Program Note - The Neurology of the Soul

When neuroscience started using brain scans from fMRI’s (the f stands for functional) to analyze human brains, the possibilities seemed endless.  Literal mind reading, the ability to see thoughts, seemed not only possible, but on the foreseeable horizon.  And truly, the things these scans have found have been exciting and furthered our understanding of human behavior.  But one day, just to test the system, some scientists put a dead salmon in an fMRI.  The salmon was shown photos of people in social situations, and the scanned data was analyzed, just as with the human studies. According to the data, the dead salmon was having strong feelings about the social interactions it saw.

Since that study, the data analysis has been refined.  And the quest, for better or worse, to see inside our brains continues.  It is tempting to believe that someday all things will be knowable, though it’s harder to know whether we would want them to be knowable.  The privacy inside our minds may be the last privacy left. 

The Neurology of the Soul is about the desire to understand each other, to understand ourselves, to understand love.  Perhaps we will arrive at that understanding.  But remember that dead salmon.  Buyer beware. 

Money Lab: Excerpt from The Neurology of the Soul

The new play I've been working on, The Neurology of the Soul, addresses not only neurology, but some of these issue I'm exploring for Money Lab.  Mark, in the play, is a neuromarketer, someone who using neurology as a basis for his marketing.  In the course of the play, Amy starts making art basic on the images of her brain, and Mark becomes interested in marketing that art. This on the cost of being an artist:

mark

Do you know why starving artists choose to starve?

amy

It’s a choice?

mark

Usually.  Because, let’s face it, plenty of artists are just as smart and capable as businessmen, wouldn’t you say?

amy

I suppose.  Yes, of course.

mark

But they put a value on something other than money, correct?

amy

Right.

mark

Let’s call that thing artistic fulfillment.  How much is artistic fulfillment worth, in terms of dollars and cents?

amy

It don’t think it can be evaluated like that.

mark

Nonsense.  Saying something can’t be evaluated simply means that you haven’t found the right formula, yet.  Let’s take a theoretical scenario.  Let’s say you compared what artists and businessmen of similar background and education make.  And say you found that, all things being equal, an average businessman makes $50,000 per year more than the average artist.  Does that seem plausible?

amy

More than, unfortunately.  It’s probably more than that.

mark

OK, but let’s be conservative, and say $50,000 per year.  Over 40 years, that’s two million dollars per lifetime.  Available, for you, for any artist.  Only thing is, you need to make that choice.

amy

Some artists make good money.

mark

Many?

amy

No, of course not.

mark

And you know that, going in.  Two million dollars, on average.  Maybe, less, if you’re a successful artist.  Maybe more, if you’re a successful businessman.  Two million dollars, and the choice is yours.  Business or art?

amy

I’ve worked in offices, too.

mark

To make ends meet, or as a career?

amy

Does it matter why?

mark

I think it does.  I think that makes a difference in salary.  You’re a smart woman, Amy.  You could be making a lot of money, if that was your major goal in life.  So, two million dollars, or artistic fulfillment?  Which do you choose?

amy

If that were the choice, and I’m not sure I buy that it is, I choose artistic fulfillment.

mark

Exactly.  As I said, everything has a definable value.  You just have to find the right formula.

amy

What if you are artistic, and not fulfilled?  Have you just thrown away two million?

mark

Do you feel unfulfilled by your art?

amy

Often.

mark

So let’s value your fulfillment at five hundred thousand.  Maybe we can fill in the rest of that value by making a few sales.

amy

What are you after?

mark

A commission, of course.  If my company is partial owner of the images, perhaps we should get a small percent of sales.  Or maybe I want some artistic fulfillment myself.

20th Anniversary Memories: Linguish

Jospehine Cashman, Max Zener, and Ken Simon in Linguish

Actor and Artistic Board member Josephine Cashman writes about Linguish:

My friends have often (and fairly) accused me of being a word nerd. It is fitting, therefore, that I was cast in Untitled Theater Company’s play about language and communication. I cheerfully told my friends that Linguish was like No Exit with a dash of The Outer Limits, but it’s core, I believe that this play is about the need for human communication. That need is so strong that in the absence of one language, humans will create another one.

In Linguish, (part of UTC’61s Neurofest), four people catch a contagious form of Aphasia and are quarantined together. I enjoyed investigating the precise and delicate text of Edward’s delicious word salad, and playing Beth became a very rewarding experience for me. Our characters may have been unwillingly forced to deal with each another, but I think it’s safe to say that the cast bonded quite happily. Onstage our characters tickled, kissed, fought, laughed and quibbled over Latin pronunciation (classical or medieval?). Offstage we had fiery conversations about the rules of our onstage card game “pinochle” (nothing like the actual game). Even though Edward told us there were no rules to the game, we made them up anyway. During one rehearsal, the “Linguish” language took on a life of its own as one day I mistakenly renamed our “Pinochle” game as “Neepocle.” Somehow, the nickname stuck and became a part of the show. It was a hilarious but telling moment about how fluid language can be, and how easily we took to the new name.

