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Jaclyn I. Pryor Back to Top Untitled Article References Copy of References Authors Keep Reading < Back Journal of American Drama & Theatre Volume Issue 33 1 Visit Journal Homepage Ensemble-Made Chicago: A Guide To Devised Theater. Chloe Johnson and Coya Paz Brownrigg. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2019. Pp. 202. Jaclyn I. Pryor By Published on January 11, 2021 Download Article as PDF Ensemble-Made Chicago: A Guide To Devised Theater. Chloe Johnson and Coya Paz Brownrigg. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2019. Pp. 202. Chloe Johnson and Coya Paz Brownrigg’s Ensemble-Made: A Guide to Devised Theater (2019) is a valuable resource for theater educators and practitioners, particularly those who wish to deepen their knowledge of the craft variously known as devised theater, ensemble-based performance, and collective creation. Each short chapter of the book focuses on a distinct Chicago-based theater company (15 in total)—which range from large, nationally-renowned companies such as Lookingglass Theatre and The Second City to smaller, community-based collectives. Each chapter includes a brief history of the company alongside descriptions of games and exercises emblematic of their process and pedagogy. The co-written book also includes an Introduction which places the field of devising in its larger cultural and historical context, as well as a Time Line of the field and List of Exercises By Type, which function as the book’s conclusion. The authors’ methodologies are informed by their own relationship to devised theater in Chicago: Johnson is an ensemble member of the Neo-Futurists and Paz Brownrigg is the Artistic Director of Free Street Theater and cofounder of Teatro Luna—both of which are featured in the book. In this regard, they write as scholars and practitioners of devised theater but also as colleague-critics within the expansive but close-knit network of the Chicago theater community. (Colleague-criticism is a term developed by Paul Bonin-Rodriguez, Jill Dolan and me to describe the queer and feminist practice of writing criticism from a place of love, respect and mutual aid, as articulated in Liminalities: A Journal of Performance Studies in 2009.) As Ensemble-Made Chicago’s introduction makes clear, Chicago theater has deep roots in ensemble-based creation methods, and, in turn, the field of devising writ large has a great debt to pay in this neighborhood-based, immigrant-rich town that propagated the craft of ensemble-based theater and performance. Johnson and Paz Brownrigg effectively detail how this history can be traced to the late 19th century emergence of the field of modern social work in the city of Chicago—which was made possible, in large part, through the establishment of the Jane Addams and Ellen Gates Starr Hull House on Chicago’s West Side in 1889. The Hull House was an early settlement house focused on direct services for new Americans; as the authors duly note, “very early on, Jane Addams discovered the profound effect theater had on the children who attended” (xii). The Hull House Players, as they came to be known, were part of the contemporaneously burgeoning Little Theatre Movement in the U.S. (1912-1925) which distinguished itself by its break from commercial theatre and its focus on theatre as civic good. Guided by the pivotal contributions of sociologist Neva Boyd and social worker Viola Spolin—who brought their respective skills and interests in theatre as a catalyst for play, collaboration, and issue-driven exploration to the Hull House—the authors demonstrate how the Hull House paved the way for this contemporary community of devised theatre makers to thrive. Through both its introduction as well as its body chapters, Ensemble-Made also makes a compelling case for considering devised theatre’s relationship not only to social work and arts education, as previously noted, but also to the history and methods of physical theatre. Although not always explicitly cited, many of the games and exercises featured in the book bear obvious ties not only to the pedagogy of Boyd and Spolin (and Spolin’s son, Paul Sills, who founded Second City), but also to the pedagogy of 20th century French theatre maker and educator Jacques Lecoq who developed a codified system of actor training grounded in embodiment. Featured companies, such as 500 Clown, Albany Park Theater Project, Every house has a door, and Walkabout Theater, among others, draw from physical theatre games and exercises in their creation process, resulting in work that resembles experimental performance as much as it does community-based theater. What also becomes clear, as the reader moves their way through the book, is the fact that the Chicago devised theater community is hardly confined by its midwestern geography. Dell’ Arte International (Blue Lake, CA), Third Rail Projects (Brooklyn, NY), Double Edge Theatre (Ashfield, MA), Sojourn Theatre (Portland, OR), and Pilobolus Dance (Hanover, NH and Washington, CT) all receive honorable mentions in descriptions of exercises. In other words, the artists who comprise Johnson and Paz Brownrigg’s case studies cite not only one another but also those companies from around the country (and world) whose creation methods have circulated through a vast and interlocking network of theater educators and practitioners. In this regard, Ensemble-Made tacitly provides a compelling genealogy of contemporary performance traditions, making evident the ways in which “something as simple as a warm-up has a history” (xi), and revealing the complex ways in which embodied practices circulate across changing times, places and social contexts. While Ensemble-Made ’s explicit focus is more practice than theory, the authors productively place their book in conversation with the field of performance studies—specifically, Diana Taylor’s foundational The Archive and the Repertoire: Performing Cultural Memory in the Americas (2003). Taylor’s work is useful to Johnson and Paz Brownrigg’s project because it provides them with a key rationale: citing Taylor, Johnson and Paz Brownrigg situate ensemble-based performance as a “repertoire event.” They elaborate, “it lives in performance and process, not necessarily in text” (xi). Because the creation process for devised theater breaks from traditional theater methods in which “the script” precedes the rehearsal process (and, relatedly, often from clearly delineated roles such as “playwright,” “director,” “performer,” and “audience”), both the devised theater event as well as the process of making the event do not always leave a clear archive for the historian to later interpret. As the authors succinctly put it, “all of [the companies under consideration] have developed a way of creating performance that is predicated on collective, rather than individual, agency. Their work starts in a room, rather than on a page, building a show bit by bit, together” (x). As such, Ensemble-Made Chicago is all the more indispensable: like the field of devising itself, it privileges process over product, while also serving as an accessible guidebook for the history, methods and practices of devised theater—making it a volume to be used in the present and future of the field. References Footnotes About The Author(s) JACLYN I. PRYOR Pennsylvania State University Journal of American Drama & Theatre JADT publishes thoughtful and innovative work by leading scholars on theatre, drama, and performance in the Americas – past and present. Provocative articles provide valuable insight and information on the heritage of American theatre, as well as its continuing contribution to world literature and the performing arts. Founded in 1989 and previously edited by Professors Vera Mowry Roberts, Jane Bowers, and David Savran, this widely acclaimed peer reviewed journal is now edited by Dr. Benjamin Gillespie and Dr. Bess Rowen. Journal of American Drama and Theatre is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents - Current Issue "Ya Got Trouble, My Friend, Right Here": Romanticizing Grifters in American Musical Theatre Troubled Collaboration: Belasco, the Fiskes, and the Society Playwright, Mrs. Burton Harrison Unhappy is the Land that Needs a Hero: The Mark of the Marketplace in Suzan-Lori Parks's Father Comes Home from the Wars, Parts 1-3 Silence, Gesture, and Deaf Identity in Deaf West Theatre's Spring Awakening Contemporary Women Stage Directors: Conversations on Craft. Paulette Marty. London; New York: Methuen Drama, Bloomsbury Collections, 2019; Pp. 292 + viii. Ensemble-Made Chicago: A Guide To Devised Theater. Chloe Johnson and Coya Paz Brownrigg. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2019. Pp. 202. Twenty-First Century American Playwrights. Christopher Bigsby. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018; Pp. 228. Encounters on Contested Lands and Provocative Eloquence Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

Dohyun Gracia Shin Back to Top Untitled Article References Copy of References Authors Keep Reading < Back Journal of American Drama & Theatre Volume Issue 33 1 Visit Journal Homepage Contemporary Women Stage Directors: Conversations on Craft. Paulette Marty. London; New York: Methuen Drama, Bloomsbury Collections, 2019; Pp. 292 + viii. Dohyun Gracia Shin By Published on January 11, 2021 Download Article as PDF Contemporary Women Stage Directors: Conversations on Craft. Paulette Marty. London; New York: Methuen Drama, Bloomsbury Collections, 2019; Pp. 292 + viii. Contemporary Women Stage Directors: Conversations on Craft presents an ambitious compilation of interviews with twenty-seven contemporary women stage directors, while archiving and reflecting on relatively underrepresented women stage directors in the US and the UK. Tracing the past two decades, Marty notes that few published books focus on female stage directors. She points to two volumes by Anne Fliotsos and Wendy Vierow as rare examples. Marty distinguishes her project by focusing on mid-career women stage directors—who she argues are not featured enough by Fliotsos and Vierow. This volume provides readers the rare chance to hear disparate, highly-active women directors’ reflecting in their own words about their experiences, insights, styles, labors, and vision. Based on her experience working both as a theatre researcher and practitioner (dramaturg/director), Marty also provides a window on the contemporary theatre industry, opening far beyond how gender intersects with artistic lives. What makes this book unique in structure is that Marty directs, in effect, her book. Interview-based books deploying question-and-answer structures often feature a handful of interviewees in a chapter or section. Instead, she divides chapters, as if splitting beats, and places quotes and excerpts from her interviewees in each chapter according to its theme, as if casting speakers in dynamic dialogue. She aligns thematic chapters like scenes that build into a larger narrative: this journey of women directors pursuing their careers begins with incubating projects and concludes with each director’s own vision of today’s theatre. Although the book’s organizational structure does not provide a clear, holistic profile of each individual director, as Marty acknowledges in the introduction (9), this thematic approach instead distinctly guides readers to respect a director’s role and labor. Marty also provides a series of inspiring models, amplifying the influence of women directors working at an array of theatre venues in the US and UK. In the first two chapters, Marty sheds light on the directors’ incubating process. Chapter 1 opens by laying out how individual directors choose a particular piece of work. For example, Lear deBessonet, the founding director of the Public Theater’s Public Works project, explains that she stages classics since “no one is the authority” (24) which thereby opens up collective imagination. Marty also considers how varied directors and artistic directors actually scaffold their work: finding their niche, planning seasons, choosing collaborators, and mounting their plays in a theater. Chapter 2 demonstrates her subjects’ labor of engaging with scripts and ideas prior to rehearsals. She emphasizes each director’s signature style of analyzing the play, for instance. Further, she expands our grasp of the directorial role by examining how her subjects collaborate with playwrights, play multiple roles besides that of a director, prepare for rehearsals, and communicate with audiences. Chapters 3 and 4 focus on how these directors shape performances, starting from conceptualization of the visual and acoustic, and then moving into the rehearsal room, and, ultimately, the stage. Chapter 3 highlights how the chosen directors envision theatrical worlds visually and acoustically, collaborating with designers. Here, Marty approaches relationships between directing and designing theatre horizontally. Inspired by her subjects, she analyzes spectacle and sound beyond servers of directorial messages, conveying a comprehensive picture of the theatrical process to readers. In Rachel Chavkin’s words, it is a director’s process of “discovering the world with designers and actors” (99).True to the volume’s subtitle, Chapter 4 presents a “conversation on craft,” guided by these leading directors’ invaluable experiences and advice on the rehearsal process. Using quotes, Marty covers the practical process of rehearsal: casting actors, setting the tone for rehearsals, empowering actors, shaping the process, and using research in rehearsals. For instance, Maria Aberg, who is known for “her innovative, feminist productions of Shakespeare and other classics at the Royal Shakespeare Company” (2), introduces points she considers in the casting process when she changes the gender of a character. Readers will find many gems and tips. In the final chapters, Contemporary Women Stage Directors focuses on how each of these experienced directors develop their careers and navigate the US and UK theatre scenes. Chapter 5 considers how the directors sustain their projects, dealing with concerns such as “financial security, community, quality of life, and relationships” (159). Pursuing the theme of work-life balance, Marty places quotes