Favorite Characters: Yitzhak (Hedwig and the Angry Inch)

Yitzhak is maybe an odd character to feature.  If Tommy Gnosis stands between Hedwig and the fame she wants, then Hedwig stands between Yitzhak and his.  Even with Hedwig’s admittedly piddly spotlight, Yitzhak is always in the shadow.  He’s the eternal backup vocalist, given no opportunities to show off and no outlet to be the beauty he longs to become.  In movie, he probably has less than a dozen lines.  And yet, I kind of love him.  (Note – I’m pulling in both the stage show and the film for today’s post.  Yitzhak-related spoilers.)

At first glance, Yitzhak looks out of place in the Angry Inch.  Hedwig – the high diva in command – is naturally at the center of everything, with audaciously tacky outfits, loud makeup, and wigs that deserve their own stage credit, and the rest of the band is styled in varying shades of punk/glam pastiche.  Next to all that color, glitter, and androgyny, Yitzhak doesn’t seem to fit.  Nothing form-fitting, nothing flamboyant.  Loose T-shirts and baggy jeans, bandanas and leather jackets.  Long, limp rocker hair and a goatee.  One of these things is not like the others.

And yet, right away, there’s more to be seen here.  Yitzhak is a male character, by all accounts a cisgender one, but he’s pretty much always played by a woman.  Miriam Shor, pictured above, originated the role of Yitzhak Off-Broadway and reprised it in the movie.  So we have this very traditionally-masculine-looking guy with kind of sullen impressions, but there’s something soft and feminine in his face.  His singing voice tends to be the same way, surprising the listener with sudden threads of femininity that seem to emerge from nowhere.

The movie keeps Yitzhak’s woes while skipping his backstory, so elements can feel a bit out-of-the-blue, but the stage show reveals that Yitzhak was once one of Croatia’s finest drag queens.  The Jewish Yitzhak needed to get out of the country, and when he met Hedwig, he was willing to do anything to leave with her.  She agreed to take him along, but at a cost.  Hedwig always needs to be the most beautiful person on stage, and if Yitzhak was going to join her, he could never dress in drag again.  “To be free, one must give up a little part of oneself,” she told him, echoing the words that led to her ticket out of Communist East Berlin:  her botched transition surgery.

That’s where Yitzhak’s head is when we meet him.  His own spark is dulled to make another’s brighter by comparison, and it’s not just with the heels or the wigs.  Hedwig is an incurable spotlight hog who feels threatened by Yitzhak’s talent; in the movie, the last moments of “Tear Me Down” tell you everything you need to know about their relationship.  As Hedwig gears up for her big finish, she’s resentful of Yitzhak’s riffing and coolly walks over to yank the cord out of his microphone.  As a sort-of couple (they’re married – might have been a green card thing for Yitzhak?), they’re hugely dysfunctional.  Hedwig constantly belittles and undermines Yitzhak, she takes him utterly for granted, and she’s hidden his passport.  Yitzhak wants to get out from under her thumb but doesn’t know how, and despite everything, he still can’t quite help loving her.  But for Yitzhak, the chief grievances are the first two – that Hedwig denies him his beauty and pushes his talent to the side.  He’s a natural star who can’t let loose, a gorgeous queen who can’t strut.  Shor does such a terrific job in the film bringing these injustices to the fore, packing a lot of emotion into wordless scenes and making you feel how incredibly important both issues are to him.  In a story where the protagonist has such a tangled, colorful history, it’s cool to discover that the taciturn backup singer has hidden dreams and inner turmoil as well.

Why Horcruxes? (Harry Potter)

In a meta way, the introduction of horcruxes in the Harry Potter series is a means of explaining why Voldemort is the cockroach of evil wizards, the one who never seems to die completely.  Certainly, having horcruxes, with their own rules, artifacts, and infamy within the wizarding community, is a lot more articulate than “Because Magic,” and the task of finding/destroying them gives Harry and co. a real handy quest to go on in the final book.  But almost ever since we first heard about them, I’ve wondered what it is with Voldemort and horcruxes (spoilers.)

It can’t be denied – horcruxes are extremely powerful and useful, in a horrible way.  Through making a horcrux, a witch or wizard creates a safeguard against death.  This potent bit of dark magic allows them to tear off a piece of their soul and hide it somewhere, so that, if their body is destroyed, a part of them lives on and is able to come back.  However, this assurance comes at a high, terrible price:  the spell requires the caster to murder someone.  It’s in fact the very act of murder that causes the soul to tear in the first place, because the soul can’t go through something so reprehensible and remain intact.  This is why the wizarding world isn’t full of wizards who continually spring back up like weebles; the spell is such an atrocity that it seems many in the community won’t even speak of it.

But hey, what’s a little murder to Voldemort?  In The Half-Blood Prince, we learn that, as far back as his sixth year at Hogwarts, future genocidal dark lord Tom Riddle is found researching horcruxes, and already, his ambitions are set high – in a “purely academic” discussion with Professor Slughorn, he asks if there’s a limit to how many times the soul could be split, speculating that six would the ideal, most magically-strong number of horcruxes to create.  Slughorn tries to deny what’s happening in this conversation, but he’s horrified that Riddle would consider even a hypotheticalmagic situation that required him to kill six people.

