Open bar ended at 7:30; I arrived at 7:20. The crowd was initially dwarfed by the sheer size of the venue, though I still found myself fighting for a coveted post at the bar. I grabbed a drink and stood silently, waiting for something, though I hardly knew for what. My sense of anticipation was not unfounded, as a projection against the back wall of the stage revved to life. Jarring images of the Cambodian sex trade were accompanied by behind-the-scenes footage of Jacobson’s documentary. The United States is the second largest destination for trafficked children, with JFK at its vortex as the centre of illicit comings and goings.
It is hard to believe that the women lying on the dirt covered roads of Cambodia, hastily thrust onto darkened ships in the night, will arrive here, the supposed centre of moral fiber and Western idealism. In discussion of Guy’s film “Holly,” released this April and starring Ron Livingston, a staff member relayed the sentiment that taking real stories from Cambodian victims “is an authenticity that is like stealing from someone’s soul.” This concept interested me greatly. In order that stories may be told, lurid enough to impress themselves upon the moral conscience of an audience, one must take bits of the subjects’ soul, already ravaged, to make the portrait complete. If young children are making these sacrifices to tell their tale, can we not donate a moment of our time, and our conversation, to listen? Out of the corner of my eye I noticed three women in heavy states of pose for the camera, grinding upon the columns and whipping their hair about in the true spirit of dilettantism. Luckily the piece was subtitled, as a large portion of the crowd appeared either not to notice or to care what was going on directly in front of their eyes.
In fact, throughout the entire evening, performers continually felt the need to quiet the audience, imploring a few moments of silence that were reluctantly given. The acts were great, for those who listened, and the piano was in turns stomped upon and caressed to create impressive tones and emotions. Mariano Torres, who headed up the turntables for On the Hudson, was electric in his movements, swaying to the percussion with fluid ferocity. Alicia Witt played the piano beautifully, her striking voice complemented by a duet with co-performer and following act Fio. ‘Tab the band,’ a Scallywag favorite played as well, drawing a large audience to buy tickets, with 100% of proceeds donated to Redlight. The night was not lost in the slightest, though I would have wished further discussion on the momentous issues at hand. I managed to wrangle Guy for a few moments to propose an in-depth interview, and he gladly acquiesced. Stay tuned my friends…
