MihiKei te Hunga Kāinga, Te Ati Awa, Toa Rangatira, koutou o te Ngahuru o ngā iwi o tēneki takiwā, tēnā koutou katoa. Kei te Komiti Whakahaere, nō koutou te whakaaro rangatira kia tū ai tēneki hui ngāku mihi nui. Te Minenga e pae nei me ō koutou hiahia ki te whakawhiti whakaaro , korero hoki nau mai, haere mai, whakaoko mai! Mōku ake e harikoa ana ki Te Kaupapa kua whiriwhirihia mō tēneki hui kia whai wā anō ai ki te wānanga I tāku e ngākau nui ai, ko te Kapa Haka. Kia kaua hoki e wareware I ahau ko Taku Hoa, ko Sharon. Nāna ahau I akiaki kia puta ngā korero kua roa e noho nei ki ahau. Kia tukuna tā tātou hui e rere tonu ana. Pai mārire! Hau!
Sharon speaksKia ora Te Rita. I want to begin by thanking the Kōwhiti organisers -especially Jenny Stevenson, Linda Ashley and Peter Cleave -who have so generously brought us to this particular here and now. Te Rita introduced me to Māori performance and culture -especially Kapa Haka -about fifteen years ago, and I remain deeply grateful to her for, amongst so many gifts, in effect, opening up a whole new field of research for me as a Performance Studies scholar and for keeping a watchful, critical eye on the results of my ramblings.This talk represents the latest stage in our ongoing conversation. As with our previously performed public But can it be Art? Kapa Haka as a contemporary indigenous performance practice
Professional wrestling is an unsporting sport, a theatrical entertainment that is not theatre. Its display of violence is less contest than ritualized encounter between opponents, replayed repeatedly over time for an exceptionally engaged audience. To watch wrestling and write about its performance is to attempt to come to terms with the significance of a highly popular performance practice as it intersects, exploits, and parodies the conventions of both sport and theatre. Rather than simply reflecting and reinforcing moral clichés, professional wrestling puts contradictory ideas into play, as with its audience it replays, reconfigures, and celebrates a range of performative possibilities. Beyond its spectacular elements, professional wrestling is an athletic performance practice, constructed around the display of the male body and a tradition of cooperative rather than competitive exchanges of apparent power between men as directed by the promoter. The fight is fixed, in the squared circle as in life.
Over a decade after he faced off against WWE owner and quintessential heel Vince McMahon in WrestleMania’s “Battle of the Billionaires,” Donald J. Trump is President of the United States. Professional wrestling makes a show of American values. The bodies are huge (“yuge!”), the hyperbole is excessive, and kayfabe rules. Wrestling is about heat, not truth. It’s never a fair fight. The guy with the money decides who wins, who loses, and on what terms. The audience knows this and plays along regardless. These are the people who voted for Trump. This is their, and his, ethos—the unreal violence of the game now the all too real brutality of the new regime.
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