from Leah Gardiner, Kimberly Senior, and Lucy Kerbel together to cover issues such as motherhood, labor and pressure. In particular, Kerbel explains that “the loop of visibility” (190) exposes directors to critics’ attention which sustains their projects. She elaborates on gendered inequality in the field by mentioning how maternity leave easily drops women directors from that loop. If Chapter 5 extensively covers their individual lives and career arcs, Chapter 6 specifically focuses on their diverse experience with systemic challenges tied to their gender, racial and/or ethnic identities in the theatre industry. The 6th chapter analyzes obstacles and disparities in the field through her array of case studies, integrating an intersectional perspective. For instance. Leah Gardiner, Paulette Randall, and KJ Sanchez tell their stories of experiencing misogyny and racism in the field. Importantly, Marty pays attention to how these women directors navigate systemic obstacles. For example, Roxana Silbert and Nadia Fall emphasize that diversity opens up more diversity and brings an alternative gaze to the field, which is dominated by white male directors. Marty concludes her book with the directors’ insight on theatre today and their expectations as working professionals. In the conclusion, Marty summarizes her interview research in two categories: what she did not find and what she did. What is notable here is her picture of a director as a relationship builder. Marty explains that “the director’s role is to build and facilitate relationships , specifically (1) between a play and an audience and (2) among members of the collaborative team” (288). Likewise, Marty, as the director of this book, builds a relationship between these women directors and her contemporary readers. She creates a bridge for these mid-stream women directors —who struggle for their comparatively underrepresented stories and insights to be heard— bringing their voices and methods as accomplished practitioners to readers, both artists and scholars. By providing many substantial examples of brilliant, motivating women stage directors from the US and UK in the early 21st century, this significant study will benefit theatre researchers and our future generation of women (and other) theater directors, artistic directors and, one hopes, producers. References Footnotes About The Author(s) DOHYUN GRACIA SHIN The Graduate Center, CUNY Journal of American Drama & Theatre JADT publishes thoughtful and innovative work by leading scholars on theatre, drama, and performance in the Americas – past and present. Provocative articles provide valuable insight and information on the heritage of American theatre, as well as its continuing contribution to world literature and the performing arts. Founded in 1989 and previously edited by Professors Vera Mowry Roberts, Jane Bowers, and David Savran, this widely acclaimed peer reviewed journal is now edited by Dr. Benjamin Gillespie and Dr. Bess Rowen. Journal of American Drama and Theatre is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents - Current Issue "Ya Got Trouble, My Friend, Right Here": Romanticizing Grifters in American Musical Theatre Troubled Collaboration: Belasco, the Fiskes, and the Society Playwright, Mrs. Burton Harrison Unhappy is the Land that Needs a Hero: The Mark of the Marketplace in Suzan-Lori Parks's Father Comes Home from the Wars, Parts 1-3 Silence, Gesture, and Deaf Identity in Deaf West Theatre's Spring Awakening Contemporary Women Stage Directors: Conversations on Craft. Paulette Marty. London; New York: Methuen Drama, Bloomsbury Collections, 2019; Pp. 292 + viii. Ensemble-Made Chicago: A Guide To Devised Theater. Chloe Johnson and Coya Paz Brownrigg. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2019. Pp. 202 Twenty-First Century American Playwrights. Christopher Bigsby. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018; Pp. 228. Encounters on Contested Lands and Provocative Eloquence Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

Russell Stone Back to Top Untitled Article References Copy of References Authors Keep Reading < Back Journal of American Drama & Theatre Volume Issue 35 1 Visit Journal Homepage “The Spirit of the Thing is All”: The Federal Theatre’s Staging of Medieval Drama in the Los Angeles Religious Community Russell Stone By Published on November 24, 2022 Download Article as PDF As the Federal Theatre Project fell under the scrutiny of Congressional investigations in its final months, National Director Hallie Flanagan relied on the significant show of public support from America’s religious communities to demonstrate the value of the Project in locally meaningful terms. When Flanagan was allowed to testify before the House Special Committee on Un-American Activities in December 1938, she cited nearly a hundred religious organizations of various faiths that had pledged their appreciation for the Federal Theatre. When asked if the Project had produced any plays that were “antireligious in nature,” she responded that the Federal Theatre had staged more religious plays than any group in the country, including church performances for Christmas programming in Los Angeles, Chicago, and other cities. [1] She even asserted that although the Federal Theatre’s primary purpose was to entertain its audience, it also offered plays that “must also and can also often teach” and are capable of “inculcat[ing] religious principles.” [2] That last point had proven especially effective in winning over the country’s religious communities, whose assurances of the Federal Theatre’s value for their congregations were sent to Flanagan’s office, her regional bureaus, and the Un-American Activities committee itself. In the weeks and months ahead, as the House Subcommittee on Appropriations, chaired by Representative Clifton Woodrum (D-VA), began its own investigation to decide funding of the federal arts programs, members arguing to maintain or to defund the Federal Theatre agreed that it had won impressive support among the religious community. This support was founded less on the artistic merits of producing, among their other offerings, obscure medieval drama—an argument that both Representatives and WPA Director Colonel F.C. Harrington made during the debate—than on the spiritual impact of the plays that religious leaders so valued for their congregations. [3] The extent of this support attested, too, to Flanagan’s efforts since the previous year to engage the religious community in the Federal Theatre across its several regional offices. In response to Flanagan’s call for the Federal Theatre to stage drama within the community via partnerships with churches, schools, and clubs, one of her most prolific directors was Gareth Hughes, who had been assigned to lead a religious unit when the Los Angeles Project opened in December 1935. [4] A Welsh-born, promising stage actor in New York in the 1910s, a silent film star in the following decade, and an itinerant theatre player after the advent of the talkies, he had largely disappeared from the public eye before the Federal Theatre came to Los Angeles. In the Project headquarters, he spoke to newspaper reporters of the fulfillment that he found in training and collaborating with younger actors. The press wrote of his ability to recite any line of Shakespeare, his attention to his younger colleagues trying their hand at historical drama, and “his kindness that is not sentimental, his love for the theatre, [and] his enthusiasm that has awakened and stimulated his actors.” [5] Over the next three years, these qualities would allow Hughes to become an effective advocate for Flanagan’s vision of bringing the Project into public arenas. Creating a traveling unit that brought medieval and early modern drama to community venues, Hughes adapted religious plays as pieces to be acted in churches as an extension of, and complement to, the liturgy. [6] He founded his two signature plays for the Los Angeles Project, The Nativity and Everyman , on engagement with church congregations as audience-participants, humanizing the play’s characters to foster empathy with this audience, and emphasizing the Christian tenets imbedded in the plays. [7] Through these strategies, Hughes established a production model of staging the plays within Los Angeles churches that fulfilled his personal agenda for the Project, responded to Flanagan’s call for regional offices to offer performances in collaboration with their local religious communities, and provided a line of defense against the Federal Theatre’s detractors, who perpetuated the groundless rumors that the Project had been infiltrated by Communists and was thus a government-funded, subversive enterprise. Rejecting these rumors, Hughes promoted it as a vehicle for realizing Flanagan’s vision among the smallest of audiences, especially within schools and churches. In the latter, his handling of The Nativity and Everyman as liturgical performances convinced the Los Angeles religious community that the Federal Theatre might be welcomed as a partner not merely for providing entertainment but even for augmenting the act of worship. Neighborhood by neighborhood, in its second largest market, his success in sacred venues won local support for the Project and in turn provided Flanagan with a valid, but ultimately futile, argument for the religious value of the Project in the escalating national debate over funding the Federal Theatre. Establishing an Audience for Religious Drama in Los Angeles Flanagan’s success in identifying an audience for the Federal Theatre, and Hughes’s particular success in appealing to the religious community in Los Angeles, relied on an ongoing reconsideration of staging Project plays. It has been well documented that the Federal Theatre’s chief audiences were those who had not previously seen live drama, and perhaps could not have afforded to do so, and those whose primary entertainment was provided by cinemas and radio programming. [8] By mid-1937, the Project had successfully drawn these working class audiences to its performances. In Los Angeles, the second largest Federal Theatre market behind New York, over a quarter of those attending Project performances self-identified as trade or office workers. [9] According to audience surveys, a spring run of The Merchant of Venice at the Hollywood Playhouse (featuring Hughes as Shylock) was also seen by a number of teachers, students, and housewives. [10] Soon thereafter, however, Flanagan announced her intention to reverse the model of attracting audiences to commercial houses rented by the Federal Theatre; rather, she wanted also to bring the Federal Theatre to the community and stage productions within public venues. Having founded the Project on an assurance of quality of plays,talent and the promise of live drama that would be at once entertaining, artistic, didactic, and capable of imparting an appreciation for the theatre among audiences unaccustomed to it, Flanagan wrote to her regional directors that in 1938 the Federal Theatre would have an opportunity for “growing up.” [11] She first called for an expansion of the Project beyond the commercial houses that it rented to host its productions and beyond urban areas into both rural and communal spaces, especially those that served the poor. By September 1937, the Federal Theatre had staged over 37,000 shows in parks, hospitals, schools, Civilian Conservation Corps camps for workers on relief, and public and private clubs across the country. Soon after, Flanagan began to consider how to establish permanent touring groups to stage productions in smaller cities and towns. [12] A key stakeholder in this expansion beyond commercial houses would be the religious community, who acknowledged the reciprocal benefits of staging religious drama and extensive Christmas programming that would bring live drama to a wider audience but would win the Project public support in turn. While her regional directors received suggestions for pieces of broad appeal, Flanagan’s more ambitious vision was to stage in select cities the late medieval mystery cycles, and the civic pageants staged to enact biblical history from the Creation to the Ascension. Frustrated at the scant amount of productions in the holiday season of 1936, she remarked to her regional directors that religious drama would offer the Project some defense against the “irate clergymen [who] storm into the office and accuse me of being anti-Christ.” [13] Then, into fall 1937, she encouraged them again to bring the holidays “into the community” by cooperating with local choirs and singing groups, churches, schools, orphanages, and homes for the elderly, broadcasting Christmas productions over the radio, and staging them at public venues. [14] In adopting this model, Federal Theatre officials had an extensive catalog of religious plays from which to choose. The Bureau of Research and Publication was charged with researching possible plays for production, and as they compiled lists of Greek and Roman, British, European, and American plays before and since 1895, staff members solicited recommendations from both Christian and Jewish organizations. [15] Religious leaders had assisted in local planning for the Project since its inception. As for Christmas programming, the Bureau published annotated lists of their suggested medieval and early modern religious plays. Among these pieces, the texts of miracle and mystery plays had only been made widely available in modern critical editions in the previous fifty years or so, and they had only been performed for modern audiences for just over thirty. It would be another two decades before scholarship into the plays began in earnest, and American theatre professionals were largely ignorant of medieval pieces that had not been rendered into modern English for stage performance. [16] Nor, however, were they subject to the controversies that had hindered productions of the mystery and morality plays among the previous generation, owing especially to the restrictions on the portrayal of God well into the twentieth century. [17] For example, in 1901, the English actor William Poel was able to stage the first modern production of Everyman , because it was largely unknown to censors in the Lord Chamberlains’ Office, which still enforced sixteenth-century laws against portraying the deity and “confining the limitless and potent God to the body of an actor, to his mortal gestures and mimicry.” [18] One of Poel’s actor-managers then brought the production to New York, where its presentation of religious material was legally permitted but still controversial for an audience largely ignorant of medieval drama. [19] Nonetheless, Everyman toured across eastern and midwestern cities for two years, suggesting an interest among American audiences that would support the production of similar plays in subsequent years. [20] The lack of formal censorship of religious material in the American theatre gradually allowed directors to more freely explore mystery and morality plays, which became increasingly popular through the 1910s as academic pieces suitable for both lectures and performances informed by the antiquarian sensibilities of Poel and his successors. [21] In the 1920s and 1930s, the reception of medieval drama diverged on either side of the Atlantic. In England, the Religious Drama Society, guided by a principle of “solemnity, simplicity, and sincerity,” performed biblical-themed pieces in churches and schools, and in the former they were allowed to portray divine characters, opened with prayers for the congregation, and anonymized their casts of players, all techniques that Hughes employed in Los Angeles. [22] In America,however, university campuses became popular venues for outdoor productions devoid of such liturgical elements. [23] This model evoked the origins of medieval drama as a public art to be staged within the community rather than on the professional stage, but it did not allow for the spiritual reflection encouraged by the Religious Drama Society in their church performances. [24] A memo circulating from the Federal Theatre’s Bureau of Research and Publication through Project offices recognized, however, that the primary challenge in staging these plays remained their inaccessibility. It encouraged directors that: Carefully studied scripts could be prepared, with business written in to interpret the characters, the lines and the action, with judicious cuttings and rearrangements of scenes, and even (though most rarely) with some word substitutions for obsolete or slang words. . . . Unlike the garbled actors’ versions of some of the plays, now in existence, the prepared scripts would give the playwright a production nearer to the original text; and the play itself would seem better on the stage than in the reading room of the library. Along with the revised play, suggestions could be made for the simplest kind of production that would allow the director to concentrate entirely upon the nature of the play.[25] To further encourage the performance of these plays, the Bureau issued a separate report on the universal appeal of their characters and themes. The authors noted, for example, that Herod in The Nativity was a particularly attractive character, long played as a boisterous hypocrite who rants and raves about his own kingly authority being usurped by the Christ child before he is dragged off to Hell. The Deluge , a comedic narrative of Noah and his wife, “should be rollicking and perhaps burlesqued a little . . . [and was] exceedingly interesting as a humanization of a Biblical story.” [26] Everyman had a certain thematic appeal (“the troubled spirit of man and the trials and tribulations common to most of us”) and that, given its potential to evoke reflection and pathos among the audience, was likewise ideal for the holiday season. [27] These observations suggest a concern for making the characters relatable and appealing to the audience through the allegorical narrative of human life from a state of sin to one of grace that is especially apparent in the morality plays. [28] Robert S. Sturges has argued that these plays served as “mediators between theater and religion,” in that they exhorted the audience to adhere to a virtuous, faith-based lifestyle, in contrast to the various representations onstage of villainous and transgressive behavior. [29] The didactic aspects of the plays have lent them a certain timelessness, as have the characters who populate them. [30] Although the presentation of Christ as both human and God and the “ultimately imitable” figure is central to the cycles, through the mix of comedic (e.g., Noah and Joseph) and bombastic (e.g., Herod) characters, the plays successfully mingle “sacred and profane” themes and figures, and humanize their narratives by emphasizing the traits and emotions of their large casts of characters. [31] Who the audience for the plays might be, however, took time for Project administrators to figure out. As the second largest Federal Theatre branch office after New York, both in terms of staffing and potential theatre-goers, Los Angeles was an ideal city in which to establish community partnerships and to stage pre-modern drama. Enjoying a uniquely deep pool of talent once employed in the film industry, the Los Angeles Project experimented with a wide range of genres and venues. During its first two years, it was largely distinguished by its success in drawing audiences back to the long-shuttered commercial houses rented by local administrators in Hollywood and downtown. [32] Staging medieval and early modern drama was initially left to academic-minded, veteran actors (including Hughes) through “Project 6,” a cooperative venture with the University of Southern California to stage pieces by Molière, the Jacobean duo Beaumont and Fletcher, and Shakespeare on campus in the spring of 1936. [33] Within a year, the Los Angeles Project was regularly able to sell out its five commercial houses, and whereas the productions at USC were staged for free for students and faculty, admission was charged for the shows in Hollywood and downtown, and revenue was allocated for paying rent for the theatres there. [34] When Los Angeles administrators first assigned Hughes to produce medieval religious drama during Christmas week of 1936, they selected the Mayan, one of these downtown houses that they had revitalized. Leading a hybrid classical and religious drama troupe, Hughes himself adapted from the York, Coventry, Chester, and Wakefield cycles two pieces, The Nativity and The Deluge . He also modernized a mumming play entitled St George and the Dragon and selected the music to accompany each of the plays. In the playbill, Hughes explained that he had followed the model of Tudor scribes who sought to reinvigorate Biblical plays written three centuries before their time and six centuries before his own. [35] Despite his careful attention to staging the plays, the Christmas run of 1936 would be the only time that he directed in one of the Los Angeles or Hollywood theatres that the Project rented. Whether or not the plays appealed to a ticket-buying audience in a commercial venue must have been a question to consider, but having drawn academic audiences to USC with “Project 6” productions, Hughes may have realized the relative inaccessibility of medieval drama (compared to Shakespeare) for the general public. In the director’s report filed to Project headquarters, he included a negative review from the Los Angeles Evening News , in which the critic noted that the plays may attract those few people interested in the history of drama but did not offer much entertainment value, and he admitted the actors’ difficulty in pronouncing the archaic words of the script. Hughes suggested in the same report that the religious plays were better suited for churches, schools, and libraries, where he encouraged Project officials to stage the plays each December. [36] They evidently heeded his advice, and in the following year his unit was given the opportunity to perform medieval and early modern drama in just these sorts of public venues in Los Angeles. The Nativity at St John’s (December 1937) Hughes dedicated himself in 1937 to responding to Flanagan’s call for Federal Theatre directors to stage plays in partnership with the community. Away from the commercial houses, he became an ambassador for the Project and a negotiator with civic, private, and religious clubs and organizations for booking performances of The Nativity for the holiday season. Although he occasionally had to convince the city’s religious leaders that the Federal Theatre was not a Communist organization, Hughes fostered personal relationships in the community that assuaged any political concerns about the national project. [37] As he wrote to Flanagan: As for the clergy, they are elated, and as I have said for two years, we have sorely needed a little unit like this—we have stressed the social drama too much, and too little attention paid to things spiritual. I am so happy in it all dear Ms. Flanagan especially now that I feel your co-operation and enthusiasm. I will do anything for you and it matters not a damn whether I get 94 or 175 dollars a month. The spirit of the thing is all.[38] His strategy for creating a sustainable audience for medieval drama within the religious community was threefold. No longer playing at commercial theatres, he re-created his troupe as a traveling one that would perform on location; he staged the plays not as mere entertainment but as performances that would complement the liturgy for the congregation-audience; and he revised his productions to make church leaders and members hosts, audiences, and participants. In several houses of worship, he convinced priests and ministers to participate in the performance. Having the clergy dress in costume and reading the Banns adapted from the Chester cycle (the prologue announcing the theme of the plays), lead a procession of the actors, and even read a speech on the Federal Theatre in their Sunday services before that week’s performance all helped Hughes to gain support from church leaders. [39] Widening his network through letters, meetings, and word of mouth, Hughes led his troupe in staging twelve performances of The Nativity in churches or church-sponsored organizations of multiple denominations that December. Hughes’s production decisions in staging The Nativity in these venues are evident in the multiple copies of script (his second adaptation, after the version performed at the Mayan) that he meticulously annotated for himself and others and in the detailed, descriptive letters that he sent Flanagan after each performance. Although he routinely categorized the letters as director’s reports, they were colored by his emotions and frustrations in convincing local churches to host his troupe, his attention to movement and music, and his effusive praise for Flanagan’s vision of community engagement. The signature performance of The Nativity that season was at St John’s, an Episcopalian church in the West Adams district, where Hughes’s troupe played on the invitation of the church’s dean and rector. A photograph of the opening procession that he included in a letter to Flanagan captures the scope of involvement from both Federal Theatre personnel and church members. Hughes carried a cross through the front doors and led the St John’s children and adult choirs alongside that of the Federal Music Project, while a second crucifer bore the Jerusalem cross (the medieval design of a large central cross surrounded by four smaller ones) ahead of the cast of the play and various extras recruited from the congregation. In all, one hundred and ten people from the church and the Federal Theatre and Music Projects passed along the nave to the high altar carrying all manner of props and liturgical items. Cast members brought banners representing various guilds to recall the medieval origins of the play, torches, and tapers, choir members held lanterns on poles, someone in the long line held up an ornamental star of Bethlehem to be used for the manger scene, and the pipe organist behind the altar and trumpeters following Hughes signaled the processional’s arrival. In a copy of the script that he annotated for the church’s dean, he made clear his intent for the congregation to participate. Hughes relied on “O Come All Ye Faithful” as the opening hymn, but the dean was to ask the congregation to stand and sing as well, and once the procession concluded, he was to provide the opening remarks describing the play’s subject and themes. [40] Hughes’s opening of the play at the Mayan the previous December sheds light on how considerably his production evolved in relocating from the commercial theatre to local churches. In the script for his first adaptation of The Nativity , Hughes notes that the play was to begin with a Federal Music Project choir marching from the lobby and up the aisles on either side of the audience. [41] Singing “O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant,” they strode towards the lower of the theater’s two stages before exiting left and right while singing from offstage. Two actors dressed as friars and bearing lit tapers soon followed up the aisles. As the curtains of the lower stage opened, the friars stepped up to light the two candelabra there and placed oversized folios on two lecterns placed next to them. While the choir concluded the opening hymn, the friars stepped back to allow the audience to read the large, black and red scripts on the folios: “Nativity of the Child” on the left, and “Hail, Mary” on the right. A trumpet call signaled another actor to step through the curtains of the upper stage, and proclaiming himself as the prophet Isaiah, he announced the subject of the drama to come. The roles of cast members and spectators were firmly established: the one moves towards the stage while performing, and the other remains fixed in their seats as passive observers. In St John’s, however, the distinction between the two was not so rigid. Members of the church choir joined the procession, congregants sang and listened to their own church leader act in character, and continuous movement created an intimate performance space. While in the Mayan, he had relied on these lower and upper stages as the focal points of the main action for his audience, in St John’s he made use of the larger, intricately partitioned space to continuously shift his audience’s attention. In his final director’s report for the Los Angeles office, Hughes