There's an edge that creeps into people's voices lately whenever they start trading tidbits about the train wreck that is Julie Taymor's Spiderman. The quality that creeps into the voice is something approaching glee. I suppose, it might be expected that a certain degree of schadenfreude might set in when such vast amounts of money are spent on one production. But, personally, I'm starting to find it a bit off-putting. And I can't help thinking: this is symptomatic of a larger cultural sickness. We have some sort of endless need to prop up artists as demi-gods and then topple them down with gusto at the first signs of cracks in their facade.
Today's Julie Taymor trash fest is reminiscent of similar public outcries that another female theatrical genius director suffered throughout her tumultuous (and spectacular) career. Her name was Sarah Caldwell. And she was the visionary Founding Artistic Director of Opera Company of Boston. Check out this little item from John Rockwell of the New York Times, dated January 20, 1982:
The formal cancellation Saturday by the Opera Company of Boston of its eagerly anticipated American premiere of Bernd Alois Zimmermann's ''Die Soldaten'' was the result of a long-simmering conflict between Sarah Caldwell's impetuous, sometimes erratic managerial style and an increasingly militant desire for higher wages, job security and improved working conditions on the part of Boston's orchestral musicians.
Sound familiar?
Seems to me something deeper is at play in the scathing treatment Julie Taymor is receiving. Make no mistake. The Spiderman production has been a debacle. But the level of glee with which members of the theatrical "community" have watched this house of cards collapse, has been, I think, largely fueled by the jealousy many feel when confronted with true genius. For it is indisputable, is it not? Just as surely as I can say that Sarah Caldwell was a genius, the same can be said of Taymor. And sometimes, those of us whose artistic efforts land a little bit closer to the ground can't help but feel a bit envious, if not outright jealous.