Linguish also had a second life, when we went to Chicago to perform for rooms full of neurologists. A heady experience indeed. Imagine performing the different forms of aphasia for a room full of experts, studying our every movement and the language we used. Happily, they not only understood what the play was about, but they enthusiastically participated in the discussions afterwards. I remember having a talk with a doctor after a performance, trying to explain the rules of our fictional; Neepocle/Pinochle game, simply because he thought it looked fun to play. From Mirroring Neurons to made-up card games, acting Linguish was an amazing experience; I got to work with actors I admired in a play full of delicious challenges. What more could an actor want?

20th Anniversary Memories: Ken Simon

Ken Simon in Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

Actor and Artistic Board Member Ken Simon shares his memories of Rhinoceros, Linguish, The Memo, and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

My association with Untitled Theater Company #61 began in 2001, with the production of Rhinoceros as part of UTC61's Ionesco Festival (my first of three UTC61 festivals [actually four, if you count the 24/7 Fest - EE]). From a carnival-looking Cafe Proprietor to an officious Office Manager to a green-skinned rhinoceros (don't ask), it was a very enjoyable show (as was the reading we did of translated French conversation lessons that Eugene Ionesco had written for a friend...when UTC61 festivals, it festivals) and the start of an important part of my performing career.

There was the production of Linguish in January 2006 written and directed by Edward Einhorn, Artistic Director of UTC61 (and for whom people have been mistaking me since I have known him) as part of UTC61's NeuroFest, a festival of original plays about neurological conditions. It was a play about four people quarantined with a virus (fictional) that caused various types of aphasia (real neurological disorder). I was cast as Michael, a lawyer so snarky and sarcastic that after one scene rehearsal, I told my other castmates that I didn't understand why they just didn't kill me and eat me. In fact, a castmate, Uma, told me that one of her friend's said, "That guy who played the lawyer, he must be a real jerk." To which Uma said that she told them, "No, he's really very nice." Which is an amazing things for an actor to hear...and maybe why non-actors have a hard time knowing how to compliment actors. And we were invited to perform the show again at the American Academy of Neurology's 60th Annual Meeting in 2008. You just never know where UTC61 will take you.

In the same year as Linguish, November 2006, I had the privilege of working on an original translation of The Memo by Vaclav Havel as part of UTC61's Havel Fest (did I mention we've done a number of festivals?) The Memo was my first introduction to President Havel's work and even more, to President Havel himself, as he was an audience member for one of our performances. I was at first confused why everyone else was running to the dressing room when the show was over...until I heard the former President of the Czech Republic had been in the audience and then I joined the running mob (it was a large cast) for him to sign my script as well. I've had the opportunity to meet Elie Wiesel (late '90s) and formed a theory then about truly great people; that theory was further cemented in meeting this playwright/world leader: a distinguishing characteristic of the truly great is their humility and appreciation of people. So not only do you not know where UTC61 will take you, but you don't know who will be brought to you by UTC61.

In December 2010, I was part of the Edward's original adaptation of the novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (the basis for Ridley Scott's movie, Blade Runner) by Philip K. Dick. I played Isidore. A shorthand way I described him was as "a radiation-affected moron" (which is actually kinder than the nickname given to him throughout the script, ie, "chickenhead", which was used to great delight during rehearsal by one of my castmates, Alex, who played Deckard. But underneath this bantering, and possibly to offset the necessary approach, was a great affection I felt for my character. Part of his backstory that led to these terms was that he is a man degraded by the radiation of the Earth's last world war to the point that his cognitive abilities are weakening and likely to grow weaker. But what I loved about him, and the way Edward had written him that fed into portraying him, was a sense of ever-present courage that expressed itself in optimism and perseverance. Of all the characters I've portrayed, I think I care most about Isidore. And that may be why it was also easy, and maybe necessary, to joke about him, because getting too caught up in pathos for one's character actually detracts from it. I wanted to honor the character by making sure he stayed a human being, who lusted and eventually fell in love with the android using him; who experienced anger and despair when he found out the philosophy upon which he based his whole life and hopes was a lie; who with all his limitations and the pain he experiences, ends the play sadder but maybe a little wiser. Which is a pretty amazing thing when you're degrading from the radiation around you. It was an honor to play Isidore, a transcendent experience for me as a performer, and I will be forever grateful to Edward and UTC61 for the opportunity.

Happy 20th Anniversary, Untitled Theater Company #61. As my relatives would say, "May you live to be 120, and never know a day of suffering."

The Taste of Blue

Here's a video of a short play/monologue I wrote about synesthesia, as performed last February, as part of Brains & Puppets, a show co-produced by Evolve Company and performed by Tanya Khordoc.

Chekhov Lizardbrain

I saw Pig Iron's production of Chekhov Lizardbrain on Saturday. I enjoyed it, especially because of the neuro angle. To me, it shows once again what a rich theatrical field neurology is. Autism of course has become the cause of the day recently, especially in politics. For some reason McCain seems to feel that because Palin's son has Down Syndrome, that gives her a special window into autism. Of course, the two things are miles apart, and it takes more that a few months for even a parent of a child with autism to really understand it. But I digress...

