Moshe Cohen hosts
a Clowns Without Borders vaudeville benefit show at
the Artichoke Music Backgate Stage at 8 pm Saturday, Feb.
26.
3130A SE Hawthorne Blvd., 232-8845. $7-$10.
Willamette Week: Why did you decide to
become a mime?
Moshe Cohen: I'm not a mime. I may use
elements of mime in my show, but I wouldn't call myself
a mime. I'm a clown.
Why did you decide to become a clown?
The answer
isn't going to be very satisfying--I didn't decide, it found
me. It wasn't until I was in the process of being a clown
that the true power of laughter made me decide I could use
it to the benefit of all. But I started as a juggler.
Have you ever felt oppressed by the way clowns are portrayed
in popular culture?
It saddens me that the American population
doesn't know the true history of clowning. This is where
many of the great clowns lived and performed--Buster Keaton,
Red Skelton, Charlie Chaplin, Groucho Marx, they were really
funny guys. Which is what a clown is--somebody who's funny.
Whereas now the public perception is, it's the way you dress
rather than the effect you have on the audience. But nevertheless
Roberto Benigni, who is very much a clown, won the Academy
Award. I think that's a case in point. During the ceremony,
when he climbed over all the seats to reach the stage, that
is a traditional clown entrance. But I think 90 percent
of the audience had never seen that before.
How could a circus show in any way improve the living
conditions of war refugees?
It won't improve their living
conditions. What it will do is help relieve some of the
psychological tension brought on by those living conditions
and remind them of other aspects of life that have perhaps
been forgotten due to their situation.
You've traveled to some of the world's hot spots not
only unarmed but as a clown. How scared have you been?
Well,
first of all, we're not dressed as clowns except when we're
performing. We're civilians. Secondly, I think to allow
fear to enter into one's being is asking for trouble. I've
been interrogated by the military in Chiapas, but they're
not going to do anything harmful. They're there to intimidate
everybody, but they're not about to do anything. Most of
the time we're in no real danger.
Where is the most shocking place you've been?
Kosovo
was definitely shocking. It was shocking to see all the
destruction, period. Especially where we were in Gjakova,
after the war. The center of town was a 600-year-old historic
site, and after the first day of NATO bombings, the Serb
paramilitary and police had come in and burned up the whole
site. It was a burned-out shell. I spent two weeks living
in this town, walking past destruction every day.
At that point in time, it was a mix of great sadness and
great joy. The war was over, but everybody had lost relatives,
there were 1,500 men unaccounted for, and they're still
unaccounted for. There were a lot of people who experienced
severe trauma just hiding from the Serb fighters for two
months, hiding in basements.
What does it feel like to teach and perform for kids
as different as war refugees in Kosovo and private-schoolers
here in Portland?
There's two things about kids: Kids
are incredibly resilient, and even in the worst situations
they are often capable of forgetting the harshness and finding
reason to be playful and joyous. I often wish, on the other
hand, that our education system would teach the so-called
privileged kids the value of what they have so they can
understand what other kids don't have. Still, it seems there
is a greater awareness among the kids that all is not well
everywhere, and that they have the power to help people.
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Willamette Week | originally
published February 23,
2000
|
