28 CHICAGO READER | FEBRUARY 10, 2006 | SECTION ONE

By Kim Theriault

In “The Fluidity of Time:Selections From the MCACollection,” the Museum of

Contemporary Art has interwov-en pieces from its permanentholdings in an effort, it says, to“reveal how the ‘fluidity of time’animates and recontextualizesour responses to the art of ourown time.” But what might havebeen a coherent tapestry ends upfull of holes. The MCA’s means ofconnecting works are eitherobscure or far too obvious, andsometimes the pieces aregrouped in such a way that theydetract from others nearby.

The room that houses theinspiration for the show’s title,Yves Tanguy’s 1930 (Untitled)The Fluidity of Time, exemplifiesthe show’s apparently haphazardnature. This small, pale, quietsurrealist painting with a “rockformation” in the center is pairedwith Jim Hodges’s The End FromWhere You Are, a huge black cur-tain of cutout flowers that over-powers the tiny Tanguy. Worse isthe mysterious relationshipbetween the two.

It seems the museum intendsto “recontextualize” the work herethrough disjuncture—but the

outcome is often disarray. Half ofanother room is inhabited by a1962 George Segal sculpture, twolife-size white plaster figuresarranged as lovers on a bed; an

early (1964-’65) Christo, asmall orangestorefront heconstructed,with fabricobscuring thewindows; andthe 1983BruceNauman neonsculpture Life,Death, Love,Hate,

Pleasure, Pain, with a large flash-ing circle that illuminates thesewords by turn. It’s anyone’s guess,but perhaps these works relate towhat a wall label describes as “thefundamentals of human exis-tence” by reflecting on materialityand immateriality. But howwould this bear on the set of fig-ural works in the other half of theroom? These include a mural-size1959 Leon Golub nude (fromwhat’s called his “burnt man”series because of the canvas’s dis-tressed surface), a very small1954 Dorothea Tanning sleeping

nude, and a vibrant 1946 eggtempera by George Tooker show-ing children cornering some fear-ful men. Perhaps here the themeis human anxiety, anomie, or fear.

In some cases, only an experi-enced viewer would know theprocesses behind the works andbenefit from the groupings. Therelation between RenéMagritte’s 1953 The Wonders ofNature, showing a cuddling cou-ple who are human from thewaist down and fish from thewaist up, and Barbara Kruger’suntitled black-and-white imageof a woman with long hairobscuring her face is prettyclear: the faceless woman is likethe faceless fish. But why areAndy Warhol’s silk screens ofJackie Kennedy at her husband’sfuneral in 1964 positioned near-by? The connection seems to bethat Kruger and Warhol bothappropriate images from popu-lar culture—and both are per-haps critiquing cultural con-structions of femininity.

Other times, formal character-istics seem to be the organizingfactor. Fred Sandback’s Untitled(Sculptural Study, Ringe StudioWall and Floor Construction1980/2004) is a piece of red yarn

that extends along a section ofwall about 25 feet wide and 4 feethigh, sticking out about 12 feet atone point. It’s paired with JohnBaldassari’s 1988 Fish and Ram,a compilation of framed photo-graphs with three lines runningthrough them. But where theSandback seems purely formal,the Baldassari has a deepermeaning about the structures ofpower. One room in which all theworks are white arguably makesthings easy on the viewer becausethe connection is so obvious. Butin fact this grouping does a dis-service to the works, and byextension to viewers. The room’slack of contrast dilutes and evenenervates Robert Ryman’s whiteimpasto, Luisa Lambri’s photo-graph of open white doors bathedin sunshine, and RobertSmithson’s delicate MirrorStratum, a ziggurat of inch-widemirrors that create a chevronreflection in the corner above it.

The same problems thatplague individual rooms alsoundermine the exhibition as awhole. A colorful Kerry JamesMarshall south-side scene sitsopposite a Laura Owens abstractlandscape, and Dan Flavin’sAlternating Pink and “Gold”

fluorescent-light installation isplaced next to the “white room”—compromising its whiteness. TheFlavin glow also invades SarahSze’s spectacular Proportioned tothe Groove, an ingenious latticeof colored thread over a partiallypaint-splattered floor, upside-down flowers, piles of books, andvarious other everyday items.Museum literature says that theFlavin and Sze are positionednext to each other becausethey’re both installations—Flavin’s created in 1967, Sze’s in2005—and because both artistshad shows early in their careersat the MCA. This isn’t clear fromSze’s work itself or from itsplacement in the room.

