Reviewed by:

• Kate
• Daniel Sack

If a tear is, as William Archer wrote in his 1888 treatise against Diderot, the “external, visible, sensible fact” of the “most important emotion” for an actor, then one can understand how an actor’s failure to produce this sign of effective performance could be devastating. In comedian Kate Berlant’s spiraling meta-performance Kate, the titular character’s inability to cry on cue is itself the traumatic foundation upon which a self is constructed. Berlant’s star is on the rise. Her standup special Cinnamon in the Wind premiered on Hulu two weeks before I caught Kate; both performances were directed by the equally multi-faceted Bo Burnham. Berlant’s brand of experimental comedy shows a sophistication that resonates with the ironic simulations of the downtown New York performance scene while also evincing a genuine love for live theatre.

The lobby of the Connelly Theater was crammed full of all things “Kate”: her name and photos hung on the walls, her black jeans and top displayed in vitrines, her Moleskine notebook elevated on a plinth. Two immersive “experiences” flanked the lobby, inviting the audience to relive the performer’s past: the first, a stretch of sand, recalling her youth on the beaches of Santa Monica; the second, a recreation of her childhood living room, her father’s ersatz lounge chair center. An artist’s statement just this side of pretension proclaimed: “The theatre requires a sacred corporal exchange […] As I enter this space, I am destroyed and transformed, made consumable only as I become consumed by my own narrative.” And there, on a bench to one side, sat the woman herself, in dark sunglasses, scrolling through her phone, wearing a sign that said: “Ignore me.”

Kate Berlant in Kate. Photo: Emilio Madrid.

If the lobby display sent up the narcissism sanctified by both celebrity and museum culture, the performance parodied the genre of the autobiographical monologue. Shifting between direct address and her over-the-top characterizations (including her impersonation of an old stagehand who bookended the show with claptrap about the magic of the stage), Berlant put her own spin on the familiar story of the small-town girl, sitting on her porch under the stars and dreaming of making it big in Hollywood. Stymied by a mother who insists that her “big, crass style of indication has no place on camera,” Kate travels to New York and takes to the stage instead, which she hopes will be more forgiving. Retreading the narrative arc of many such shows, she must overcome a secret trauma to achieve success. But here, the oft-mentioned traumatic memory was peeled back layer-by-layer like an onion without ever revealing a core; instead, Kate arrived at an event that—also onion-like—prompted tears using more mechanical means.

Each of these reveals had the outward shape of a genuine experience of trauma. For example, when her mother discovered a young Kate playing with her father’s camera, Berlant mimed her raising her fist overhead, threatening violent abuse—not on the child, but on the beloved camcorder. Later, an older man invites the innocent girl from the country back to his apartment and, seemingly intent on seduction, lures her not to his bedroom, but in front of a camera, where he entices her to act out different emotions in closeup. If her mother had established the filmic as taboo, this was the forbidden fruit—made present in the theatre by the camera on a tripod that watched Berlant from the edge of the stage throughout her performance.

The real trauma, if one could call it such, ended up being a matter of technique. Called upon to cry for her first onscreen audition, Kate stalled out. We watched it all live and doubled on the big projection screen looming behind the performer. Everything was going well in the audition scene, the actress restrained in the intimate world of the filmic. But when the script asked for the character to weep, [End Page 576] Berlant’s face decomposed into...

审阅者：

• 凯特
• 丹尼尔·萨克

正如威廉·阿切尔 (William Archer) 在其 1888 年反对狄德罗的论文中所写，如果眼泪对于演员来说是“最重要的情感”的“外在的、可见的、敏感的事实”，那么人们就能理解演员为何未能产生这种有效的情感信号。性能可能是毁灭性的。在喜剧演员凯特·贝兰特 (Kate Berlant) 的螺旋式元表演《凯特》中，主角无法按提示哭泣本身就是构建自我的创伤基础。伯兰特的明星正在冉冉升起。她的单口喜剧特辑《风中的肉桂》在 Hulu 上首播，比我抓住凯特的时间早了两周。两场表演均由同样多才多艺的博·伯纳姆 (Bo Burnham) 执导。伯兰特的实验喜剧风格展现出一种复杂性，与纽约市中心表演场景的讽刺模拟产生共鸣，同时也表现出对现场戏剧的真正热爱。

康纳利剧院的大厅里挤满了所有“凯特”的东西：她的名字和照片挂在墙上，她的黑色牛仔裤和上衣陈列在玻璃橱里，她的 Moleskine 笔记本高高地放在底座上。大厅两侧有两种身临其境的“体验”，邀请观众重温表演者的过去：第一个是一片沙滩，回忆起她在圣莫尼卡海滩上的青春；第二个是一片沙滩，让人回想起她在圣莫尼卡海滩上的青春；第二个是一片沙滩，让人回想起她在圣莫尼卡海滩上的青春；第二个是一片沙滩，让人回想起她在圣莫尼卡海滩上的青春时光。第二个是她童年起居室的重现，是她父亲的仿制躺椅中心。一位艺术家在声明中宣称：“剧院需要神圣的肉体交流……当我进入这个空间时，我被摧毁和改变，只有当我被自己的叙事所吞噬时，我才变得可消费。” 而在一侧的长凳上，坐着那位女士本人，她戴着深色墨镜，正在滚动手机，上面挂着一个牌子，上面写着：“别理我。”

凯特·贝兰特 (Kate Berlant ) 照片：埃米利奥·马德里。

如果说大厅的展示传达了名人和博物馆文化所神圣化的自恋，那么这场表演则模仿了自传独白的风格。伯兰特在直接称呼和夸张的人物塑造之间转换（包括她模仿一位老舞台工作人员，在演出结束时用关于舞台魔力的哗众取宠的方式结束了演出），伯兰特对这个小镇女孩的熟悉故事进行了自己的诠释，坐在星空下的门廊上，梦想着在好莱坞大放异彩。凯特的母亲坚持认为她“大而粗俗的指示风格不适合出现在镜头上”，这让凯特感到很受阻，于是她前往纽约，登上了舞台，她希望舞台能更宽容。她重新演绎了许多此类节目的叙事弧线，必须克服秘密创伤才能取得成功。但在这里，人们常说的创伤记忆像洋葱一样被一层层剥开，却没有露出核心；相反，凯特参加了一场同样像洋葱一样的活动，用更机械的方式催泪。

这些揭示中的每一个都具有真实的创伤经历的外在形式。例如，当她的母亲发现年轻的凯特在玩她父亲的相机时，伯兰特模仿她将拳头举过头顶，威胁要暴力虐待——不是针对孩子，而是针对心爱的摄像机。后来，一名年长的男子邀请这位无辜的乡村女孩回到他的公寓，似乎有意引诱她，但他没有引诱她到他的卧室，而是在镜头前，引诱她在特写镜头中表现出不同的情感。如果她的母亲将电影定为禁忌，那么这就是禁果——由三脚架上的摄像机在剧院中呈现，在整个表演过程中，摄像机从舞台边缘观看伯兰特。

真正的创伤，如果可以这么说的话，最终是一个技术问题。凯特第一次在银幕上试镜时被要求哭泣，但她却停了下来。我们现场观看了这一切，并在表演者身后若隐若现的大投影屏幕上加倍观看。试镜现场一切都很顺利，女演员在电影的私密世界中保持克制。但当剧本要求角色哭泣时，[完第576页]伯兰特的脸分解成了……