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An ethical lesson for audiences in Sexual Misconduct of the Middle Classes 

From Nov. 3-27, the Centaur Theatre Company presents an award-winning comedy on teacher-student relations from alternate perspectives 

Hannah Moskovitch’s fantastic piece is about writing professor Jon Macklem (played by Marcel Jeannin), freshly separated from his wife. He develops a relationship with his 19-year-old student Annie (played by Inès Defossé), who also happens to be his neighbour from across the street. Aware and reluctant of his wrongful actions, the protagonist slowly succumbs to his temptations. 

The audience watches as the professor internally struggles with the morality of his actions all while narrating in the third person with an ironic dry tone. “ The audience is a bit more forgiving, and you get into his story at the beginning,” said Jeannin. “A little bit like Walter White, where you’re sort of on board with him, because he knows what he’s doing is wrong. He has the choices, but you always see him making the wrong move, but regretting it.”

It wasn’t hard, however, for the actor to portray a hateable yet torn anti-hero. “You never want to judge a character, as an actor,” said Jeannin. “The audience can do it. What’s this guy’s job? He’s there to tell the story, and the playwright made him conscious that what he was doing was wrong.”

Jon Macklem, for Jeannin, was interesting yet challenging. His interest for the character was sparked immediately when the script was handed to him. “At one point I thought it was too one-sided against him,” said the actor.  “I was a little scared: I wasn’t sure. I was given the first draft. I read it and it was not perfect. I said there was something here, and I was curious to see the following one.” 

Guided by the brilliance of director Eda Holmes, the physicality and movement in the piece was accentuated by her vision, which was guided by her dance formation in ballet. The play itself was not especially designed for dance and movement, but there were many clown-esque moments between the characters, punchlines delivered through physicality, in which Jeannin did a fantastic job. At times, the movement took the form of a ballad between the two, bringing metaphor into their sensuality.

As a public entertainer and artist, Jeannin was careful to analyze the ethics of the new play, which premiered in 2020. He did so to make sure that participating in a play with such a heavy subject and controversial angle was not in fact distasteful, and upsetting to audiences. “When they gave it to me, I read it. I gave it to a thirty-year-old woman and said ‘what do you think?’ She said it was funny.”

“The play weighs it so that you sympathize with the guy to a point,” added the actor. “But in the end, what he does is wrong.” The play is fitting for all audiences who could be interested in watching a play on dark subject matter interpreted in a tasteful comedic manner, riveting and engaging from beginning to end. All in all, Sexual Misconduct of the Middle Classes is a great production, and a fresh point of view on such a hot topic amid the #metoo movement. 

It’s from his point of view but from her point of view. If the audience isn’t on board with him at the beginning, then there’s no place to go.

You never want to judge a character, as an actor. The audience can do it. What’s this guy’s job? He’s there to tell the story. The playwright made him conscious that what he was doing was wrong.

When they gave it to me, I read it, and I gave it to a thirty year old woman, and said what do you think, and she said it was funny.

The play weighs it so that you sympathise with the guy to a point. But in the end, what he does is wrong.

He falls in love with her, is it genuine love, or is it infatuation?

At one point I thought it was too one-sided against him. I was a little scared: I wasn’t sure. I was given an earlier draft, the first. I read it and it was not perfect. I said there was something here, and I was curious to see the following draft. and  then I got the following draft and I was a little taken aback because in the first draft, she was a little more experienced.

 In this draft they’d taken away all the experience. It was the right decision because from my perspective, i go, you’ve totally weighed it against him. Its not ambiguous. The director says yes but the play is from her point of view. The writer got rid of the stuff that made it ambiguous.

It’s  a  very good play, I love it the more I work on it.

Nothing special, the only thing i did that i don’t usually do is i got off book early. Usually I learn my lines in rehearsal. This time we only had four weeks. That’s the only thing I did differently to prepare. Otherwise, nothing. I made sure I understood every moment, and that every time there was contact that I was initiating it. 

It’s a big one to unpack, you tend to think what the character’s writing, or what he speaks about, is autofiction. The play is autofiction. He put everything in the third person, he did autofiction. and that at the end of the play you find out it’s not even his play, it’s her autofiction, her perspective of his perspective. He’s in somebody else’s autofiction. 

The toughest moment for me to play is the moment in the bar when he walks away from her because I’ve been in some positions where I can kind of understand. There’s a lot of him that I can understand. 

Me: I go: schmuck, listen to her. He’s at a level of selfishness that he makes about him, which is why he walks away from her. Again, me, my self preservation would go: listen to her. It’s a heavy lift for me.

A lot of clown in this. Quick shifts, barrelling, the specifically clown bits were the bandage scene: that’s pure clown.

Small Steps: Cutting the guilt from the pleasure

Sometimes it feels as if North American culture revolves around the notion of guilt. Between sex shaming, health food snacks labeled “guilt-free” and Spotify playlists full of early 2000s pop hits under painfully self-aware titles, it’s impossible to escape the idea that we should feel bad for the things we enjoy. Rather than flat-out admitting to liking something deemed unrespectable, it’s more tactful to couch it with the qualifier “guilty pleasure.” Between the popularity of “Grey’s Anatomy,” Carrie Underwood, and John Green novels, it’s obvious that we’re all consuming so-called guilty pleasures, however, the label remains.

In this view, every piece of media we consume reflects directly back on us as people. Now, I’m not here to argue that culture is removed from ideology or immune from criticism, and that we should blindly consume whatever problematic media we want. Because that’s not what people mean when they discuss guilty pleasures — it’s never an issue of media being harmful (unless you take “brain rot” literally), just media that isn’t up to some arbitrary taste level.

Labeling something a guilty pleasure is a sneaky way of distancing yourself from your enjoyment of it. “Oh sure, I enjoy this but I still know better, unlike some other people.” Somewhere between self-flagellation and self-flattery, designating things guilty pleasures pads our own intellectual insecurities.

Under late-stage capitalism, every action we take must have some goal or purpose in mind. Leisure for leisure’s sake has been eaten away by a drive to monetize every hobby and capture every moment for the perfect social media post, which in turn monetizes ourselves. Thus, even what we do in our spare time contributes to the easily packageable and brandable version of “you,” not to be muddied by unsavoury choices.

When you ascribe negative moral value judgements onto culture and media, it opens the door for the counter to be true as well. If listening to Bon Jovi and reading Dan Brown makes you worthy of shame and disdain, it would stand to reason that one could Brian Eno and Dostoevsky themselves into righteousness. Now, written out that may sound crazy, but tell me you’ve never met someone with a bookshelf where their social judgement should be.

It’s time we remove taste from its link to morality. The pursuit of a guilt-free media environment can easily force you down a hole of music you don’t like and books that don’t speak to you. And who does that serve but your inner critic? Posturing about your intelligence will only drive you deeper into the shame and guilt of your choices, rather than fully rejecting the notion of guilt in the first place. And come on, there are so many larger social ills to tackle than whether to listen to King Princess or King Crimson.

 

 Graphic by Taylor Reddam

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