Zog and the inside joke

Walking home from rehearsals one night, I was with Betty and Opa and I told them the story of Zog. Soon it became a huge, huge inside joke among us.

The picture here is not how I imagined Zog to look like. But why the heck not. I got it from wolfsisters.net and I thought it's very mystical.

Zog, as far as I'm concerned, is the father of theatre. (Okay, I can't stop laughing now.) It was my first ever class in my first ever day as a theatre major in UP. It was Intro to Theatre and Sir Anton asks, "How did theatre begin?"

Hands from classmates shot up in the air. I glanced and they all had hardbound editions of Oscar Brockett's History of the Theater courtesy of photocopy+binding stalls in the Shopping Center. I didn't even know such a book existed! Now I'm so far behind in class! I'll be the dunce. I don't have the textbook. I'll never learn to act. I'll get cinco after cinco. This is so embarrassing. (Yes, these were the neurotic thoughts running through my then modernist brain. I superstitiously believed that for something to be good its beginning should be perfect. Best foot forward means ahead of the race. Back then I didn't know that when God created the heavens and the earth, "the earth was without form and void and darkness was upon the face of the deep" and not yet altogether perfect the way it became when God created Eve.)

All sorts of answers came up. "Sir, from the Greeks." We all heard that Anton Juan received his PhD in the University of Athens and so we were sure this was the correct answer.

"No," he said.

"Sir, from the Egyptians."

"No," he said. "Earlier."

Some students defended their answers. Some searched furiously in their Brocketts. Some shot guesses, which still missed the mark.

I thought, hey, what's there to lose? I raised my hand, trying hard to recall something I read somewhere. Was it "Complete Idiot's Guide to Creative Writing" the chapter on playwriting?

"Sir," I began, "long ago there was this caveman named Zog. He caught a large bull or animal from the forest. So that night, when he came home to his tribe, he told the story around the campfire. That's how theatre began."

Sir Anton's eyes became fiery for a brief moment, as if he were deep in thought, as if there was a campfire right in THY and they were blazing in his eyes. Then he said, "Yes."
My classmates were astounded. I was astounded. I thought, "Wow. Zog is the father of theatre."

Thus began my baptism into theatre. Sir Anton became animated. He became inhabited as if by some ancient spirit. He explained even as he acted what he was speaking: "He uses the skull of the beast as his mask. He dances, prancing about. He tells the community through ritual and dance and song how the spirits of the forest guided him and put the large beast under his power as he smote him with his spear!

"And thus he shows the future generations how to survive. Theatre teaches about life. Theatre is the rehearsal for life!" Then he prances about, graceful as a gazelle. Then he randomly points at a rather chubby classmate and says, "You! You cannot be a gazelle. You are an elephant!" I will never forget for the rest of my life the look of shock on that classmate's face.

Back to the trip home. Betty, Opa and I were laughing our hearts out with this story. Soon, we talked about Zog like he were a common friend. Zog, the source of inspiration and wisdom. Zog, the father of the theater. When a scene goes bad, we say, "Wonder what Zog will say about this." When a scene goes good we look at each and say, "Zog!"

Turns out Brockett really did mention that one of the many theories about the origin of theatre was the ancient tribal rituals of cavesmen. I found out when I got my own copy of the textbook from Shopping Center.

Anyhow, it's 2010 and we stage Griselda Gambaro's Information for Foreigners and believe you me, we did get some members of the audience who acted so backward they behaved like they were at the lowest rung of the evolutionary ladder. Zog was more sophisticated than these homo sapiens, in spite of their modern clothes and shoes. How can a human being be so jaded/heartless/unsympathetic towards fellow humans who are tortured?

I think I shouldn't be surprised. Human beings have been treating fellow humans inhumanely for years. In contrast, Zog hunted an animal to feed his people, continuing life, thanking his God for life-giving meat. Theatre taught Zog and his clan how to live. Our task as actors and playwrights remain the same. We are to teach humans to be human. If some of the audience do not want to learn or to think, then maybe they weren't homo sapiens (Latin for "the wise human") to begin with.