That’s the thing, though.  Obviously, it’s obscene, just one of many red flags that Riddle is a dangerous psychopath, but why horcruxes specifically?  Even if Riddle doesn’t have particular qualms about killing, what makes a 16-year-old want a sevenfold magical insurance policy (six horcruxes, plus the part of his soul that remains in his body) against death?  I suppose we can posit that, already, he’s making his future plans to rise to absolute power and knows he’ll meet resistance.  Any aggressive power struggle is going to involve physical risk, and since his new world order involves wiping out Muggle-borns, he’ll be seen as an ethnic-cleansing monster.  Viewed this way, it’ll only be a matter of time before an army rises up to fight him or someone tries to assassinate him.  Is his obsession with horcruxes just sadistic forward-thinking?

That’s part of it, I’m sure – he knows he’ll be a target – but I think it goes deeper than that.  I think Voldemort is terrified of dying in any context, and I think he feels magic should allow him power over death.  As a child, when he first meets Dumbledore and learns about his mixed magical heritages, he immediately guesses that his absent father must have been a wizard and his deceased mother a Muggle.  “My mother can’t have been magic, or she wouldn’t have died,” he reasons.  Most people fear death, understandably, but Voldemort’s seems to go beyond that.  His first response to learning that he’s a wizard is to assume that it will automatically prevent him from dying, and when he realizes this isn’t true, he starts seeking a specific way to use magic to do just that, by any means necessary. 

Assassins (1990)

Strange as it may seem, this was actually my first Sondheim show.  Not Sweeney Todd, not Into the Woods, not A Little Night Music, not Sunday in the Park with George, but Assassins, the darkly comic musical about America’s actual and would-be presidential assassins.  During the 2004 Tony Awards, I fell in love with the Broadway cast’s performance and shortly thereafter bought the CD for the revival.  I discovered that Sondheim is tricky but supremely rewarding, that Doogie Howser has a nice set of pipes on him (this was pre-How I Met Your Mother – that’s weird to think,) and that, if Raúl Esparza couldn’t win best supporting actor in a musical for Taboo, the award was safe in the hands of Michael Cerveris as John Wilkes Booth.

The musical itself is deliciously theatrical.  It’s not so much a concrete story as it is a series of vignettes that flit through time, framed in a strange sort of limbo in which notorious figures from different points in history can interact.  It opens with a vaguely sinister carnival proprietor trying to entice assorted malcontent oddballs to try their luck at a game of chance:  “Shoot a prez, win a prize!”  It’s an interesting device, giving a festive backdrop to such awful events.  And yet, we lurch with the chaotic whirl, and we see the dark undertones behind the lights.

And really, the classic Americana imagery of the carnival motif also strikes an unsettling discord with the story of these assassins, regarded as some of the least American people in U.S. history.  The show’s other main narrative device, an itinerant balladeer who spins the assassins’ tales into song, is similarly all-American.  As the assassins try to speak for themselves and get us to understand their reasoning, they get increasingly frustrated with the balladeer’s tuneful interruptions.

Much of the music combines folk with Sondheim’s usual style, and the result is an intriguing musical potpourri.  All of the ballads are catchy, clever, and all-around fantastic, especially “The Ballad of Booth.”  In it, Booth rails against the balladeer’s more cavalier version of his story and tries to explain “why [he] did it;” it’s a song with a lot of depth, one that unflinchingly examines what can cause a man to turn to unforgiveable actions.  “Unworthy of Your Love” – a duet between John Hinckley Jr. and Squeaky Fromme, respectively directed to an absent Jodie Foster and Charles Manson – is as creepy as it is audacious.  I also love “Something Just Broke,” in which a collection of ordinary citizens recall what they were doing when they heard news of a president’s death by assassin.

Not to mention, this show makes for a great history lesson.  I’d never even heard of Leon Czolgosz or Charles Guiteau before Assassins, but now I have a good understanding of all four presidential assassinations and five unsuccessful attempts.  I’ve learned more about the history behind them and interesting bits of trivia related to each one – plenty of truth-is-stranger-than-fiction moments!  I know that it doesn’t approach Sondheim’s greatest works, but I’ll always enjoy it as my first, and I’ll always appreciate it for its boldness, originality, and instructiveness. 

Warnings

Dark subject matter, violence, swearing (including one N-word,) and sexual references.

Top Five Performances: Peter Dinklage

Peter Dinklage caught my attention the first time I saw him, with his miniscule but hilarious role in Elf.  It took a couple more appearances (both of which make this list) for me to fully board the Dinklage train, but once I did, there was no turning back.  I’ve seen a wide swathe of his film and television roles, and these, for my money, are the best.

