen Chicagos startete Mittlerweile gehören zur Organisation FreeStreet Theatergruppen für Senioren, inhaftierte Jugendliche, Behinderte, schwangere Teenager mit Auftritten in den gesamten USA.Auch TeenStreet begann mit Performances auf Straßenfesten. Heute, drei Jahre später, spielen sie in Theaterhäusern und hatten bereits einen Fernsehauftritt. Über Personalprobleme kann das Projekt nicht klagen. Im vergangenen Jahr bewarben sich 300 Jugendliche, zwölf bekamen den Job. Bieganski sieht ihn als Training für's Leben: „Was sie hier leisten, ist größer, kraftvoller, wertvoller und professioneller als alles, was sie davor gemacht haben.“ HILMAR SCHULZ TeenStreet: „Held Captive By Daydreams“, heute 20 Uhr, Amerika Haus, Tesdorpfstr. 1 taz. die tageszeitung vom 4. 7. 1995 Kultur S. 23 http://www.taz.de/!1330483/ |
Training for life
■ A Chicago theater group for street kids plays in Hamburg Tomeka is 15, she dances and plays the flute. Helena, the singer, is twenty. Tru plays his lyrics and plays the drums. Her performance hero Captive by Daydreams is about her life, about prison, drugs, misery. They all come from Chicago, from the social deserts of Cabrini-Green and Edgewater. And they're all members of TeenStreet : a training project where teens design and perform their own plays. Since TeenStreet is a job creation project , they receive a fixed salary. An important point, because "having a paid job means being of value, especially in America," said Ron Bieganski, artistic director and director of the group. Only good self-esteem and confidence in one's own creativity can help the kids avoid the maelstrom of ghetto, unemployment and gait. TeenStreet is financed by a fund of Chicago businessmen who wanted to support the fight against the social misery of their city after the uprisings of Los Angeles. Government funds fell victim to the new austerity policy this year. TeenStreet has existed since 1992, as a project of FreeStreet , a theater company that started out on the streets of Chicago in the 1960s. Meanwhile,the organization includes FreeStreet theater groups for seniors, detained teenagers, the disabled, and pregnant teens with performances across the US. Also TeenStreet began with performances at street parties. Today, three years later, they play in theaters and have already had a television appearance. The project can not complain about personnel problems. Last year, 300 young people applied and twelve got the job. Bieganski sees it as training for life: "What they do here is bigger, more powerful, more valuable and more professional than anything they have done before." HILMAR SCHULZ TeenStreet: "Held Captive By Daydreams", 8pm today, Amerika Haus, Tesdorpfstr. 1 taz. the daily newspaper of July 4, 1995 Culture P. 23 |
