remember — earlier: “You have nonpower over me.” Jareth, defeated,ntransforms back into the snowy owl henwas when the film began. Sarah wakesnup back in her room and finds that hernbaby brother has been returned. Shenalso finds that she’ll be able to call onnher friends from the Labyrinth if shenever needs them in the future, and thenfilm ends with her and her new friendsndancing in her bedroom.nThe ethical foundation of the filmnbecomes clear only in the finalnscene — and is only implicit evennthen, never explicit—but on reflectionnit is clear that the foundation isnthere throughout the film, embodiednin the concept oichoice. We are alwaysngiven a choice, every moment, onnwhich path to take, but Sarah is givenna series of explicit choices. That shenultimately makes the right ones is asngratifying to the audience as it is tonher. If many parents nowadays seem tonhave forgotten how to tell their childrennfairy tales, we may be glad that atnleast some filmmakers still know how.nSam Karnick is a screenwriter whonlives in Madison, Wisconsin.nSTAGEnMonologue as EchonChambernby David KaufmannTucked away in one of 2.3 Diarynentries, Ned Rorem suggests that “insidenevery artist is a banker strugglingnto get out.” Though Rorem was merelynpenning another one of hisninversions-for-inversion’s-sake, thenparticular aphorism he derived herenseems curiously relevant to SpaldingnGray.nIn his evolution (some would call itnhis “perfechon”) of the “Me” monologue,nSpalding Gray makes us mindfulnthat inside the contemporary personalitynthere is an artist struggling tonget out. But if in recent years we havenlost sight of the truth that no man is annisland, is it really true that everyone isnan artist?nGray has fashioned an artistic careernfor himself on making the “inner”nvoice “outer,” which is, it must bensaid, no mean achievement. Thoughnmany claim that Gray has reinventednthe monologue, Gray takes his placenin a long line of solo performers, a linenthat includes Ruth Drapper, LennynBruce, and more currently QuentinnCrisp, Lily Tomlin, Whoopi Goldberg,nand Eric Bogosian. AlthoughnGray prefers to see himself as “ancombination of Huck Finn and Gandide—thenkind of naive, open, slightlynparanoid, often randy searcher” —nand though he describes his techniquenas “poetic journalism,” what makesnGray unique is that he doesn’t assumenany other persona or impersonate anyonenother than himself But hereinnresides the paradox that is SpaldingnGray, a paradox reminding us that annappearance remains deceptive by design.nA visit with Gray leaves nothingnso much as the uncanny impressionnthat he is trying forever to impersonatenhimself, and in some ineffable way,nmissing the mark, Here, too. Graynseems to mimic a distinctly contemporary,npost-self-conscious personality,none that shuttles from the quotidiannreality of daily life to the yearning for ansense of accomplishment, with a visitnto the therapist’s couch in between.nAs the world turns, Gray has notnreinvented the monologue or even reshapednany of its spokes—the multiplentangents which typify the intimatenstaged confession—so much as he hasntapped the new religion. Aligningnhimself with the Wooster Group andnthe Performing Garage (an avantgardenand experimental theater company).nGray developed his routine duringnthe early 1970’s, or precisely whenna name was given to the fervent, culturalnupheaval that affected all ofnus sooner or later, directly or indirectly—then”Me” Generation. In anninterview with Don Shewey, he revealsnthe extent of his self-interest:n”When anyone refers to my work asnself-indulgent, I take it to mean it justnwasn’t interesting for them. … Inthink there are positive aspects to solipsismnand narcissism, and I’m interestednin putting myself into more rigorousnobjective situations in order to getnbeyond my own neurosis.” There isnfrequently something embarrassingnand awkward about watching this mannunravel his “neurosis” no matter hownmethodical and “scripted” his ploy.nA session with Gray becomes a sortnof new wave, performance confessional.nAt worst, we become voyeurs to hisnschizophrenic theatrics, hearing himnpurge himself of his guilt. At best, wenserve as the Father Gonfessor, absolvingnhim with our applause, our laughter,nour empathy. There are, let it bensaid, some magical moments along then• ‘ ‘ ‘ * -n;4^n:-r’Mn•J*^n’•^Wnnn’••”.•/ jS •n”:’:mn//.’n: ‘ -••’-‘,n^ • ‘ . i jnm ^^k’–nW-‘iintn&iJK^nL.n’i^^n% n”n^^mini ^^^Si'””-n’^i^V ‘nv>^ -,nSpalding Gray: monologuist, actor,nand author of Swimming tonGambodia.nway. There is no denying that henworks hard to win our approval, annapproval which we quickly deliver inngratitude for his articulating so well thencontemporary angst of modern life.nBut if angst proves the commonndenominator connecting him to hisnaudience, and if Mel Gussow in thenNew York Times summarizes then”Spalding” impact by updating thenmedieval “Everyman” to “Every-nSpalding,” the problem is that Graynremains as his name implies. He representsnthe “gray” in all of us. He isnneither black enough nor whitenenough to tell us anything definitive,nprecise, or new. With a completenessnthat seems both circular and angular atnthe same time, he circumscribes thenmedia-prompted issues he raises into anfoolproof system of the first-personnnarrator. Though not exactiy counterfeit,nhis authenticity is finally no morennor less than what gets presented: ancipher confronting the cosmic void. Ifnhe seems courageous, it is only becausenhe has the audacity to vent thendeepest fears we sometimes harbor.nHis self-doubt and self-deprecationnJANUARY 1987 / 49n