I’ve seen other MCA shows ofpermanent holdings that hadless of a theme than this one andthat worked better. Clearly somethought went into the exhibit,but in some cases the logicseems tortured, in others toosimple. Ultimately the exhibitdoesn’t so much animate theseworks as communicate anapparent indifference to them.Perhaps the 75 years that thesepieces represent aren’t quite asmalleable as “The Fluidity ofTime” would like to pretend. v

Art

Modern MishmashThe time capsule approach doesn’t work well for 75 years of contemporary art.

THE FLUIDITY OF TIME MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY ART

René Magritte, The Wonders of Nature, Barbara Kruger, Untitled (We Construct the Chorus of Missing Persons)

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RTWHEN ThroughSun 3/5: Tue 10-8,Wed-Sun 10-5WHERE Museum ofContemporary Art,220 E. ChicagoPRICE $10 suggest-ed admission; $6students, seniors;kids 12 and underfree; Tuesdays freeINFO 312-280-2660

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CHICAGO READER | FEBRUARY 10, 2006 | SECTION ONE 29

Theater

By Tony Adler

Aproud but culturally inse-cure young woman. Adried-up, middle-aged

male teacher. She comes to himfor help achieving her greatambition. He’s brought back tolife by her spirit.

Willy Russell’s Educating Rita,right? Well, yes. But also Sonja

Linden’s IHave BeforeMe aRemarkableDocumentGiven to Meby a YoungLady FromRwanda.The twoplays’ plotsare prettymuch iden-

tical. Only where Rita is a cock-ney hairdresser who’s decided togo for a degree in English litera-

ture, the Young Lady—Juliette—is a Tutsi survivor of the 1994Rwandan genocide, newlyarrived in London and trying tofinish her book on the catastro-phe that destroyed her familyand her country.

The difference in scale isbreathtaking: Rita’s inadequateskill set vs. Juliette’s holocaust.The difference in effect, not somuch. Rather than draw gravi-tas from Rwanda’s vast trauma,Linden’s conceit reduces thattrauma to nothing more than aneat little twist—a novel way forher characters to meet cute.

The problem isn’t that Lindenuses awful events as a backdropfor romance. That’s a trope with along and venerable pedigree. Thepopular 1955 stage version of TheDiary of Anne Frank, forinstance, includes a flirtation

Rwandan RitaSonja Linden’s love story about a British poet and an African genocide survivor may seem familiar.

I HAVE BEFORE ME A REMARKABLE DOCUMENT GIVEN TO ME BY A YOUNG LADY FROM RWANDA VICTORY GARDENS THEATER

I Have Before Me a Remarkable Document Given to Me by a Young Lady From Rwanda

WHEN Through 3/5:Tue-Fri 8 PM, Sat 5 and 8:30 PM,Sun 3 PMWHERE VictoryGardens Theater,first-floor mainstage, 2257 N.LincolnPRICE $30-$40INFO 773-871-3000

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Theater

between Anne and Peter, her fel-low fugitive from the Reich. ButAnne’s puppy love is a direct con-sequence of confinement; itserves to dramatize both her hor-rific situation and her longing fornormality. It’s inextricable, inshort, from the historical context.

In Linden’s play, history is just backstory. It explains whatJuliette’s doing in London, howshe meets dried-up poet Simon(who’s employed with a programthat helps refugees acclimatethrough writing), and why she’san unusually tough nut to crack.It also provides compelling gristfor her inevitable cards-on-the-table speech. Yet it has no perti-nence to the play’s actual sub-

ject: Juliette’s relationship withSimon. In terms of their dynam-ic, she might as well be a cock-ney hairdresser.

At times I wished she were—then maybe Linden would have

written about her and Simon withsomewhat less earnest deference,yielding more human and inter-esting results. When Frank, theSimon of Educating Rita, meetshis new student he’s an utter messand suffers further under her

influence. His marriage, job, andmortality are all very much inplay. By contrast Simon has nobad habits—no discernible habitsat all, in fact—other than a penchant for squirrelly self-

deprecation. His sketchy wife nei-ther appears onstage nor muchaffects what goes on there,remaining oddly loyal even aftershe might reasonably suppose he’shaving an affair. And his careerneeds only the slightest nudge to

jump back on track. Linden’s refusal to put her

characters at risk may be rootedin the fact that she herself spentseven years working at London’sMedical Foundation for theCare of Victims of Torture,where she ran the Write to LifeProject. Or not. What’s clear isthe consequence of that refusal:a play that fails to communicatethe enormity of the Rwandangenocide on the one hand whilefailing to tell an engaging lovestory on the other.