noted that because of the constant challenge of restaging the play in cramped settings during the December run, he relied on portable screens to provide a backdrop for his cast. [42] In St John’s, however, he seems to have made strategic use of the interior of the church. As he described to Flanagan in a letter the next morning, his actors recited their abbreviated lines or pantomimed the narrative from multiple spots in imitation of the figures portrayed in the stained glass images of the stations of the cross. Hughes based his usual role of Gabriel on Edward Burne-Jones’s rendition of the Annunciation, and with long blonde hair capped by a halo and a flowing white robe layered with gold trim and embroidered with a pattern of crosses at the hem, he stood still with his hands raised as if in prayer. Mary, inspired by Botticelli’s Venus, stood on the altar with one hand towards her chest and another drawing her garments close and looked askance from the crowd. [43] He reserved the high altar as a stage for the most important, solemn scenes of the play, including the “Magnificat,” the hymn to Mary that concludes the Annunciation. Remaining still until the choir sang the first words of the hymn, “my soul doth magnify the Lord,” Hughes slowly turned away from the actress who portrayed Mary, stepped down from the altar, and along the nave. When he exited through the atrium at the front of the cathedral, behind the view of the spectators, twelve girls and boys entered and retraced his steps towards the altar and knelt at the rail where parishioners normally took communion. They then arose in unison and returned to either side of the transept, their exit timed to the closing words of the Magnificat, “glory to the Father and to the Son, / and to the Holy Spirit: / As it was in the beginning, / is now, and will be for ever. Amen.” [44] This careful, methodical choreography of scenes with Mary, Joseph, and Gabriel was disrupted by Herod, the antagonist and comic foil of the play. As Hughes wrote in the explanatory notes that he distributed to the audience for performances of The Nativity , the role of Herod had a long and colorful history of buffoonery, involving yelling, rolling around, lashing out against his sentries, and the generally brutish and exaggerated behavior that inspired Hamlet’s line on actors who could “out-Herod Herod.” As a modern adaptor of the play, Hughes explained that he had inherited through the medieval cycles an especially prideful version of Herod that had developed in early English drama, and he allowed the character more depth and stage presence than any other in the play: he speaks in lengthy monologues, barks orders at his soldiers, and vacillates from bombast and outrage when he hears of the Christ child to grief over learning that his own son was killed in the Massacre of the Innocents. [45] The script annotations for The Nativity reveal the excitement that Herod immediately brings to the performance. Contrasting with the harps that announce Gabriel’s arrival in the Annunciation scene, for example, Herod enters the play cued by blaring trumpets and heralds, and his frequent tirades involved stomping in a fit of rage and shouting promises of vengeance against the Christ child. In his closing scene, as Herod learns of the death of his son, he delivers a final show of violent madness before acknowledging his life misspent and damnation. In a scene reminiscent of Faustus, Hughes noted that demons were to approach from the left and right to drag him away from the audience’s view. [46] Immediately thereafter, Hughes restored order and calm. He noted in his copy of the script that upon Herod’s departure he himself delivered a benediction for the audience and began the Nicene Creed: “We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty.” At the closing words, “We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. Amen,” the organ rang out the opening chords to “Christians Awake,” and the actors and extras sang the words of the eighteenth-century Yorkshire hymn, “salute the happy morn, whereon the Saviour of the world was born.” [47] He explained in his report to Flanagan that as they sang, he stepped down from the altar and led the recessional back towards the doors from which he had led the processional. Rather than the clergy and crucifers who had accompanied the director to begin the performance, he led the cast of characters, beginning with the actors portraying Mary and Joseph and concluding with those in supporting roles, along the nave to exit the cathedral. The actors left, while the congregation remained. In the early hours of the following morning, Hughes wrote Flanagan that “it was the happiest moment of my life, carrying the great jeweled cross and leading my boys and girls up to the Throne of God.” [48] The dean of St John’s responded in precisely the manner that Hughes must have hoped for: “given with reverence and will all the atmosphere of religion, [the performance] cannot help but do good in strengthening the faith of all who see the play.” [49] This reaction was valuable for Flanagan as well. Having received such frequent and detailed correspondence from Hughes regarding his performances of The Nativity , she had been well aware of the significance of the church bookings for the play, which had already been scheduled when she arrived in California in the fall of 1937. During this second visit to the west coast, she was preoccupied with accusations of nepotism and bribery among the more disgruntled staff and talent in Los Angeles, but Hughes’s relationship with the religious community evidently brought her some peace of mind. As she recorded in her travel notes, “I am awaited upon by a delegation asking me to look into the moral life of our actors, but in spite of this one cloud in the horizon we are doing the nativity plays in the Episcopalian church.” [50] After her arrival, she attended a production of Hansel and Gretel and Pinocchio staged by the children’s troupe at the Hollywood Playhouse, where she found a small but vociferous group of protestors awaiting her in the lobby. They echoed the increasingly widespread accusation of the Federal Theatre’s support of Communism but confessed, when she attempted to have a conversation over their concerns, that none of them had attended a play produced by the Los Angeles Project. It was a moment of honesty that she quickly used to her advantage, and so with the holidays approaching, she advised them on her way out of the lobby to go see Hughes’s production of The Nativity and reassess their opinion of the Project. [51] Flanagan publicly and privately stated her appreciation for Hughes and his religious unit beginning in those final weeks of 1937. Beyond maintaining their regular correspondence, she intervened with local WPA and Project administrators to secure musical instruments for the pieces that he selected for the church performances and began to endorse the value of the unit’s work to Los Angeles religious leaders and school administrators. [52] Everyman at St Joseph’s (September 1938) Encouraged by the reception of The Nativity among the local religious community, Hughes turned his attention the following year to developing for the Federal Theatre what he described to Flanagan as “a real 14 th [-]century production” of Everyman . [53] Unlike The Nativity , whose script he had adapted himself, the Bureau of Research and Publication provided him with a version of Everyman suitable for his desired production. In early 1936, just a few months after the Federal Theatre had been established, the Bureau had purchased the rights to a straightforward translation of Everyman newly completed by a Father Clarus Graves, a Benedictine priest and university professor from Minnesota. Hughes’s plans to stage the play came to fruition that summer, when his contact at St Joseph’s Cathedral, where he had staged The Nativity the previous December, wrote that while he looked forward to the biblical play for Christmas, he hoped, too, to host the premiere of the morality play. [54] The invitation provided Hughes with an opportunity for another signature church performance to follow the performance of The Nativity at St John’s the year before. St Joseph’s Cathedral was to celebrate that fall its Golden Jubilee, the fiftieth anniversary of the parish, and Hughes’s troupe was invited to stage their latest featured play on the opening night of the festivities in early September. As Hughes wrote to Flanagan, he considered his Federal Theatre production of Everyman as opportunity for his own redemption. Over the previous twenty years, professional productions of Everyman in Los Angeles had relied on a translation by the American poet George Sterling of the adaptation by the Austrian poet Hugo von Hofmannsthal. Sterling’s translation was commissioned by the Polish director Richard Ordynski, who recruited Hughes himself to play the titular role in a 1917 production at Trinity Auditorium in downtown Los Angeles. When Hughes accepted the invitation to stage Everyman at St Joseph’s, he wrote Flanagan that the version of the play used by the Project offered him a chance to return to “the glorious old original” of the text and atone for the “mess that I created in the English speaking world under Ordynske [sic]” two decades earlier. [55] Hughes’s preference for the Federal Theatre version stemmed from its faithful treatment of the source, whereas the earlier adaptation had effectively departed from its source for an early-twentieth-century audience. The Project’s version preserved the comedic elements of the play (when a number of would-be companions find excuses to abandon Everyman) and its physical display of penance (Everyman’s self-flagellation and wearing of a sackcloth), while keeping the narrative’s focus on the main character’s emotional and spiritual progression. In the preface to his translation, on the other hand, Sterling argued that von Hofmannsthal had “vivified and humanized” a play whose performance had bored Sterling himself with its “bleak and not always intelligible passages” that necessitated the translator’s task of modernizing the text and narrative: The appeal of ‘Everyman’ to the medieval mind must have been vast, for it was a child’s mind, and therefore one to be moved far more greatly by things seen than by things preached. But though the moral pill was deftly enough sugar-coated for the audience of those distant days, ‘Everyman’ can but seem a somewhat crude and unconvincing affair to the pampered and sophisticated public of today.[56] Besides revising the language of the play, the von Hofmannsthal-Sterling adaptation supplemented the narrative with a fuller backstory for the protagonist, portrayed as a hedonistic young man who enjoys banquets and camaraderie, a forlorn lover who quarrels with his partner, and a headstrong son who refuses to listen to his mother’s warnings about his lifestyle. With this translation, Ordynski offered a version of Everyman that challenges the audience to empathize with the eponymous protagonist. This is largely due to the recreation of that protagonist from a universal human figure to a symbol of materialism and greed born from wealth (the von Hofmannsthal-Sterling adaptation was subtitled “The Play of the Rich Man’s Death”). The result is an Everyman that may be recognizable to the audience not as a mirror of themselves but as a portrayal of a higher social class, and so his character is removed from the allegorical intent of the medieval original. [57] Much attention is given in Sterling’s translation to Everyman’s material world, constructed around an interpolated backstory in which we see him ordering his cooks to prepare feasts, scorning his poor neighbors seeking alms, constructing a pleasure garden, courting his lover, and lording over his estate. Contemporary reviews of the production comment on the staging of elaborate scenes to display this opulence in the first half of the play. [58] Appropriately amongst this setting, Everyman is a hedonistic landowner who admires his opulence and sermonizes on the power of material wealth to elevate a man’s status above others: “Money lifts the world above/All mean exchange and barter,” he explains to a friend, “and each man/In his own sphere is as a lesser God.” [59] In the second half of the play, when Everyman should repent this previously sinful behavior, the von Hofmannsthal-Sterling adaptation is oddly ambiguous. It is the protagonist’s newfound sense of morality that strengthens Good Deeds and sets up the resolution of the play, but empathy of the poor and the field workers, the men whom Everyman had previously scorned but who now take pity on him. Such a reaction is not so easy for the audience. Given Everyman’s arrogance and petulance as the titular “rich man,” he can equally be cast as the object of their empathy as well, the intent of the morality play as a genre, or desire to see him punished and stripped of the material possessions that he flaunts, a reaction made possible by the modern revision of the play. Both receptions rely on the moral caveat that even one who is socially and financially superior to the audience will suffer the same fate. Nearly twenty years later, in September, 1936, the von Hofmannsthal-Sterling adaptation of the play served as the script for another, far more ambitious Los Angeles production. [60] Daily features in the Los Angeles Times hinted at the extravagant staging of the play by the Danish director and actor Johannes Poulsen at the Hollywood Bowl, where Everyman was billed as “the greatest spectacle ever offered in Hollywood” and “an epic of humanity, with comedy, drama, thrills, and throbs,” Poulsen’s Everyman presented three spaces to the audience. [61] Golden-painted gates opened to reveal heaven erected on a platform high above the stage, where a queen presided over an angelic court, a medieval village housed the initial scenes, in which Everyman surrounds himself with friends and entertainment, and a glimmering Byzantine cathedral towered above the audience’s gaze. The cathedral served as Everyman’s initial destination, the place to which he follows Good Deeds before continuing to heaven above, and it rested upon a series of steps representing the progression of history before the late medieval