Imagination Set Free

The scene was an acting class on the main stage of the university—a place that filled me with awe. A tiny lost person inside me wanted more than anything to prove myself. We students were sitting cross-legged in a circle with the professor included. No one looked at me. I wasn’t considered a serious theatre student since I had chosen a double major to be certain I’d be able to support myself one day. The topic was originality and we were to tell a story round robin, each person contributing an imaginative bit. I was terrified.

What did the professor mean by imagination? How did he define originality? In creative writing, I had been taught as some painting students are—to mimic the techniques of the greats. I was hot stuff at mimicry. I thought of cartoons that defied reality and blurted my offering. I could feel the emotional thud of the group reacting. The professor commented that my part wasn’t original—too like cartoons. My heart dropped. My work was too weird for my writing professor and now too common for theatre. I had been indoctrinated, not educated.

What is originality? We, as audience, have come to admire special effects that allow us to see what has never been seen before. We’re filled with awe as blue beings or golden royalty swim in colorful seas, and half-time shows dazzle with visual effects that magnify mere mortals. Huge blockbuster films can rake in big money. We assume technological inventions guarantee imagination. Sometimes they do. Sometimes it’s the same-old in fancier clothes.

The opening ceremonies of the 2024 Olympics in Paris, France, boggled many minds. This, I thought, is originality. I couldn’t envision myself writing scripts for it. Those who did had a broad familiarity with both French history and current moments so they could add them to a blender and celebrate what resulted. They presented France without the flattering filters and self-aggrandizement typical of national Olympic presentations, adding talents from other countries—outside influences that affect all societies whether they like it or not. Even the blood of violent revolution floated down over the players as headless aristocrats sang. Real art—not the plastic people-pleasers of souvenir stands—appeared everywhere.

Later, passive home viewers could spend time comparing the thoughts the images inspired. Were there messages or reminders or both? Did the presenters care that some segments disappointed while others left viewers in awe? Experimentation must be free to fail as well as delight or it isn’t experimentation. The pouring rain cooperated by forcing the athletes to be free of self-conscious primping for the cameras—to be themselves having a good time. Perhaps epitomizing the emphasis on human achievement against all odds was the segment that left me teary-eyed: Canadian Celine Dion belting out an iconic French song in defiance of the terrible health issues she has battled. *

No one is surprised that people who wish the world fit into neat boxes of their design would be turned off by the display. No one is surprised that many didn’t get the point—any point. The idea was to showcase democratic Paris as it is, was, and maybe should be; to allow visitors to enjoy the icons of the city without embarrassment; to remind us of the reason the Olympics were formed and are sustained. The athletes were given the most honored seats, limiting television audiences to what national cameras captured. Viewers were gently reminded that the opening ceremonies were for those international athletes as representatives of the spirit of their nations. Perhaps an honest example of athletes who later seemed to understand the importance of meeting your own goals was the American men’s gymnastics team that hugged and cried and danced when they earned a bronze team medal after 16 years without recognized achievement. Being your own best is the point for all of us—not merely someone’s idea of perfection, not intentionally a chance to humiliate competitors with fewer resources, simply an opportunity to showcase your own best.

*(For a dramatic glimpse into the mind-blowing triumph over disability her Olympic performance represented, watch the 2024 documentary I AM: CELINE DION, a film I saw on Amazon Prime.)