Jerry Springer the Opera

As the sun set leaving a blistered sky behind, the parking lot fills and people crowd in line at Will Call to pick up their Saturday night theatre tickets. It's a packed house, unusual for Playhouse on the Square, our local theatre in mid-town Memphis on Cooper Street, just off Union. In this land of Elvis and churches, it's the American premier of Jerry Springer, the Opera, after a five year run in London where it debuted.

Neither the hot weather nor the content warnings are keeping anyone away for Jerry Springer, the Opera. These Memphians are proud to host the opera and the use of bad words has only increased their excitement and curiosity. A content warning notice is posted on the web, displayed at the theatre, and recited over the phone when you call the box office for tickets. "This show contains language some people may find offensive. A list of words and phrases sung in this show are available for you, so that you may consider your attendance at Jerry Springer - The Opera."

But, Memphians are mad for a raunchy fun time. Slim but bent, well coiffed silver hair matrons decked out Talbot's best are seated among nose and tongue silver studded teenagers with red, green and yellow hair wearing their best grunge. Add to the mix a contingent of previously middle class adults dressed in frowzy trailer trash attire complete with 50's hair, plastic jewelry, ear resting cigarettes, buck teeth and beer drinking, and you have a party soup of an audience.

As curtain time nears, someone in the audience begins the famous show chant, "Jer-ry, Jer-ry, Jer-ry, Jer-ry," with clenched fists pushing the air over his head. It catches on and by the time the lights go down, most of us are chanting and we don't know why.

If you want to see the bad words (and of course, you do), log into the Playhouse website. As "you must be 18 or older to access this information," you enter any date earlier than 1989 and you are allowed to read the statement, "Should you be disturbed hearing them sung in a high C, your appearance in the audience should be carefully considered...[words are listed]."
I'm sure the website has had a record number of hits.

It's a pretty good bunch of bad words and the warning is true. Unlike the televised show subject to censors' "bleeps", the bad words fly across the stage from beginning to end in arias, in banter and in song and dance numbers. The Greek chorus, the stage show audience of about ten people of assorted ages, sexes, races and weight conditions, binge on them.

It's a mighty performance, but John and I had entirely different reactions - he fell asleep in the second act, when the story line literally went to hell. I sat enthralled from beginning to end, mystified how the actors could sing all those bad words as if they were the romantic pleas of Le Bo heme. The opera reminded me of Shakespeare's farce The Merry Wives of Windsor on steroids with the NYC Rockettes in white Jerry wigs, pin stripe suits, tap shoes, high kicks and all. A standing ovation, complete with hoots of "Jer-ry, Jer-ry, Jer-ry, Jer-ry", greeted the actors at the end.

The Jerry Springer Show is in its seventeenth season. What is it's power to attract people to appear on it? The guests shame themselves and each other. Is it the chance to "be a celebrity", to get a free trip to Chicago and to stay in a fancy hotel, as one of the characters posits? Or, is it a chance to "be somebody" in an American culture that leaves so many people at the bottom, caught is a perpetuating cycle of poverty and invisible to the rest of us?

Perhaps, a larger question is why do so many of us watch the show? Why do we care about others' infidelities and guilty secrets? Are we drawn to the outlandish drama for the chance to vicariously live unleashed from the rules of decent language and behavior? Are we trying to understand our own sins? Do we feel reassured that we are not so stupid, ignorant, or morally bankrupt as those on the screen? Or, are we fatigued with our middle class lives, deadened by its mediocre sameness? Must we have these extreme performances to wake us from our comas? Does the show reflect back to us our cultural decay or is it a vehicle for self examination as the introduction to the opera asks.

Does the show make you angry? Does the idea of the show drive you crazy? Do you want to yell at me, "I don't watch the show, ever, ever!" Do you feel indignation surging up from inside your belly? Well, if you do, I do as one of Jerry's guests put it, just "Talk to the hand! I don't want to hear about it."