composition of Everyman – presumably a suggestion of the passage of time and universal nature of mortality that the protagonist must accept, as well as the triumph of Christianity. Poulsen had conceived of his adaptation of Everyman as a festival play that would be produced as if it were a motion picture, especially in its elaborate costume, lighting, ballet numbers, and the musical accompaniment provided by the Los Angeles Philharmonic. On the opening night, red flares lined the streets surrounding the venue, and multiple spotlights drew attention to the seating area, where Charlie Chaplin, Mary Pickford, and a host of celebrities from the entertainment industry and civic leaders arrived along a red, velvet carpet leading to their choice seats near the stage, beneath Poulsen’s monumental settings. [62] As the Federal Theatre Bureau of Research and Publication noted, Everyman relies not on spectacle but emotional investment from the audience. The structure of the text, beginning with God’s lament and subsequent summoning of Death to fetch Everyman, ensures that this audience is privy to a divine plan of which the protagonist is ignorant and so allows them to scoff at his futile attempts to evade his own mortality. [63] As the narrative progresses, they must be encouraged to empathize with Everyman, respond to his sorrowful displays of emotion when he is abandoned by his friends, and take heed of his willingness to adhere to Knowledge and Good Deeds, who advise him towards redemption. Through this empathy, Everyman as a morality play relies on the assumption that an audience would be motivated to receive the protagonist as an exemplar of the human condition and reject the behavior represented by those who would lead them astray. [64] Poulsen’s handling of this adaptation suggests an exaggerated notion of what John McKinnell underscores as a central aspect of staging Everyman : ensuring that the audience becomes distracted by the revelry of the protagonist’s hedonism earlier in the narrative to the point that they forget his transgressions and thus the pending return of Death at the play’s end. [65] It is reasonable to assume that the more the audience is entertained by sights and sounds on stage, the more they forget about this overarching structure of the play that begins with God’s anger and disappointment in humanity and concludes with Everyman foreswearing all of the worldly entertainments presented to the audience. However, compelling the audience to do so also threatens to undermine the crucial dramatic irony of Everyman , reliant upon the audience’s knowledge of, and the protagonist’s ignorance of, the roles of God and Death. In the original narrative, any distraction offered by mundane entertainments is abruptly removed for the second half. Everyman finds himself abandoned not only by his friends but eventually, too, by the allegorical representations of his physical and intellectual qualities (Beauty, Strength, Discretion, and Five Wits), a moment that also has the potential to surprise the audience. [66] In Poulsen’s staging of the play, those mundane entertainments never leave the stage, for they are intended to captivate the audience for the duration of the production, rather than for Everyman alone as evidence of his distraction from spiritual matters in the first half of the narrative. This intent to unceasingly stimulate the audience with the trappings of set design, costume, dance numbers, and lighting was Poulsen’s own, directorial interpolation, an edifice of spectacle built onto the textual additions already offered by von Hoffmansthal and Sterling. In that, he was effective. As a Times critic commented on the experience of viewing the play, “that such magic of stage craft were possible no one would ever dream.” [67] Although Hughes had particular ideas about how his production might appear before the audience in a church setting, his focus remained on the spiritual message of the play’s narrative. In his director’s report for the Los Angeles office, he wrote of the same challenges and resolutions of staging Everyman as he had faced in staging The Nativity the year before. The venues were too small, he could never get quite the number of Federal Music Project performers that he needed, and he relied again on large screens to serve as a portable backdrop, since many venues lacked a proper stage. [68] As he had done the previous December, Hughes described many of his staging details to Flanagan in frequent letters written after each performance. To complement the simplicity of the script in the Graves translation and make the best use of the churches where his troupe performed, Hughes relied on careful positioning of his actors and props to focus the audience’s attention. [69] He again insisted on carefully choreographed movement in performing the play. When the other characters approached and departed from Everyman and thus away from the audience’s attention, the staging resembled a processional, and it has been argued that keeping the protagonist fixed amidst this deliberate, minimal movement emphasizes his isolation. [70] As he had done in St John’s, Hughes had his actors otherwise stand in “stained glass attitudes” in St. Joseph’s, a stage direction indicating that they were to deliver their lines in tableau-vivant poses reminiscent of the figures in the cathedral’s windows and stations of the cross, and rely on physical gestures and exaggerated emotions. [71] Perhaps anticipating his audience’s lack of familiarity with the play, he also relied on embroidered titles (e.g., “Good Deeds,” “Strengthe”) across his actors’ costumes to identify the allegorical figures, as captured in photographs that he included with his director’s report for the Los Angeles office. [72] The primary characters were distinguished by these labels and their costumes: Good Deeds wore a halo, Knowledge wore a crown, and Death appeared in dark flowing robes and a veil that covered his face. As he had done just over twenty years ago on his first visit to Los Angeles, Hughes played the titular role, wearing a variegated, ornate Elizabethan costume for the majority of the play and plain white robes for the last moments, as the character prepares himself for death. Standing in place and relying on gesticulations and exaggerated manners to convey emotion, the actors remained before screens painted to resemble wood paneling, which the art director had borrowed from Federal Theatre productions of Shakespearean plays. Whereas Everyman and the allegorical figures thus relied on movement and posturing within various areas of the church interior, Hughes kept another visual cue in the play fixed in a central location. Death is the only other constant presence in the play besides Everyman, and the Federal Theatre script calls for him to remain in place immediately after he enters the play. As Everyman opens, a messenger explains to the audience its primary themes (the transitory nature of life and the futility of sinful behavior), and the figure of God laments that humanity has devoted itself to sin and pleasure, a perverted state of the world that elicits disappointment and anger. “I hoped well that Everyman/In my glory should make his mansion,” he begins, but observes that in their hedonism and negligence of divine mercy, those collectively termed “Everyman” must be met with justice, and so he summons Death to begin the action of the play. [73] From the first lines of the play, the audience is thus made aware that death is the only outcome of the play, emphasized by the fact that the character does not leave the audience’s view. [74] Death is summoned to serve as both messenger and audience, and while he interacts with the protagonist in their dialogue early in the play, in Hughes’s staging, Death remained fixed before the front of the congregation, a passive viewer of Everyman’s vain attempts to evade the mortality of which he is a harbinger. [75] Along with the audience, Death waits to see not merely when the protagonist will die but how he will do so: that is, whether or not Everyman will earn his redemption in time, a suspense that he exaggerates by placing an hour glass and lit candle on a table in the center of the audience’s view. The script also noted that the characters and the audience might track Everyman’s progress through the Book of Life, an inventory of his good and bad deeds that an angel places on the same table and a prop to which Death and Good Deeds are occasionally prompted to point as a reminder of man’s selfish, overly indulgent past. Everyman, too, is aware of the presence of Death and the book. In begging his family to accompany him on his dreaded journey, his cue is to look over his shoulder at the ominous figure and explain that “I must give a reckoning straight/For I have a great enemy, that hath me in wait.” [76] In examining the book with Good Deeds, he further calls the audience’s attention to the book by crying out that “for one letter here I cannot see” on the side of the ledger meant to record his acts of kindness and charity. [77] When Knowledge and Confession instruct him how to scourge his body of its sinfulness by whipping himself and dressing in sackcloth and how to pray to God for mercy, he finds his “accounts” are balanced in the book and is ready for the act of sacrament and unction offered by a priest. By the last moments of the play, Everyman, having atoned for his past transgressions and seeking the purification offered by Knowledge and Confession, looks towards the audience and delivers a reflective monologue that addresses those watching him: Methinketh, alas, that I must be gone; To make my reckoning and my debts pay, For I see my time is nigh spent away. Take example, all ye that this do hear or see, How they that I loved best do forsake me, Except my GOOD-DEEDS that bideth truly.[78] As he moves towards a mock grave, he appeals to God for mercy, motivated not by fear for what the afterlife may hold for him but by the faith that he now articulates in his maker: “In manus tuas” (“in your hands”), he states, “commendo spiritum meum” (“I entrust my spirit”). [79] At this moment, Hughes had his musicians ring a bell that, as he wrote Flanagan, he bought out of pocket, because its toll suited the solemnity of playing the morality play in a cathedral and reminded him of the church bells he heard knell while walking one evening in the medieval Bavarian town of Rothenberg. [80] In the director’s report, he noted, too, that Handel’s “Dead March” from Saul would accompany Everyman’s descent into his grave. [81] Finally, at Everyman’s final words, the script prompts Death to extinguish the candle to signal the end of his mortal life, while Knowledge explains to the audience that the protagonist was successful in his journey to heaven and greeted by angels, given voice by the choir’s chanting. In Hughes’s handling of the play, Everyman is thus portrayed as the embodiment of sinful but ultimately pensive humanity, rather than an individual wealthy man whose atonement is sudden and unconvincing. He is not quite an innocent or passive victim, for the play suggests that he has lived life according to his own terms before Death’s arrival, but neither is he an arrogant figure whose redemption can be called into question, as he had been presented in the von Hoffmanstahl-Sterling adaptation. [82] The Federal Theatre script underscores the qualities of Everyman that compel the audience to associate themselves with him: when confronted by Death, he seems ignorant of his own mortality, and after realizing that he cannot bribe his adversary, he quickly realizes that his fate is not merely the act of dying but of dying without having recorded many good deeds in his book of recompense (“my writing is full unready,” he explains to Death, as a bell tolls and the book remains in full view). [83] From the moment the two meet, Everyman acknowledges his isolation, and although his subsequent abandonment by the allegorical representations of both his material wealth and his physical senses (Beauty, Strength, and Five Wits) is hardly a surprise for the audience or the character himself, the emotional impact of these scenes is still poignant. [84] When Everyman cannot compel the latter group of figures to enter the grave with him at the play’s end, he addresses the audience, per the script’s direction, to explain, “how they that I loved best do forsake me,” except for Good Deeds, who carries his book of reckoning into the grave. [85] Hughes’s Everyman also shows a justified range of emotions. He is understandably afraid at the unexpected arrival of Death, he is hurt by the rejection of his companions, and he earnestly seeks to understand how to get to heaven, once Good Deeds, Knowledge, and Confession explain how to do so. Under Hughes’s direction, Everyman presented its title character as an archetype of the human condition that was especially suited to a church performance: beginning the play in sin, he concludes it in a state of grace, a maturation of the character that provides an exemplum for the audience. [86] New Audiences for Religious Drama Following the performance, Hughes added Everyman to his troupe’s repertoire for local high schools and colleges. Applying the same model to Los Angeles school administrators as that which he had established within the religious community, he wrote letters, held meetings with educators, and attended charity events where he was asked to speak on Flanagan and the Federal Theatre. His troupe frequently performed scenes from Shakespearean plays (often The Merchant of Venice , Richard II , and Hamlet ) for high schools and charitable organizations, and Everyman served as a feature play for the drama department at Los Angeles City College a few weeks after the performance at St Joseph’s. Without a proper office for audience research (the Los Angeles branch had been closed in mid-1937), Hughes both created his own audience in the community and inspired them to provide feedback. [87] Among the thank-you notes from local clergy, principals, and faculty, none appeared in an official Federal Theatre report. Rather, these individuals wrote personal letters to Flanagan in Washington, WPA’s California offices, and Los Angeles Project headquarters. Their letters attested to Hughes’s fulfillment