Lance Stuart Baker is a goodactor but too young for Simon.Especially early on, the charac-ter requires a physical and psy-chic paunchiness that Bakerdoesn’t manifest. Yetide Badaki

is sweet and strong as Juliette,though she never summons thedegree of fierceness that mighthave mitigated some of thescript’s problems. When direc-tor Andrea J. Dymond tries toget some sexual energy going,nothing much happens.

Really, nothing much hap-pens, period. Even with geno-cide looming over it, this is asmall play constructed of littleevents. Its most significanteffects take place inside theminds of its two characters. Forthat reason, I think Young LadyFrom Rwanda missed its propergenre. If Linden had written itas a novel, she wouldn’t havehad to worry about a theateraudience’s need for action. v

History has no pertinencehere: Juliette might as wellbe a cockney hairdresser.

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CHICAGO READER | FEBRUARY 10, 2006 | SECTION ONE 31

By Kerry Reid

In recent years British play-wright Caryl Churchill—Harold Pinter’s heir appar-

ent—has moved away fromsprawling scripts examiningsexual and class politics. Bothshe and Pinter are writingshorter, but where he’s becomemore overtly political, Churchillhas become less.

Spare in language and rich in ideas, Churchill’s 2002 ANumber, now receiving its local

premierefrom NextTheatreCompany, iseven morechillingthan her2000 fantasia of global warfare,

Far Away, which Next per-formed two years ago. Just anhour long, A Number deals withcloning—but that’s like sayingGlengarry Glen Ross is aboutreal estate. Cloning guides theplot, but Churchill also address-es parental neglect, urban para-noia, and the entirely human butinevitably monstrous desire toerase the past. Salter, a middle-aged Brit, confronts three grownversions of his son, Bernard.Numbed by grief, drugs, andalcohol after his wife’s suicide (at least that’s his story), Saltergave up Bernard One to a welfare agency. Later Salterdecided he wanted to make a fresh start with anotherchild—“one just the samebecause that seemed to me themost perfect,” he explains to

Twenty Is the Loneliest NumberCloning doesn’t make humanity any easier to bear in Caryl Churchill’s chilling one-act.

A NUMBER NEXT THEATRE COMPANY

WHEN Through 2/26:Thu 7:30 PM, Fri-Sat8 PM, Sun 2 PMWHERE Next TheatreCompany, NoyesCultural Arts Center,927 Noyes, EvanstonPRICE $12.50-$35INFO 847-475-1875, ext. 2 A Number

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32 CHICAGO READER | FEBRUARY 10, 2006 | SECTION ONE

Theater

Bernard Two, the person heraised. Trouble is, an unethical(now deceased) doctor at the labcreated about 20 other Bernards.

The first four of the play’s fivescenes alternate betweenBernard Two and Bernard Oneas each confronts the father.Salter’s initial inclination whenhe hears about the unauthorizedclones is to sue on behalf ofBernard Two. “They’ve damagedyour uniqueness, weakened youridentity,” he tells the duplicate,unable or unwilling to see he’sguilty of the same thing. ThoughBernard Two criticizes his fatherfor calling the other versions“things,” he acknowledges he toowould like to think of them as

nonhuman. Salter’s firstencounter with the child heabandoned is fraught with fearand the son’s recriminations.When Bernard One reminds hisfather of the nights he lay awakeas a child, screaming for a parentwho never came, Salter falls intoState Department-esque weasel-ing: “Nobody regrets more thanme the completely unforeseenunforeseeable which isn’t myfault.” Bernard One isn’t molli-fied, and his thirst for vengeanceforms the play’s tragic arc. He’sdetermined to force his father toacknowledge him by doing awaywith the competition.

Churchill allows a sliver ofhope in the last scene of ANumber. One of the clones,

Michael Black, visits Salter, whoprobes to find somethingunique in him, “really specific toyou.” Michael’s inventory of thethings he loves about his life,from his wife’s ears to theancient cultures that fascinatehim, suggests that looking out-ward is the key to contentmentand peace—something the self-pitying Salter can’t do.

Churchill’s intelligent, poeticchamber piece receives all thecareful attention, respect, andlove a playwright could wish forher offspring: B.J. Jones’s stag-ing is as economical and reveal-ing as the script’s double- andtriple-edged language. As theBernards gain power overSalter, he moves progressively

closer to the floor: in his lastscene with Bernard One he’sin a fetal position, his facecontorted with loss. BrianSidney Bembridge’s clever set—a raked circle of metalgrating containing only aleather chair and footstool—suggests the isolating cageSalter has created for himself.John Judd’s portrayal of Salteris a marvel of containment verg-ing on mania. And JayWhittaker as all the clonesnegotiates the shifts from one toanother with astonishing ease.As Bernard Two he bounces onthe balls of his feet, edgy butstill able to offer crumbs of com-fort to his father. As BernardOne he wears a cardigan zipped

to his Adam’s apple, watchful asa bird of prey, his voice stran-gled and menacing. And as theeasygoing Michael he’s awkwardand eager to please.