Memphis humidity - a joyous commodity

After ten days in New Mexico and Utah, I was blasted with Memphis humidity as I walked off the plane. I loved it! My skin sucked up the moist air like a vacuum sucks dirt from the carpet. My eyes relished the tangled green grass of our boulevard, abundant lush ferns on the front stoop, and the glossy green leafy shrubs and trees that frame our townhome. The west is breathtaking with its big mountains, bigger sky and vast landscapes, but, in the end, it is the land of overheated, parched dirt and scrub vegetation.

To quote my sister, "Don't worry about the heat, because the humidity is so low, you won't feel the heat like you do back east." Well, she lied. I didn't know heat until I spent time in the desert. No one goes anywhere without bottled water provisions. Dry heat means its an astounding 100 degrees or more, every day for months. When I got up close, thrusting myself into the landscape, the beautiful mountain vistas disappeared to be replaced with earth that crumbles into sand, rock and grit. This dusty meal snaked its way into my clothes and clung to my skin. After each day's exploring in the mountains, I had dirt in places unknown since I was a five year old, playing in my sandbox.

It's a feast or famine kind of climate out west. Rain is dreamed of, but comes in deluges, not gentle ground soakers like in Memphis. Western storms deliver lighting to ignite dried timber, not sprinkled water to make gardens bloom. Gardens are strictly man made and maintained. In frustration, smart settlers landscape with rocks, stones and pebbles, with the hope that their "desert" plants survive.

In Memphis, the weather provides a pretty consistent level of heat in the summer. You can rely on when you are going to sweat -- pretty much 24 hours a day with a temperature in the 80's to low 90's. This makes living much simpler. I get up in the morning and get dressed once, for all day. Out west, the temperature is a roller coaster of highs and lows within a 24 hour period. It's cold in the early morning -- I drag out a sweater or jacket, long pants, socks and shoes. Between 10AM and 5PM, it heats up by degrees every hour. Like the "Frog in the Pot" story, I must shed clothes or be boiled to near death. Finally, as the sun sets, I must once again find clothes to wear -- first a long sleeve shirt and then, as the evening lengthens into night -- a jacket, socks and shoes. Some people may like this variety of dress, but to me it's frustrating work.

I must admit that whether I am in hot and humid Memphis or the hot and dry west in the summer, it is best to do my outdoor run before 9AM. However, the advantage of humidity is that the sweat drips off my body rather than disappearing immediately into the air. Out west, I am deprived of this proper reward for effort well exerted.

In Memphis, there is also consistency in the earth. The dirt is black -- that rich loamy ebony color that dogs and kids love to roll in. It's cool, holding the moisture, providing a soothing salve. Out west the dirt is anything but black. It's red, beige, taupe, ochre, yellow, white and plain ol' brown. It's harsh and biting. When I hiked, I didn't sink into the earth, but rather skidded and slipped across it, dislodging stones and the pallid plants embedded among them. Trees are blown naked. Life out west -- i sliving in a land opposed to human creature comforts and good skin.

A friend's impressions of Memphis

It's quite astonishing. The name Binkowski has only one listing in the New York City telephone directory. Luckly for us as it belongs to our long time friends Carol and Ed. Ancient history reveals that Carol and I met when we were both in our 30's. Her job was to find leading edge services and products that Chase IT project managers might want to use. For six months we trudged Chase's sacred halls in NYC skyscrapers and Long Island data centers, promoting and pleading for somebody to take a risk and test my systems design approach. Finally, we seduced one desparate project manager and landed our first of many projects. The experience made us fast friends, if unlikely ones. Although we both were cutting edge business women in technology, Carol thrived on stability and I on change. We totally amazed each other with our opposite personalities.

As we began to wrinkle Carol, with a little urging and a great severance package, took an early retirement. She dove into film, a love she's always wanted to nurture. By dove, I mean Carol decided not just to watch and follow films, but she decided to become a digital film maker. For at least the last three years, she has lived at the Apple store and similar venues for neophyte film makers to learn the technology, the art and the technique. Today, she's mastered the "short" as her films about Memphis clearly show. Watch Memphis Zoo, Memphis, TN, and, my favorite, Juke Joint Festival, where you get a glimpse of how folks around here define fun in Delta country.

Carol's other films are all about New York City and its people. You're invited to view these films at the Website. She's also starting to get commissions (yes, paying gigs!) to film events and conferences. Congratulations to Carol!