of a foundational tenet of the Project to those who could not otherwise see live drama: it impacted them emotionally and intellectually. The Diocese of Los Angeles and San Diego wrote the Los Angeles Project, for example, that a performance of The Nativity for one of its impoverished neighborhoods had “brought a glimpse of beauty rare in their lives,” while a faculty member at Los Angeles City College noted that students were keenly interested in Hughes’s performance as Shylock, in that he “swung the sympathy of the audience back to a racial sympathy at the end.” [88] Flanagan replied to the college’s Department of English that she considered Hughes’s work in the community more impactful for the Project than those performances drawing large audiences downtown and in Hollywood. His traveling troupe, built within a network of churches and schools, required a resolve for which she expressed her “greatest admiration and affection.” [89] These anecdotal testimonies may have been written in support of Hughes and his troupe, but they had applications well beyond Los Angeles. By spring of 1939, when the Los Angeles Project had been largely dismantled, Hughes resigned as director of its Shakespeare and religious unit ahead of the official closure of the Federal Theatre. However, he soon found other avenues for pursuing his belief that the mystery and morality plays could still be staged as narratives embedded within the religious service and performances intended to supplement the liturgy and inspire spiritual reflection. On 30 November 1944, just over five years after the termination of funding for the Federal Theatre, Hughes wrote Flanagan from the isolated village of Nixon, Nevada. He explained to her that he had taken up missionary work on the Paiute reservation that spanned the northern part of the state. He confided in his longtime correspondent that he found the work to be fulfilling yet lonely, and he admitted how he often reflected on the Federal Theatre, Flanagan’s leadership, and “the untimely end of our beloved project.” [90] Responding two weeks later from Smith College, Flanagan suggested that Hughes’s new career was hardly a surprise to those who knew his personality and work ethic, and when she recalled in turn their accomplishments in the Project, she was particularly thankful for his “beautiful religious plays.” [91] He became a working, if not ordained, minister, applying the role that he had begun in the Federal Theatre—an actor and director who considered himself a spiritual leader when staging medieval drama within the religious community—to the tribal community in Nevada. A reporter in Los Angeles wrote that Hughes approached his missionary work in Nevada “as though he had stepped back into the 14 th century, using the patterns of teaching that inspired the early [biblical drama] of the Church,” [92] and Hughes explained to a friend that he still performed (presumably playing multiple parts) The Nativity at Christmas and Everyman during Lent. [93] As Hughes wrote of these performances, “when produced in church or theatre in a spirit of reverence and with a minimum of stage ‘business,’ these glorious little plays have unbelievable beauty, power, and exquisite poetry.” [94] This steadfast belief that elaborate costume and staging might distract the audience from the text and the reflective, solemn experience that it offered was fundamental to Hughes’s success in the Federal Theatre. Situating performances of the medieval plays as an extension of the liturgy, he found in the religious community the opportunity to use live drama as a spiritual teaching tool for the audience. So successful were these performances during Hughes’s tenure as a Project director in Los Angeles that they ultimately provided evidence for Flanagan in her argument before the House Special Committee on Un-American Activities in December 1939. As she explained to the Committee, the Federal Theatre had proven that plays could not only entertain but even, within its religious offerings, instill spiritual values in their audiences. In the two years leading up to that testimony, Hughes had directly responded to her call for Project leaders across the country to introduce live drama beyond commercial houses and engage with religious communities, in particular. Flanagan’s original directive was not without its political aims, given that she needed religious leaders to show public support for the Project. However, Hughes relied on the mystery and morality plays to sermonize to his audience-congregation, an objective that she had not articulated in addressing her directors in 1937. In so doing, his productions of medieval religious plays helped Flanagan both realize and expand on her vision for what the Federal Theatre could accomplish at the local level. References [1] 76 Cong. Rec. vol. 84, pt 7, 2,866–867 (1939). [2] Ibid, 2,869. [3] Ibid., 8,089. For the references to Everyman and The Nativity , see ibid., 7,291 and 7,372; Hearings before the Subcommittee of the Committee on Appropriations, House of Representatives, 114 (1939). [4] Hallie Flanagan, Arena (New York: Duell, Sloan and Pearce, 1940), 276. [5] Sanora Babb, “The Los Angeles WPA Theatre Project,” New Theatre 11, no. 6 (1936): 23. [6] In referring to his sources for The Nativity , Hughes used the term “mystery” plays for the cycles of biblical drama, whereas the Federal Theatre Project used the term “miracle” in newspaper advertisements. As Meg Twycross, “Medieval English Theatre: Codes and Genres,” in A Companion to Medieval English Literature and Culture c.1350 – c.1500 , ed. Peter Brown (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2007), 456, notes, the designation “miracle” for the genre did not remain in widespread use beyond the late Middle Ages. [7] John R. Elliott, Jr., Playing God: Medieval Mysteries on the Modern Stage (Toronto: University of Toronto, 1989), 56, writes that the Religious Drama Society in Hughes’s native Great Britain produced religious plays in England in a similar fashion. [8] John O’Connor, “The Federal Theatre Project’s Search for an Audience,” in Theatre for Working-Class Audiences in the United States, 1830 – 1980 , ed. Bruce A. McConachie and Daniel Friedman (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1985), 171, and Cecelia Moore, The Federal Theatre Project in the American South: The Carolina Playmakers and the Quest for American Drama (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2017), 9. [9] O’Connor, “The Federal Theatre Project’s Search for an Audience,” 174. [10] “Merchant of Venice: Audience Survey Report (Los Angeles, CA)” 14 May 1937, RG 69, Box 254, 2287303, National Archives (NA). [11] Hallie Flanagan, “Design for the Federal Theatre’s Season: In which the director of the FTP states some plans for the year in 1938,” FTP, Series 1, Box 4, Folder 2, George Mason University Libraries (GMUL). See Bonnie Nelson Schwartz, Voices from the Federal Theatre (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press 2003), xii. Hallie Flanagan, “Brief delivered by Hallie Flanagan before the Committee on Patents, House of Representatives,” 8 February 1938. Federal Theatre Project Collection (1932–1943), ML31.F44, Container 5, Library of Congress (LC), pledged that no plays “of a cheap, trivial, outworn, or vulgar nature” would be produced. [12] Frederic H. Bair, “Educational Aspects of the Federal Theatre Project,” 12–15 September 1937, FTP, Series 1, Box 16, Folder 16, GMUL; Hallie Flanagan, “FTP Policy Board Meeting,” 12 April 1938, Hallie Flanagan (1890–1969) Papers, T-Mss 1964-002, Series 1: Federal Theatre Project, Sub-series 2: Administrative Files (1935–1939), Box 8: Administrative Files, New York Public Library Archives and Manuscripts (NYPL). [13] Hallie Flanagan, “Talk at the Meeting of Regional Staff,” 19 August 1937. FTP, Container 962, LC. [14] Hallie Flanagan: “The Christmas Program for the Federal Theatre – To the Regional Directors,” 14 October 1937, FTP, Container 2, LC. [15] Katherine Clugston, “Reorganization of the Play Bureau,” September, 1936, FTP, Series 1, Box 4, Folder 15, GMUL; “Religious Letters of Commendation,” FTP, Container 1, LC. [16] Stanley J. Kahrl, “The staging of medieval English plays,” in The Theatre of Medieval Europe: New Research in Early Drama , ed. Eckehard Simon (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 130–48 [17] Katie Normington, Medieval English Drama: Performance and Spectatorship (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2009), 84. [18] Sarah Beckwith, Signifying God: Social Relation and Symbolic Act in the York Corpus Christi Plays (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 3. Poel still took care to have an actor read the role of God (renamed Adonai) from offstage. Susanne Rupp, “Performing Heaven: The State of Grace in Seventeenth-Century Protestant Theology,” in Performances of the Sacred in Late Medieval and Early Modern England , ed. Susanne Rupp and Tobias Doring (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2005), 131, argues that the prevailing theological concept behind these concerns over presenting God on stage was a sacrosanct “tension between [human] knowledge and [divine] secret [ensuring] that the fundamental difference between God and his creature is maintained.” See also Alexandra F. Johnston, “English community drama in crisis: 1535–80,” in Drama and Community: People and Plays in Medieval Europe , ed. Alan Hindley (Turnhout: Brepols, 1999), 265, for Protestant receptions of the plays’ Catholic heritage and Murray Roston, Biblical Drama in England: From the Middle Ages to the Present Day (London: Faber, 1968), 109–15, for the Puritans’ objections to the humanization of God onstage. The laws were rescinded in 1951. [19] Elliott, Jr., Playing God , 42–62. See also Katie Normington, Modern Mysteries: Contemporary Productions of Medieval English Cycle Dramas (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2007), 24–25. [20] Robert Potter, The English Morality Play: Origins, History and Influence of a Dramatic Tradition (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1975), 224. [21] Claire Sponsler, Ritual Imports: Performing Medieval Drama in America (Ithaca: Cornell University Press), 156–65. See also John Marshall, “Modern productions of medieval English plays,” in The Cambridge Companion to Medieval English Theatre , ed. Richard Beadle (Cambridge, 1994), 290. [22] Elliott, Jr., Playing God , 57; Sponsler, Ritual Imports , 167, and Gerald Weales, Religion in Modern English Drama (Philadelphia, 1961), 111-12. There is no surviving evidence suggesting that Hughes was directly influenced by member of the Religious Drama Society, but he was likely aware of their church performances by the late-1930s. Hughes was an ardent theatre scholar, and he had kept abreast of live drama in England since his professional days in London, notably through his friendship and correspondence with Iden Payne, director of the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre and admirer of the Federal Theatre. [23] Sponsler, Ritual Imports, 169. [24] Although Johnston, “English community drama in crisis: 1535–80,” 248–49, notes that the plays could be staged for any number of practical reasons (e.g., festivals, fundraising), Simon Shepherd and Peter Womack, English Drama: A Cultural History (Oxford: Blackwell, 1997), 11, argue that the procession of the plays through the streets of a given city was intended “to consecrate the everyday environment.” [25] Federal Theatre Project, Play Bureau, “Suggested Repertory of Classic English Plays,” Records, RG 69, Box 348, 2385588, NA. [26] Federal Theatre Project, Bureau of Research and Publication, “Publication Report,” Records, RG 69, Box 161, 2526405, NA. [27] Ibid. [28] Lawrence M. Clopper, Drama, Play, and Game: English Festive Culture in the Medieval and Early Modern Period (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 210, argues that the plays emphasize for the audience a moral interpretation of biblical history, founded on the “virtues of obedience and faith.” See, too, Christine Richardson and Jackie Johnston, Medieval Drama (Houndmills: Macmillan, 1991), 98, for the central theme of the progression from sinfulness to grace. Claire Sponsler, Drama and Resistance: Bodies, Goods, and Theatricality in Late Medieval England (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997), 79–80, argues of the morality plays that, although this moral teaching of sin and salvation lay at the heart of the narrative, their “flamboyantly bad behavior . . . is by no means entirely subordinated to the plays’ themes of repentance.” [29] Robert S. Sturges, The Circulation of Power in Medieval Biblical Drama: Theaters of Authority (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 136–40. [30] Margaret Rogerson, “Medieval Mystery Plays in the Modern World: A Question of Relevance?”, The Yearbook of English Studies 43 (2013): 362, notes that the 2012 revival of the York cycle used the allegorical nature of the plays to recast the narrative of Adam and Eve through child actors, who are replaced by adults after the Fall. [31] Christina M. Fitzgerald, The Drama of Masculinity and Medieval English Guild Culture (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 145; David Bevington, Medieval Drama (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1975), 240; See Lynette R. Muir, The Biblical Drama of Medieval Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 4, and Ruth Harriett Blackburn, Biblical Drama under the Tudors (Boston: De Gruyter Mouton, 2015), 17. [32] John Musgrove (Federal Theatre Project Research Bureau), “Theatre Buildings in Los Angeles,” Records of the Work Projects Administration (1922–1944), Records, RG 69, Box 242, 2319732, NA. [33] Katherine T. von Blon, “Government Subsidy for Drama Seen,” Los Angeles Times , March 1, 1936, California State Library (CSL). [34] Susan Quinn, Furious Improvisation: How the WPA and a Cast of Thousands Made High Art out of Desperate Times (New York: Walker & Co., 2008), 214; Stacy Claire Brightman, “The Federal Theatre Project in Los Angeles” (PhD diss., University of California, Davis, 1999), 79–80. [35] “Program Notes Regarding the Miracle Plays,” FTP, Container 1046, LC. [36] Production Records (“Miracle