December 19, 2012 | Theatre,

Our Christmas Tree Utopia: Beyond the Twinkling Lights

I’ve been thinking a lot about the “topias” lately—meaning utopia and dystopia—especially as the holidays approach with unrelenting speed. The new year brings with it some exciting and contrasting events personally: I have the incredible opportunity to creatively produce Mike Daisey’s presentation of his new work American Utopias as the launch event for the brand new, much anticipated The Next Thing (TNT) Festival at ArtsEmerson; meanwhile, I’m working on an adaptation of Margaret Atwood’s scarily dystopic novel The Handmaid’s Tale as my senior thesis which I will also direct with a beloved student theatre organization.

Whether cloaked in an Atwoodian red cape or sparkling with the hollow magic of Daisey’s Disney World fauna, the “topias” linger in my brain, causing me to re-examine the way we socially construct our world. What have we built up as a utopia that actually has a dark, dystopic underbelly, or vice versa? Aren’t the holidays one of these constructs we have sold ourselves on? Just like Cinderella’s looming castle, the glowing Christmas tree tends to cast a shadow on the things we don’t want to see, while illuminating all that is sweet and good and joyous.

The premise of Mike Daisey’s American Utopias is that American culture has set up these vacuums in which we find peace, perfect worlds where nothing can harm us—small, indestructible utopias. These microcosms of ideal spheres can be seen in various forms as Daisey points out when analyzing Disney World, the quintessential fairy tale brought to life; the Burning Man Festival with its chaotic, uninhibited artistic freedom; and Zuccotti Park where like-minded individuals formed a perfected community in the Occupy movement to revolt against corporate corruption. Each setting has been idealized in its own way. Similarly, each location has a dark side that can’t be seen initially. These worlds of fantasy and idealism have holes in them once you scratch past the veneered surface. Naturally, the easiest thing to do is accept the utopia as-is, getting lost in the escapism of it all. It can (and has) happened to all of us.

This trope sounds familiar to me. It makes me think: Christmas! (lit up in twinkling, dazzling lights). I have a decent grasp on the magic of Christmas. Santa setting off in a mythical sleigh pulled by a reindeer with a blinking red nose. Yuletide carols being sung by a choir never sounded so good. It is, after all, “the most wonderful time of the year.” Here is where my inner Scrooge makes his emergence with a “Bah-humbug!” which starts out as a whisper and crescendos into a roar.

Christmas is great. I really believe that. At its core, the holidays are all about community, generosity and compassion. At least, that’s what this season was meant to be. But I think Americans (and others, I imagine) have built the holidays up to be one of these two-sided utopias. Nothing says escapism like snow and reindeer and blinking lights and shopping windows full of clothes no one can actually afford. I know it began as something well-intentioned, but now it looks more like Disney World. Just the other night, in fact, I walked past the Macy’s in Downtown Crossing after-hours. The streets were deserted. The windows of the store were full of mannequins dolled up in pretentious Ralph Lauren attire. A creepy soundtrack of symphonic carols blasted from hidden speakers. My friend turned to me and said, “I feel like we’re walking through a snow-globe.” Meanwhile, a homeless man slept under a torn sleeping bag in the nook of an adjacent building, catching a bit of light from the window display.

“LOOK OVER HERE!” dear old Macy screamed at us from her windows. “See what pretty things you could have!” Getting distracted by the bright lights is all too easy. Humming along to “Joy to the World” is practically second nature—but are we actively participating in bringing any sort of joy to this world?

The holidays bring with them this brand of disillusionment. This is not news. People have said it before, and yet we find ourselves back in this candy cane prison of selfishness and individualism every single December. It seems to me that this country, at large, has placed priority on the consumerism over the compassion. The former is easier: it speaks to a perfect world where everything is ok. Perfection can be bought, or so we tell ourselves. When compassion is deployed, it is often-times in “the spirit of the season,” as if Christmas-time alone calls forth a spirit of love. If the spirit of the holiday season is one of generosity and selflessness, what are the spirits for the other seasons? Where does this spirit hide for the rest of the year? What makes it easier to show genuine caring around the holidays? It’s become a season of utopia before the dark winter settles in. Come December 26, or perhaps January 2, we throw out the community mentality with the Christmas tree. When the lights come down and the radio switches back to less cheerful tunes, the compassion disappears with it.

Thankfully, there are many people who defy this, who give of themselves on a Tuesday in July or a weekend in March. A truly selfless act is just as powerful in May as it is in December. There are people who have devoted themselves to a life of generosity, and I find that not only uplifting, but challenging. Wouldn’t it be nice to see a food drive organized in the middle of the summer? People are hungry then too, after all. What if we gave a gift to someone on June 7 because it’s just been a while since we’ve had the chance to be generous and show love? Couldn’t we save all the bell ringers from the Salvation Army a cold if we would just give to them in September?  I wish we could all grasp this spirit of sharing year round. And then when December 25^th rolls around, our lifestyle of giving and loving continues. We make generous decisions because it’s what we always do. Now that’s an American utopia I can back up.