One technique I particularly enjoyed in the production was the doubled scenes, first seen in their real form (the "film" version as they called it in the script) and then again from the lead character's perspective. James Sugg was impressive playing the lead, and seeing him transform from scene to scene as the character moved in and out of his own head was a definite joy of the production (the inner character was named Chekhov Lizardbrain).

The reviews of the play have been tremendous. The New York Times review focused on the Chekhovian loneliness that the autistic suffers from - reminding me that the Times review of Brains & Puppets focused on the loneliness of difference as well. For Chekhov Lizardbrain, I would agree that the emotional heart of the piece did lie in that loneliness. And perhaps also for Brains and Puppets, upon reflection.

Another interesting entry to the field of neurotheater.

The Drunkard's Walk

I just finished reading a book by Leonard Mlodinow called The Drunkard's Walk. I picked it up because it reviewed well in the New York Times and seemed to be an interesting examination of probability (An interest of mine, even more so since my picture book on the subject was released). I was unprepared with how impressed I would be by the book.

I soon realized that the book was almost as much about psychology (and neurology) as it was about probability. It was not just about the mathematics, it was about why the human brain has such a hard time calculating probability objectively. It was about the human need to see non-existent patterns in randomness, to let our biases unconsciously affect our perceptions, and to ignore relevant mitigating events when assessing the odds.

It was a call to reexamine our beliefs in an objective light, something almost impossible for people to do.

It included experiments I am very familiar with from my recent readings on neurology: for example, the fact that animals can predict what a randomly blinking red and green light will blink next better than humans, because we are trying to solve the question of a pattern, even when one isn't there. It even included the Rosenhan experiment--an experiment I have seen cited, oddly, in the three of the last five books I've read. Before that, I had never heard of that experiment.

Random chance, or an indication the experiment is entering the zeitgeist? Probably a bit of both

The Rosenhan experiment was carried out to see whether eight different people, with no mental illness except for the (fictional) symptom of hearing the word "thud," would be diagnosed as schizophrenic by a psychiatrist. Seven were--the other was diagnosed manic-depressive. Subsequent claims to no longer hear the word "thud" didn't change the bias. The bias had already cemented the diagnosis.

How does this relate to probability? Our own biases, based on events caused by random chance (great success or failure), help form our opinions, even when our conscious mind knows that the events were luck related. We are always seeking to find reasons why people deserve their success or failure, trying to create patterns where there is only randomness.

Mlodinow urges that we judge by ability, not by results. A difficult proposition, but definitely a worthy goal.

Blind/sight

I should be writing picture books.

Instead, I have been writing a radio play.

At least, I think it's a radio play.

It has something to do with a few neurological concepts: Mirrored self identification syndrome and Blindsight

Mirrored self-identification syndrome is the phenomenon of seeing oneself in the mirror and not believing that the person in the mirror is oneself. It is related to the Capgras delusion, in which one sees another persion (usually someone with who one has an emotional connection) and believes that person to be an impostor. In the NEUROfest, we had a play called Impostors, which was all about Capgras

Blindsight is the ability to see, even when one is not conscious of seeing.

To me, the two phenomena are two sides of the same coin. The reason one has Capgras or related disorders is that the connection from the eye to the emotional part of the brain has been broken--in other words, one can looks at oneself or another and say, that person looks like someone I know, but he/she/I doesn't feel like someone I know.

But here's the amazing part, to me: The brain then decides that it is more likely that one is looking at a doppleganger than there is something awry inside. The brain is always covering for itself. It can't be wrong, the world must be. If something doesn't feel true, it must be false.

In blindsight, some believe, it is the connection to the part of the that consciously registers sight that is broken. But the connection to the emotional--that's still there. There have been experiments where people who believe they are blind are shown highly emotionally charged pictures, and they react emotionally--they feel, they just do not know why they feel. They see well enough to navigate a room or pick up an object, they just don't know how.

When asked how or why people will often come up with rationalizations for what they cannot explain. They laugh because the doctor is funny, not because they are being shown a funny picture. Or they feel angry at the doctor, if another picture is shown.

The implication is, of course, that we believe in facts, even such basic facts as our own identity, not because of objective truth, but because of our subjective emotional connections. And then we convince ourselves it is based on objective reasons we are fully conscious of.

Fascinating.

An excerpt (the "dialogue" is from the thoughts of the man with mirrored self-identification syndrome):

I am not I.

Who am I then? Surely, I look like myself. If I did not know myself well, I would be easily fooled. The thinning hair with spots of gray, the slightly crooked nose, the deep blue eyes (yes I do have a touch of vanity, even when talking of my doppelganger), they are all what I have come to recognize as the form which I inhabit.

But it is a shell, empty. It is not me.

No trauma has occurred. I do not suffer from depression. I do not suffer from paranoia. But I suffer. Or so I would, if I were here.

I am a character from The Invasion of the Body Snatchers, narrating my life story after my body has been snatched.

Hello. Hello.

The fellow in the mirror miraculously moves his mouth. Who are you? He asks. He is not making a sound. He does not need to. I can read his lips.

I don’t know, I say, but he says it too, everything I say he says. Or I do not speak at all, and it is all him.

Hello. Hello.