Churchill is the rare writerwho can be absolutely unspar-ing in her depictions of the tan-gled impulses underlyinghuman relationships but who’sfilled with compassion for dam-aged souls. With the exceptionof one clunky speech about war,A Number contains no wrongnotes, no easy pieties. “I didsome bad things. I deserve tosuffer. I did some better things.I’d like recognition,” Salterdeclares. Bernard Two quietlyanswers, “That’s how everyonefeels, certainly.” v

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CHICAGO READER | FEBRUARY 10, 2006 | SECTION ONE 33

Books

By Chris Barsanti

What is it that pisses peo-ple off so much aboutWal-Mart? Just mention

the discount behemoth and theresponse is curled lips and a lookof contemptuous disgust—thisfrom people who wouldn’t thinktwice about shopping at Target. Isit just another skirmish in theculture wars, with Democraticurbanites shopping at their IsaacMizrahi-endorsed big box storesand rural Republicans loading upon NASCAR gear at theirs? It’seasy to look to Wal-Mart’s rootsin bloodred Arkansas andTarget’s origins in cool blueMinnesota for answers. The reali-ty, though, is more complicatedthan cultural snobbery or ideolo-gy will allow.

One of the many emotionalmoments in Robert Greenwald’s2005 film Wal-Mart: The HighCost of Low Price comes when a

man named Red Esry describeshow his painstakingly built fami-ly-run grocery chain in a smallMissouri town was wiped out injust a couple years after Wal-Mart came to town. The kicker?He wasn’t done in by free-marketcapitalism, but by local govern-ment, which gave millions in sub-sidies to Wal-Mart while refusingassistance to local merchants.

Although it’s got all the hall-marks of agitprop—tabloidurgency, arguments that don’talways hold up under scrutiny—The High Cost of Low Price effec-tively uses the stories of peoplelike Esry to make its point: Wal-Mart is bad for the country inways that can’t simply beexplained away by free-marketeconomics. The movie appeals tothe emotions to grow resentmentagainst Wal-Mart for its treat-ment of an underpaid and over-taxed workforce and for the dev-

astating effect a new store,stuffed to the ceiling with vastmountains of goods at “everydaylow prices,” has on the economicfabric of the surrounding com-munity. But while Greenwald’spolemics aren’t without founda-tion—on January 12 alone aPennsylvania judge ruled thatworkers could move ahead with aclass-action suit alleging theywere pressured to work off theclock and the Maryland legisla-ture in effect voted to force Wal-Mart to spend at least 8 percentof its payroll on employee healthbenefits—you have to turn to thebumper crop of new books on thecompany for context. It’s onething to hear in the film about acorporate jet full of union bustersthat zooms in from headquartersto quash the faintest whisper oflabor organizing and quite anoth-er to read the detailed schematicof Wal-Mart’s aggressively anti-

union culture as laid out byNelson Lichtenstein in his essayin Wal-Mart: The Face of Twenty-First Century Capitalism, anauthoritative anthology he editedthat came out last month fromthe New Press.

Without resorting to red-state-baiting, Lichtenstein makes agood case for linking the compa-ny and the current administra-tion: “Like the conservatism atthe heart of the Reagan-Bushascendancy, Wal-Mart emergedout of a rural South that barelytolerated New Deal social regula-tion, the civil rights revolution,or the feminist impulse. In theirplace, the corporation has pro-jected an ideology of family,faith, and small-town sentimen-tality that coexists in strangeharmony with a world oftransnational commerce, stag-nant living standards, and astressful work life.”

Lichtenstein shows how acompany that’s the largest pri-vate employer in Mexico,Canada, and the United Statesand has $300 billion in annualsales developed a corporate lingothat tries to obscure minusculepay and negligible benefits in afaux-populist fog. While unionshave been working hard to crackthe Wal-Mart nut—the best anti-Wal-Mart news site, Wal-Mart

What’s the Matter With Wal-Mart?Two new books go deep on the big box everyone loves to hate.

WAL-MART: THE FACE OF TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY CAPITALISM NELSON LICHTENSTEIN, ED. (NEW PRESS)THE WAL-MART EFFECT: HOW THE WORLD’S MOST POWERFUL COMPANY REALLY WORKS—AND HOWIT’S TRANSFORMING THE AMERICAN ECONOMY CHARLES FISHMAN (PENGUIN)

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