Tito (Living in Oblivion)

Dinklage made an excellent debut in this odd little indie film about the making of an odd little indie film (it also features dream sequences about filming a dream sequence – meta, thy name is Living in Oblivion.)  Tito, a long-suffering actor, voices his disapproval throughout the shoot, first passive aggressively and later explicitly in this epic rant about dwarfs in dream sequences.

Fin McBride (The Station Agent)

Fin is definitely Dinklage’s breakout role and, for me, the “I will love this actor forever” role.  It’s a subtle but searing performance of a quiet loner slowly coming into a family.  By turns, he’s wonderfully deadpan, righteously indignant, heartbreaking, falling apart at the seams, and gently courageous.  He’s a fantastic introvert protagonist; I love introducing people to this character.

Maurice (Tiptoes)

Make no mistake – Tiptoes is a hot mess of a film.  It’s all over the place, an interesting idea with really haphazard execution.  However, I’ll basically forgive all of it (including the weirdness of casting Gary Oldman in the lead as a man with dwarfism, not to mention one meant to be the same age as Matthew McConaughey) for the sake of Dinklage’s performance.  He’s awesome as Maurice, the immensely watchable friend of Oldman’s character with a lust for life, a penchant for trouble, and a somewhat ridiculous French accent.  True, it would’ve made far more sense to cast him as the lead, but then we would’ve missed out on this unforgettable performance.

Arthur Ramsey (Threshold)

Though Threshold, a short-lived series about a cobbled-together team of experts investigating an alien invasion, isn’t as good as it could have been, Ramsey is made of win.  I hadn’t known that a cocky, hard-drinking, womanizing linguist was something I needed in my life, but it totally is.  Dinklage does equally well with Ramsey’s self-destructive tendencies, his probing intellect, and his more reflective side.

Tyrion Lannister (Game of Thrones)

Apparently, Ramsey prefaced this role – here’s another cocky, hard-drinking, womanizing brainiac with a sharp tongue, but Tyrion is so distinct from Dinklage’s work on Threshold.  He’s entirely his own character, a real treat to watch.  Dinklage wonderfully portrays his gambles, fears, insecurities, blusters, ecstasies, victories, and despairs.  From his moments of heroism to his darker limits, Tyrion always keeps me guessing, and I’m so glad to have him on my TV.

Relationship Spotlight: Brendon Small, Melissa Robbins & Jason Penopolis (Home Movies)

It’s high time another trio joined the Potter gang as a Relationship Spotlight triple threat.  There are oodles of reasons to love Home Movies, and some of the others – the fantastically bad movies, McGuirk’s ludicrousness, hilarious supporting characters like Erik or Mr. Lynch – may loom a little larger, but the relationship between the core three is a consistently entertaining asset for the show.

We don’t know when or why Brendon, Melissa, and Jason (aged 8, 8, and 7) started making movies together, but by the time the series begins, that’s Their Thing.  It’s what they do – making sets in Brendon’s basement, writing scripts, obsessing over fish-eye lenses, and shooting spy movies mid-soccer game.  Other people sometimes get involved, of course; some are cajoled, others leap at the chance, and still others beg for it but are shut out.  However, it’s clear that they’re just day players – Brendon, Jason, and Melissa are where it’s at.

Even though their dialogue and perspectives are often far more mature than their ages would suggest, I like that the show never quite loses sight of the fact that they’re little kids.  Despite the sophisticated game they talk, they can’t manage conflicts to save their lives, and their movie shoots are plagued with frequent power struggles.  Brendon is tightly wound and tends to perceive any on-set dissent as a knock on his skills as a writer/director/actor.  It’s not unusual for Melissa to solve problems with her fists, and given the smallest shred of authority, Jason goes full-on dictatorial.  Every once in a while, they have earnest blowouts that result in Brendon firing everyone or someone loudly breaking from the group, and these fights occasionally happen while the camera’s running and wind up in the movies themselves (evidently, 8-year-olds “never fix anything in post.”)

The above may seem like an odd reason to enjoy the relationship, but first, it’s endlessly watchable.  I can’t get enough of these kids squabbling and throwing their egos around, and it’s fun to see one of them go off on an especially immature tear when they usually act so grown-up.  Second, it’s a testament to their bond that they continually recover from these rifts and get back together.  All three are simultaneously insecure and conceited to varying degrees, and their feelings bruise easily, but they always make up in the end. 

A big part of it, undoubtedly, is the movies.  For whatever reason, Brendon, Melissa, and Jason have eschewed most typical elementary pastimes and instead devote their time, energy, and imagination to filmmaking.  They reference Truffaut and Das Boot, they know how to write slug lines, and they work in every genre from romantic comedy to wuxia.  They’re friends because they’re the only ones who do what they do.  Even when other kids are cast in extra roles, they’re playing – Brendon, Jason, and Melissa are working.  If they weren’t together, where else would they go?  What else would they do?  Every time they have a temporary falling out, it’s painfully clear that they don’t really know how to fit in anyone else’s company, doing “normal kid things,” and that’s what gets them past any fights or slights.  At some point, they found one another and found their niche, and now, nothing else feels quite as right.  I really love that about them.