Plays”), FTP, Container 962, LC. [37] In December, 1937, he reported to Flanagan that leaders in the local Baptist community had asked him whether the Federal Theatre supported Communism, and then in October, 1938 he notified her that certain educators among Los Angeles’s Catholic community would not host his troupe, owing to the same suspicions of the Project. See Letters, Gareth Hughes to Hallie Flanagan, December, 1937 and October, 1938, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1: Correspondence, Box 6: Miscellaneous A:Z (1935–1958), NYPL; Elizabeth A. Osborne, Staging the People: Community and Identity in the Federal Theatre Project (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 9. [38] Letter, Gareth Hughes to Hallie Flanagan, 8 December 1937, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [39] Letter, Gareth Hughes to Hallie Flanagan, December 1937, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [40] Hughes, The Nativity , Records, RG 69, Box 306, 2315596, NA. [41] Hughes, The Nativity , Federal Theatre Project Scripts (1935–1939), Box 8, University of Southern California Libraries Special Collections (USCL). [42] Production Records (“The Nativity”), FTP, Container 1046, LC. [43] Letter, Gareth Hughes to Hallie Flanagan, December, 1937, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [44] All stage directions refer to the Hughes’s own annotated copy for the December, 1937 performances: Hughes, The Nativity , Records, RG 69, Box 306, NA. [45] “Program Notes Regarding the Miracle Plays,” FTP, Container 1046, LC; See Sturges, The Circulation of Power , 55–57, and Muir, The Biblical Drama of Medieval Europe , 107. [46] Hughes, The Nativity , Records, RG 69, Box 306, 2315596, NA. [47] Ibid. [48] Letter, Gareth Hughes to Hallie Flanagan, 21 December1937, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [49] Letter, Gareth Hughes to Hallie Flanagan, 21 December 1937, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [50] Hallie Flanagan, Travel Notes, 19 November 1937, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 2, Box 9, NYPL. [51] Flanagan, Arena , 284. [52] Ibid., 257. [53] Letter, Gareth Hughes to Hallie Flanagan, December, 1937, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [54] Letter, Father William to Gareth Hughes, 28 July 1938, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [55] Letter, Gareth Hughes to Hallie Flanagan, 8 August 1938, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [56] George Sterling, The Play of Everyman (San Francisco: A.M. Robertson, 1917), “Preface.” [57] Potter, The English Morality Play , 230. [58] “Theatre Notes,” Los Angeles Herald , 8 January 1917, and 17 January 1917, CSL. [59] Sterling, The Play of Everyman , 21. [60] The 1917 version was republished as The California Festival Edition of the Play of Everyman (Los Angeles: The Primavera Press, 1936). [61] Advertisement, Los Angeles Times , 8 September 1936, CSL. [62] “‘Everyman’ Lures Society,” Los Angeles Times , 9 September 1936, CSL. [63] Ron Tanner, “Humor in Everyman and the Middle English Morality Play,” Philological Quarterly 70 (1991): 150. [64] Sponsler, Drama and Resistance , 80. [65] John McKinnell, “How Might Everyman Have Been Performed?”, in Bells Chiming from the Past: Cultural and Linguistic Studies on Early English , ed. Isabel Moskowich-Spiegel and Begoña Crespo-García (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2007), 129. [66] Phoebe S. Spinrad, “The Last Temptation of Everyman,” Philological Quarterly 64, no. 2 (1985): 192. [67] “Fire Postpones ‘Everyman,’ Show Will Go on Tonight,” Los Angeles Times , 14 September 1936, CSL. [68] Production Report (“Everyman”), FTP, Container 1006, LC. [69] Letter, Gareth Hughes to Hallie Flanagan, 8 August 1938, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [70] Stanton B. Garner, Jr., “Theatricality in Mankind and Everyman,” Studies in Philology , 84 no. 3 (1987): 281, observes that the allegorical figures move through the play “with an almost processional simplicity”; Yeeyon Im, “The ‘Scourge of Penance’ and a ‘Garment of Sorrow’: Catholic Reforms and the Spectacle of the Passion in Everyman ,” Medieval and Early Modern English Studies 24 (2016): 137–38. [71] Letter, Gareth Hughes to Hallie Flanagan, 8 August 1938, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. Dunbar H. Ogden, The Staging of Drama in the Medieval Church (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2003), 114, argues that the physical gestures employed in church performances were rooted in the mass; in Ibid., 165, he identifies the primary emotions of awe, joy, sorrow, fear, and anger as those to be portrayed in an exaggerated fashion within the large space of a medieval cathedral. [72] Lesley Wade Soule, “Performing the mysteries: demystification, story-telling and over-acting like the devil,” European Medieval Drama 1 (1997): 221. Leslie Thomson, “Dumb Shows in Performance on the Early Modern Stage,” Medieval & Renaissance Drama in England 29 (2016), 28, notes that the convention was maintained into the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. [73] Unknown, “Everyman,” 2, FTP Scripts, Box 16, USCL. [74] Thomas F. van Laan, “ Everyman : A Structural Analysis,” PMLA 78, no. 5 (1963): 466. [75] Thomas Willard, “Images of Mortality,” in Death in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times: The Material and Spiritual Conditions of the Culture of Death , ed. Albrecht Classen (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2016), 418 [76] Unknown, “Everyman,” 9, FTP Scripts, Box 16, USCL. [77] Ibid., 14. [78] Ibid., 24. [79] Ibid., 25. [80] Letter, Gareth Hughes to Hallie Flanagan, 29 August 1938, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [81] Production Report (“Everyman”), FTP, Container 1006, LC. [82] Jérome Hankins, “Staging Everyman . A ‘Dance of Life,’ or of the use of medieval drama to re-energize our contemporary stage,” Etudes Anglaises: Revue du Monde Anglophone 66 (2013): 397. [83] Allen D. Goldhamer, “ Everyman : A Dramatization of Death,” Classica et Mediaevalia 30 (1969): 589–99, posits that a key detail suggesting the protagonist’s unawareness of mortality is the fact that he does not recognize Death when the two first encounter each other. [84] Julie Paulson, “Death’s Arrival and Everyman’s Separation,” Theatre Survey: The Journal of the American Society for Theatre Research 48 (2007): 126, argues that this awareness of isolation is thematically unique among the morality plays, which feature an allegorical battle between virtuous and sinful behavior, rather than a character’s psychological reaction to pending death; Bob Godfrey, “ Everyman (Re)Considered,” European Medieval Drama 4 (2000): 165: “the personal characteristics have been adopted to make the internal conflict of Everyman more immediately poignant to the audience. Foregrounding the physical attributes in this way makes unavoidable an empathetic response to the acting of these final moments in the play.” [85] Unknown, “Everyman,” 24, FTP Scripts, Box 16, USCL. [86] Potter, The English Morality Play , 53–54. [87] O’Connor, “The Federal Theatre Project’s Search for an Audience,” 173. [88] Letter, Gertrude Peifer to Jerome Coray, 23 December 1937, Records, RG 69, 1068204, NA; Letter, Mabel L. Loop to Gareth Hughes, 22 November 1938, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [89] Letters, Hallie Flanagan to O.D. Richardson, 2 December 1938 and Hallie Flanagan to Gareth Hughes, 29 November 1938, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [90] Letter, Gareth Hughes to Hallie Flanagan, Undated, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [91] Letter, Hallie Flanagan to Gareth Hughes, 12 December 1944, Flanagan Papers, Sub-series 1, Box 6, NYPL. [92] “Actor Turned Minister Comes Back for Visit,” Los Angeles Times , 15 September 1952. CSL. [93] Letter, Gareth Hughes to Charlton Laird, Undated, Gareth Hughes Papers (1925–1965), NC803, Box 1: Correspondence, University of Nevada, Reno Special Collections. [94] Gareth Hughes, “Mediaeval Religious Drama,” The Desert Churchman , 3, no. 5 (1945), 3. Footnotes About The Author(s) RUSSELL STONE is Assistant Provost for Academic Assessment at Boston University. As a scholar of the classical tradition, he has published widely on the reception of Alexander the Great in medieval Europe. His current research focuses on a more recent legacy of that tradition, the staging of classical and medieval drama within the Federal Theatre Project. Journal of American Drama & Theatre JADT publishes thoughtful and innovative work by leading scholars on theatre, drama, and performance in the Americas – past and present. Provocative articles provide valuable insight and information on the heritage of American theatre, as well as its continuing contribution to world literature and the performing arts. Founded in 1989 and previously edited by Professors Vera Mowry Roberts, Jane Bowers, and David Savran, this widely acclaimed peer reviewed journal is now edited by Dr. Benjamin Gillespie and Dr. Bess Rowen. Journal of American Drama and Theatre is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents - Current Issue “An Art for Which There Is as Yet No Name.” Mobile Color, Artistic Composites, Temporal Objects The Anti-Victorianism of Victorian Revivals Tricks, Capers, and Highway Robbery: Philadelphia Self-Enactment upon the Early Jacksonian Stage “The Spirit of the Thing is All”: The Federal Theatre’s Staging of Medieval Drama in the Los Angeles Religious Community The Queer Nuyorican: Racialized Sexualities and Aesthetics in Loisaida Rise Up! Broadway and American Society from Angels in America to Hamilton Dancing the World Smaller: Staging Globalism in Mid-Century America Ishtyle: Accenting Gay Indian Nightlife The Great White Way: Race and the Broadway Musical; Reframing the Musical: Race, Culture and Identity Previous Next Attribution:

Raymond Saraceni Back to Top Untitled Article References Copy of References Authors Keep Reading < Back Journal of American Drama & Theatre Volume Issue 35 1 Visit Journal Homepage Tricks, Capers, and Highway Robbery: Philadelphia Self-Enactment upon the Early Jacksonian Stage Raymond Saraceni By Published on November 25, 2022 Download Article as PDF Introduction During the early decades of the nineteenth century, Philadelphia became besotted by its own reflection—a growing desire to perceive and to reflect upon itself is clearly manifested in the work of contemporaneous painters, novelists, and organizers of street pageants, as well as in the work of dramatists and theatre impresarios. Perhaps the bustling and industrializing metropolis that was in the process of supplanting the supposedly genteel Federalist city of the preceding century sought something reassuring in beholding itself. The federal government had decamped for the banks of the Potomac in 1800, while with each year the significance of Philadelphia as the birthplace of the nation was slipping further from the space of living memory; meanwhile, immigrants from Ireland, Germany, and even the French Caribbean further altered the deportment and civic culture of the city, as did blacks fleeing slavery in the American south. [1] Given such changes, the need to reflect upon and represent precisely what the city was and how it is signified in the present became increasingly important. Broadly speaking, representations of Philadelphia on canvas or in engravings took one of two forms: one emphasizing the city’s grand architecture and orderly thoroughfares, the other its often boisterous and irrepressible citizens. William Russell Birch, an English-born painter who published four editions of Philadelphia street scenes between 1800 and 1820, created elegant depictions of the city that called viewers’ attention to Philadelphia’s graceful Georgian buildings and its broad boulevards. His images of an orderly Philadelphia peopled by well-mannered and deferential citizens are notable too for a kind of antiseptic quality: the garbage and manure that would no doubt have been found throughout the city’s streets and byways are nowhere to be found. [2] John Lewis Krimmel, born in 1786 and a recent immigrant from Württemberg, was also a painter of Philadelphia street scenes, but his work is of a very different kind than Birch’s. While human figures are of marginal importance to the latter, they are Krimmel’s primary focus. Paintings such as Fourth of July in Center Square (1812) and Election Day at the State House (1815) call our attention not to those buildings that frame the action, but to the crowds themselves: swaggering, celebratory, combustible, and heterogeneous. The energy of his work is equal parts dynamism and hazard—despite the affability of certain of his human subjects, one could easily imagine being pushed aside, pick-pocketed or worse in the midst of such a swirling tumult of urban types. What we find in such aquatints and etchings we also find just a few years later upon the Philadelphia stage; the social energies unleashed as the city’s identity shifted from the eighteenth-century “Birthplace of the Nation” to the nineteenth-century “Workshop of the World,” were echoed, reified, challenged, and reconfigured in Philadelphia’s playhouses. By the end of the 1820s, Philadelphia was struggling to understand and represent the tumult and dislocation of its present in terms of what had already become for many an idealized past. As Gary B. Nash has argued, the “formative decade” of the 1820s was characterized by the construction of a “web of memory” in the Quaker City, a process that involved the founding of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania in the wake of the Marquis de Lafayette’s visit in 1824, an institution whose very purpose was to collect those artifacts that might help “to preserve [a] memory of the past or use it to refurbish the present.” Such a process was, however, “made all the more complicated by the fact that Philadelphians, in their growing diversity, came to understand that memory-making was [not] a value-free and politically sanitized matter, [for] . . . as soon as people began to see that the shaping of Philadelphia’s past was a partisan activity, . . . the process of remembering Philadelphia became . . . contested . . . and