questions I'm still asking myself after seeing a musical about a man trapped underground
What do you do when you're looking for answers, but all you can find is more questions?
Last week, I saw the matinee of Floyd Collins with a fellow theater-loving friend (Thank you, Michael!) To put it simply, it’s based on the true story of a man who gets stuck deep in a cave while digging for treasure during the Great Depression. The story is told to us, the audience, from all angles; Floyd Collins is onstage almost the whole time, as are his family, friends, townspeople, and others who come to his aid, or to report on the spectacle.
At one point, a reporter asks Floyd Collins (yes he’s being interviewed underground,
“What does it feel like to be trapped?”
Floyd deflects and talks about his grand plans for his treasure.
“Why explore caves?” The reporter asks.
“Why write words?” Floyd retorts.
I recently got into a discussion with someone about whether art is meant to ask or answer questions. As a writer, I have always known that I can’t control what a reader/audience member thinks. I can’t hand them the moral of a story. I have to let them walk away with whatever conclusion they arrive at.
The person I was talking to was frustrated with a musical for introducing a lot of questions that, in their opinion, went unanswered.
To be honest, the questions that this person asked weren’t questions I’d ever even thought of.
Their critique of the show actually made me walk away from the conversation, loving the show even more, and wanting to see it again.
(It was Hadestown. Love that show.)
I always walk away from a musical with more questions than answers. I walk away from most things in life that way.
Sometimes that’s fun and sometimes it’s frustrating.
Don’t we all want the answers?
It’s so natural to turn to your favorite songs, movies, books, etc., for answers. And sometimes, we find them.
Someone else might have walked away from Hadestown with a whole set of answers to a whole set of questions I’ve never even thought of.
How is that possible?
The answers don’t come from the show. They come from us.
A little cheesy, I know — it’s very, “you’ve always had the power, dear, you just had to see it for yourself.” (Glinda, Wizard of Oz.)
It’s true, though. Great art can awaken so much in us. When I’m at a musical, surrounded by strangers in a dark room, watching a show that has nothing to do with my literal life, I feel things deeply. I reflect on my life and my choices. The unknown and “unrelatable” become deeply specific. I’m reminded of the power of humanity, and that we’re more similar than we are different.
I feel like my best self inside a theater, if I’m being honest. My most curious, compassionate, sensitive, kind self.
Here are the questions I walked away from Floyd Collins with:
(with some, but not too much context)