WOMEN MAKING WAVES:
EXCEPTIONAL WOMEN SHARE THEIR CREATIVE VISIONS.
SCHOOL OF
THEATRE DANCE
PERFORMANCE STUDIES
Leigh Wilson Smiley, Producing Director
Creative Dialogue
A CONVERSATION ABOUT WOMEN AND RESISTANCE
Nora Chipaumire, choreographer and dancer
Kojo Nnamdi, moderator
Monday, April 1, 2013 . 7:30PM . FREE
Join Chipaumire along with Sheri Parks, UMD American Studies
professor; Sheema Kalbasi, an Iranian writer who has lived most of
her life in exile from her home country; and Sarah Browning, director
of DC Poets Against the War and Split This Rock. They will discuss
the complexities experienced by women who choose and/or are
destined to lead a life of protest and resistance.
NORA CHIPAUMIRE
Miriam
Eric Ting, director
Omar Sosa, composer
Olivier Clausse, lighting design
Okwui Okpokwasili, performer
April 4 – 6 . 8PM . $35
DEADMAN’S
CELLPHONE
by SARAH RUHL
With Miriam, the renowned choreographer and dancer Nora
Chipaumire creates her first character-driven work — a deeply
personal dance-theatre performance that looks closely at the tensions
women face between public expectations and private desires; between
selflessness and ambition; and between the perfection and sacrifice of
the feminine ideal.
Join the artists for a Talk Back following the April 5 performance.
Nora Chipaumire photo by Olivier Clausse
MARCH 1 – 9, 2013
INA & JACK KAY THEATRE
Director
Scenic Designer, Projections
Designer and Assistant Dramaturg
Lighting Designer
Costume Designer
Sound Designer
Dramaturg
Stage Manager
Assistant Directors
KJ Sanchez
Douglas Clarke
Andrew Cissna
Kelsey Hunt
Christopher Baine
Anjna Swaminathan
Alli Wolf
Mavonte Johnson
Jocelyn Knazik
Produced by special arrangement with Samuel French, Inc. New York City.
EXTRAORDINARY MINDS . EXTRAORDINARY STORIES
claricesmithcenter.umd.edu | 301.405.ARTS (2787)
CLARICE SMITH PERFORMING ARTS CENTER
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PROGRAM NOTES
PROGRAM NOTES
“Being There” in a Technically Connected World
I never had a cell phone. I didn’t want to always be there, you know. Like if your phone is on
you’re supposed to be there. Sometimes I like to disappear. But it’s like — when everyone has
their cell phone on, no one is there. It’s like we’re all disappearing the more we’re there.
— Jean, Dead Man’s Cell Phone
What does it mean to “always be there?” And how is it that a cell phone can connect us to
other people, yet also make us “disappear?” To better understand the power of modern
technology, one need only consider the rapid development and ever-evolving capabilities
of the cell phone.
The portable telephone was first used in 1973 by a Motorola researcher by the name of
Martin Cooper. Weighing in at 2.5 pounds and measuring 9 inches long, 5 inches deep
and 1.75 inches wide, this early prototype of a handheld phone was certainly a far cry from
the portable ease of the modern cell phone. Nevertheless, Cooper’s invention represents
a crucial moment in the journey toward the wireless connectivity we now experience.
Today’s cell phone does far more than carry audible conversations. It was in 1995 that
text messaging was first introduced and then, only five years later, cell phone makers
introduced “smart phones.” Functioning like miniature computers, our smart phones offer
on-the-go Internet and a plethora of gaming, entertaining and networking applications.
Thus, the introduction of the first mobile phone marks a remarkable era of innovation,
the far-reaching effects of which feed our newfound need to “always be there.”
Indeed, it appears that our hunger to be ever-connected to the world and each other is
insatiable. In our digital age, we are constantly on the lookout for new gadgets and apps
that will help us achieve that infinite connectivity wherever we go. Capitalizing on this
common obsession, cell phone companies advertise unlimited plans that cater to our own
need to be unlimited. A recent commercial uses phrases like “A billion roaming
photojournalists, uploading the human experience,” and attempts to give humanity to
a digital phenomenon.1 Few of us can claim to be photojournalists, and one can only
wonder what “the human experience” really means if we consistently choose to experience
life through phones, laptops and tablets rather than interacting with our surroundings —
and each other — directly.
Sarah Ruhl’s Dead Man’s Cell Phone dramatizes these various fascinations and
contradictions. Dead Man’s Cell Phone offers audiences an up-close and personal glimpse
into the life of Jean — a woman who always avoided things like cell phones, yet inevitably
experiences the all-consuming nature of technology. Throughout her play, Ruhl poetically
questions our attachment to technology and the ways in which devices designed to connect
us can actually disconnect us from other people. In the words of the playwright:
advancements for our very survival. Yet technology is so pervasive that it impresses itself
on our most intimate interactions: couples meet via online matchmakers, people pay their
respects to the deceased via Facebook posts, and arguments begin and proliferate via
Tweets. While the nature of these exchanges is not inherently problematic, it does raise
questions regarding boundaries and moderation.
In thinking about the wisdom of moderation, I would like to offer a few questions
that may help each of us (re)consider our own relationship with technology:
How often do you check your phone?
Have you ever spent a full 24 hours without your phone? Could you?
If you lost your cell phone, how many (and whose) numbers could you conjure using
memory alone?
When was the last time you chose to visit a nearby friend instead of sending a text
or email?
And finally, I must ask you to do yourself and your fellow audience members a great
favor. In the words of Dead Man’s Cell Phone’s Mrs. Gottlieb, “There are only one or two
sacred places left in the world today. Where there is no ringing. The theatre, the church
and the toilet.” While I suspect that this is not entirely true, I would like to offer a personal
request: Please take this time to turn off your cell phones (and other mobile devices) and
take a moment to enjoy real, live theatre.
— Anjna Swaminathan
Dramaturg
Sprint® commercial. Author’s transcription and emphasis.
Lahr, John. “Surreal Life: The Plays of Sarah Ruhl.” The New Yorker. Conde Nast, 17 Mar. 2008. Web.
<http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2008/03/17/080317crat_atlarge_lahr>.
1
2
Cell phones, iPods, wireless computers will change people in ways we don’t even
understand. We’re less connected to the present. No one is where they are. There’s
absolutely no reason to talk to a stranger anymore — you connect to people you
already know. But how well do you know them? Because you never see them —
you just talk to them. I find that terrifying.2
Of course, Ruhl also recognizes the quandary before us: there is also great value to
be found in our new level of connectivity and many of us depend upon digital age
tdps.umd.edu | 301.405.ARTS (2787)
Dead Man’s Cell Phone
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