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| ABOUT TRaC |
Multi TRaC Fall '02
Amateur Night at the Apollo For those who believe that New York's theater tradition is the intellectual Stoppard play on 45th and 7th beware: there is a rude awakening waiting for you on 125th Street between Adam Clayton Powell and Frederick Douglas Boulevards. This surprise is a certain institution known as the Apollo Theater. The controlling feature of this institution can be seen every Wednesday, in a New York tradition known as Amateur Night. Amateur Night is about as far from Stoppard as Ingmar Bergman is from the Farrely brothers, probably farther. The show is loud, obnoxious, crude, and bawdy - and an absolute must for anyone who claims to be a New Yorker. Despite the numerous changes that have occurred in the message, meaning, and content of the sixty-eight year history of Amateur Night, the theater itself has remained the same. With old-fashioned sconce lighting, bright red carpeting, and brown and cream wallpaper, the Apollo Theater is one of the few remaining relics of early twentieth century theater architecture. Although, like all the other major theaters, the Apollo has gone under major renovations, it has preserved its original aura better than any major theater on Broadway. As soon as the lights go out and the curtains go up, however, it quickly becomes apparent that 1934 was, in fact, sixty-eight years ago. The old-fashioned feel is replaced by strobe lighting and blasting speakers. The brilliant rendition of Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" uses both the old and new qualities to create an opening memorable enough for New Yorkers, Bridge-and-Tunnelers, and Tourists alike to remember the Apollo for decades. Gaye's classic is followed by the hip-hop dancing of many audience members. Ironically, the two best dancers were a forty-something Bostonian mother and a twelve-year old from New Jersey, neither of whom most likely grew up surrounded by the hip-hop culture. It's the perfect metaphor for the Apollo's influence on unlikely individuals across America. After the opening singing and dancing, the emcee, New York regional comedian Drew Fraser, presents just a tidbit of his comedy routine. His comedic inserts during the transitions between competitors was perfectly timed and hilarious. Although the humor was racial, it was not reserved solely for the Black audience members, even though they were the ones who felt most comfortable laughing at the jokes. If any audience member felt uncomfortable at the beginning of Amateur Night, he became so swept up in the Apollo's magic that by intermission all pretensions were forgotten. The structure of Amateur Night has become so ingrained in New York culture that it almost goes without saying. Performers with no professional experience go onstage to a crowd whose brutality is only matched by Yankee Stadium during a subway series with the Mets. If the crowd likes you, they cheer. If it doesn't like you, you get booed off stage and mocked by the Apollo's clown, "The Executioner." It's the Apollo's embracing of embarrassment that separates Amateur Night from all other talent shows usually encountered in a lifetime. In November 20's Amateur Night production, the Executioner made just one appearance. Although it was a bit disappointing, there was a good reason: this production was a "Show-Off," a competition of one-time winners in previous Amateur Nights this season. Two-time winners compete in the Top Dog competition, and the season ends with the Super Top Dog competition, the three-time winners' championship. The winner of November 20th's competition, MC Squared, was one of only two white amateurs in the competition. MC Squared did not have any equipment, just his voice and a microphone, yet these two components sounded like a DJ performing with a full set of equipment in the late '80s. The piece was especially relevant after the recent death of Run-DMC's pioneer DJ, Jam Master Jay. The audience chanted "White boy! White boy!" when it was all but apparent that MC Squared would move on to the Top Dog competition. One of the most noticeable and memorable experiences of the night was the audience's reaction to the raunchiest performers, "The Dynasty Shakers." This routine mainly consisted of homoerotic slaps, touches, and gestures of the surprisingly young performers wearing basketball jerseys. The audience was divided into two halves: the guys booed and the women went crazy cheering. This simple formula was carried out in such a magnitude that one could not hear a person speaking an inch away. The rowdiness is unlike any other theatrical experience in New York, and encompasses a sense of honesty unattainable by Broadway. Many people have images in their heads of the Apollo only appealing to the African American population of New York; some even limit its appeal to Harlem only. I would not even call this belief archaic, since it was never true in the first place. In many ways, Amateur Night is more similar to a seventeenth century production of Shakespeare then any Broadway production could ever hope to be. The crowd is brutal, and responds to mistakes made on stage. The voice of Amateur Night is the voice of its community, which is the one attribute that Shakespeare lacks today, and the one thing preventing youths from appreciating Shakespeare's wonders. The performers have nothing to lose; they are not being paid, they are just performing for the sake of performing. All of these factors make Amateur Night at the Apollo the most authentic, honest, and pure theatrical experience in New York. And unlike the other phenomenal theatrical experiences that have graced New York in her history, this one is not available for a limited time. Amateur Night can be experienced each week, and due to the Apollo's landmark status, will not be leaving. Nobody should depart from New York, whether after a week or a lifetime, without experiencing perhaps the most important artistic institution in the city.
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