By Jewelle Gomez–
I’m going to the dress rehearsal tonight for my new play, Unpacking in P’town, and I realize how strongly I lean away from superstition. Theatre folk are probably the one group with as many superstitions as baseball players. Do players raise their hands to heaven when they make a run because they really believe God favors their team over their opponents? Really?
In theatre we only say “the Scottish play” out loud rather than Macbeth, and there are even a series of actions (one is to turn counterclockwise three times and spit!) prescribed for countering the curse if you slip. You’re not supposed to whistle backstage. Well-wishers aren’t ever supposed to say “good luck” but rather “break a leg!”
We even leave a light on stage all night to make sure ghosts can find their way around. Most theatre artists believe that if the final dress rehearsal before the play opens goes poorly then the run of the play will be a huge success. Even I used to believe I had to start each new theatre project by bringing Entenmann’s pastries to the first rehearsal. I don’t feel that way at all anymore. I’d much rather feel like everyone does all they can to prepare and things will line up as they should when the lights go up and the audience settles. And I’d prefer to eat better pastries.
It’s not surprising that superstition is threaded through theatre events since the earliest theatre practices began as religious ritual. And I’m all for creating new rituals as ways of remembering things that are important: people we’ve loved, moments that were turning points in our lives, great sadness. The problem for me is when it becomes a requirement to adhere to the rituals to prevent something bad from happening.
Who decides when the pleasant observing of an event has to be rigidly followed or you die, or lose your hair, or go to hell, or your horse comes in last?
Creating new rituals can be invigorating and inspiring. I have a wooden bowl in which I keep slips of paper with quotes from Audre Lorde. On her birthday, I grab one of the pieces of paper every time I pass by the bowl and read out loud something she’s written. It’s a ritual, not for good luck, but to remind me of how effective her work has been and to put her energy back into the world.
In my play, one of the characters observes that many people make resolutions to improve their lives on New Year’s Eve. It’s become a cottage industry including silly hats, outlandish glasses, and the hope that deciding on December 31 to lose weight will be more successful than making the decision on May 15or October 2.
But my character announces that his group of friends makes their resolutions at the beginning of each summer because, he says, they are more realistic when they’re half naked and holding umbrella drinks. In other words, why not be honest when you fulfill that ritual? Commit to something that is a possibility rather than a wild card.
In this play, as in most of my writing, I try to squeeze in the names of people I’ve known and loved as a way of honoring them. I don’t need to bow my head when their names are spoken or believe they will bring my work good luck. I just like to remember them with a smile.
We all need things to hold on to for hope and “luck.” But I find it more uplifting and long lasting if my wishes are grounded in the real—like words or music or memory. I do believe our ancestors are with us if we keep them in our minds, but I don’t need to leave a ghost light on for them.
Jewelle Gomez is a lesbian/feminist activist, novelist, poet, and playwright. She’s written for “The Advocate,” “Ms. Magazine,” “Black Scholar,” “The San Francisco Chronicle,” “The New York Times,” and “The Village Voice.” Follow her on Instagram and Twitter @VampyreVamp
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Published on March 7, 2024
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