has remained so ever since.” [3] Representing contemporary Philadelphia to Philadelphia audiences thus became aesthetically compelling at precisely the same moment that Nash considers as decisive in the city’s first serious encounter with shaping historical memory. Both processes were equally fraught. In the following pages, I wish to consider in particular Robert Montgomery Bird’s City Looking Glass , and the Walnut Street Theatre’s staging of both The Mail Robbers and Doctor Foster in Philadelphia . What did these entertainments signify for contemporary Philadelphians? How did audiences reflect upon these performances of self-reflection? When Bird and his contemporaries held a looking glass before the face of America’s First City, what did its audiences behold? These plays, I will argue, allow us to apprehend the formation of Philadelphian civic identity at an inflection point, with the stage itself at the heart of the city’s self-enactment. Indeed, it is not possible to understand this moment of civic identity formation and/or dissolution without working to grasp how it was experienced by those Philadelphians who attended and called upon the theatre to reflect, upend, or further reify the realities they felt themselves to inhabit at the beginning of the Jacksonian era, when the tensions touched upon in the works of Birch and Krimmel reached a kind of climax. Whereas scholars have long worked to situate Philadelphia performances of the antebellum period within the context of the development of American cultural identity, comparatively little attention has been given to the work of the Philadelphia stage relative to the development of Philadelphia civic culture itself. Bird’s Looking Glass , read alongside Mail Robbers and Doctor Foster , confirms a sense that when Philadelphians beheld their city at the end of the 1820s, they saw a place that was no longer the gentlemanly Quaker metropolis of William Penn and his heirs anymore than it was exclusively the eighteenth-century cradle of liberty and shrine of American independence. Instead, audiences beheld a heterogeneous and volatile, dangerous yet exuberant modern metropolis—one characterized by instability and menace as well as by a kind of phenomenologically liberating and disruptive knavery. In these plays, we will find that the exterior street scene becomes the primary space for contesting civic identity, just as it was in the work of painters and engravers like Birch and Krimmel. Bird’s Looking Glass In July of 1828 the ambivalent physician and aspiring dramatist, Robert Montgomery Bird, did something extraordinary: he held up a mirror to the city of Philadelphia. With the publication of his City Looking Glass , Bird invites audiences to look into his dramaturgical “mirror of the times . . . to see such knaves and asses / [a]s, we hope, can’t be seen in your own looking glasses.” [4] The comedy he presents offers us a comprehensive picture of Philadelphia types: wealthy merchants and their headstrong daughters, seedy procuresses and blackmailers, street-savvy rakes and pugnacious (if good-natured) sailors, as well as a promenading African American woman and a visiting Southern gentleman, not to mention servants, constables, and various “young bucks” reflecting various degrees of moral turpitude. On the one hand, the play appears as a somewhat conventional variation on a theme by Terence: sentimentality and mistaken identities abound, even as we encounter the familiar device of a long-lost child reunited with her aged, pining father. At the same time, however, the play’s rambunctious and youthful energy – its gleeful determination to consider the seedy underbelly of life in the Quaker City – mark Bird’s entertainment as being worlds away from what the European larmoyant tradition had formerly wrought of the same comic paradigm. Though apparently never brought to the stage, City Looking Glass may be read as heralding an emergent impulse on the part of Philadelphia to perceive and perform itself, as well as an impulse on the part of dramatists and theatre managers to contest the city’s established reputation as a place of congruity, regularity, and gentlemanly deportment. Bird extends and develops the metaphor of the looking glass throughout his prologue, hoping (or lamenting) that “when some pleasing liniment is shown, / . . . each might softly whisper, ‘That’s my own!’ / And where an uglier product of our labour [sic], / [w]ith the same readiness, say ‘That’s my neighbor!’” Seeking to present a timely, up-to-date urban comedy, Bird next promises his audience “certain tricks and capers / [s]uch as you look for daily in the papers.” [5] What is extraordinary here is not Bird’s deployment of the mirror as a metaphor so much as the way in which he does so, as well as the situation of his Looking Glass within the context of Philadelphia’s emergent obsession with seeing itself in the theatre. As Tim P. Vos has pointed out, the mirror was a popular signifier in the literature of the early American republic, but not necessarily a sign of “objectivity’s normative ascendance.” Instead, the looking glass was most often deployed as “a metaphor for the self-examination of one’s soul or character by holding up individuals either to be emulated or abhorred . . . the mirror was not simply a material article for returning light it received, it was a cultural artifact for returning enlightenment and judgment.” [6] In Bird’s comedy, the play itself is the looking glass—a looking glass absent in the material form but imagined instead as forcefully present in and as the act of performance. Indeed, Bird maintained a persistent fascination with images and reflections—with ways of constructing, refracting, and performing (or re-performing) phenomena of various kinds—throughout his life. In the 1840s and 50s, he famously experimented with an early photographic process called the Calotype, developing not only some of the first photographic images of Philadelphia but also developing an image of his own portrait, painted on canvas by his wife, Mary Mayer Bird. Thus, just as he would eventually reflect upon and replicate an image of his own image in light and shadow, with Looking Glass the dramatist may be understood as presenting us with the city itself as engaged perpetually in its own protean self-enactment—though here the subject is not an individual but a civic, corporate phenomenon. In his study of Philadelphia’s literary history, Samuel Otter argues that eighteenth and nineteenth-century writers in the Quaker City “shared a sense that Philadelphia was a place where, in concentrated form, a peculiarly American experiment was being conducted,” that the public sphere in Philadelphia developed in a unique way “through a series of violent episodes that were interpreted as tests of individual, racial, and civic character.” He goes on to say that “the border status of the city, its symbolic value and political history, its resilient African American population, and its circumstances of extremity provoked inquiries that unfolded in a range of texts over decades.” [7] Otter’s interest here is literary, so while he considers the work of Philadelphia authors like Charles Brockden Brown and George Lippard (both of whom sought to challenge the normative representation of Philadelphia as the refined and gentlemanly capital of Penn’s enlightened Commonwealth), his attention to drama and theatrical performance is slight. It thus should not surprise us that in considering the work of Robert Montgomery Bird, Otter almost entirely overlooks his plays in favor of his prose fiction. Nevertheless, there is much that is useful in Otter’s work relative to an understanding of Philadelphia drama and performance. During the early years of the nineteenth century, Otter writes, urban life in the Quaker City “seemed newly legible . . . as a limit outside the self that shaped identity, [as] . . . a felt excess that resisted such limits, and as a possibility for transformation.” [8] But if this was the moment that Philadelphia became legible, I argue that it is also the moment that Philadelphia become performable ; Otter claims that during the early years of the nineteenth century “Philadelphia came into fiction, and fiction became Philadelphian.” [9] So is this the case for drama and performance, particularly toward the end of the 1820s and most notably at first in Robert Montgomery Bird’s The City Looking Glass ? The play involves the machinations of two brothers who come to Philadelphia in order to make a fortune passing counterfeit bills; one of the brothers, Ravin, is also blackmailing a procuress named Mrs. Gall as he seeks to take possession of her ward: the beautiful and virtuous Emma. This same young woman has also won the heart of our hero, Mr. Roslin, a scion of a respectable family whose hopes for marriage are dashed when he learns that Emma is essentially being raised in a house of ill repute. Meanwhile, Roslin’s old school chum—a southern gentleman named Raleigh—has come to town to court Diana Headstrong, Roslin’s cousin. At first, Raleigh’s hopes for marriage are frustrated because of his being misidentified by Headstrong as a notorious swindler, a charge that brings the young man’s father, the elder Raleigh, to Philadelphia in defense of his son’s reputation (this despite the old man’s enduring heart-brokenness as a result of his young daughter’s disappearance many years before). At long last, however, all obstacles to marriage are removed when Emma is discovered to be Raleigh’s long-lost sister, and the villainous Ravin the very swindler that Headstrong (falling victim to Ravin’s manipulation) had earlier misidentified as Raleigh himself. By the end of the play Ravin’s brother, Ringfinger, has been compelled to give evidence against his brother and the two villains are hauled off to receive their just desserts. The play compels attention not so much for its intrigue, however, as for its disruptive depiction of the Quaker City as a disorderly and unruly space. It is as if Philadelphia were here reflected via a distorted funhouse mirror—a kind of giddy exercise in grotesquerie. Such an enterprise was not without precedent or progenitors, to be sure. Tom and Jerry, or Life in London (that episodic celebration of urban slumming, low-life milieux, and rakish misbehavior) had crossed the pond and debuted at Philadelphia’s Chestnut Street Theatre in April of 1823. Francis Wemyss, a leading actor who had himself recently arrived from Britain and who would serve as manager of several Philadelphia theatres over the decades, records that Tom and Jerry was so popular upon its first appearance in the city that it was picked up and performed by Cowell’s “circus corps” as soon as the Chestnut Street company disembarked for its sojourn to Baltimore and Washington, and was presented at the Walnut Street for the remainder of the season. [10] In his study of populist and underclass performance on the nineteenth-century American stage, Peter P. Reed explores the influence of Tom and Jerry ; he argues that theatres in the United States sought to ensure the continued popularity of the play “by tapping the urban lore of American cities” so that “[g]limpses of the distant metropole’s underworld gave way to representations of a newly localized urban culture, [as] Tom and Jerry helped constitute a specifically American urban public sphere built upon complex rituals of underclass performance and elite patronage.” [11] While The City Looking Glass is not a direct iteration of Tom and Jerry , the energies unleashed by the latter seem to play a role in Bird’s treatment of Philadelphia as a series of street scenes, dives, and the low performances associated with both—a local and particular manifestation of Americans’ increasing consciousness of and investment in “the entertainment value of their own urban low scenes [and their] fascination with stagey underclass characters” who continue to appear throughout the first half of the nineteenth century on the stage and in print. [12] Stagey, underclass characters abound in Bird’s play; they are far more memorable than the ladies and gentlemen, just as the action of the play’s street scenes and exteriors is more memorable than the goings-on in the parlors or drawing rooms of its respectable homes. For it is on the city’s byways and back lanes, as well as in the showboating of its volatile young “bucks” (characters like the sometime lawyer, Bolt, and his streetwise henchmen, Mossrose and Crossbar), that Philadelphia is meant to perceive most clearly its disfigured reflection, to experience most dramatically its contested character. Indeed, Philadelphia’s civic character was already long-understood as being manifest in its streets, specifically in its gridiron arrangement of thoroughfares intersecting at right angles and organized around a series of five open squares framing deep individual lots for houses and gardens — an arrangement proposed by William Penn and his surveyor, Thomas Holme, at the very founding of the colony. Philadelphia’s character as a planned settlement with broad, straight avenues as an alternative to the overcrowded, walled, medieval cities of Europe was an important aspect of what gave the place its initial cachet and self-image as a modern city founded on Enlightenment principles. Philadelphia, as Samuel Otter observes, sought to understand itself as defined by the “symmetry and discipline” of its orderly thoroughfares, as the “perpendicular array of streets and squares . . . were linked with the rectitude of its founder and its Quaker inhabitants.” [13] However, the sameness and regularity characteristic of its general appearance engendered, too, a quality of stultifying rigidity ripe for contestation and aesthetic sabotage. When visiting Philadelphia in the summer of 1830, Mrs. Trollope wrote that the city was “built with extreme and . . . wearisome regularity,” and that “all is even, straight, uniform, and uninteresting.” [14] Just three years later, the Scottish traveler Thomas Hamilton wrote similarly that Philadelphia represented “an infringement on the rights of individual eccentricity—a rigid and prosaic despotism of right angles and parallelograms.” [15] Local dramatists had gotten there even earlier. In his 1806 comedy, Tears and Smiles , James Nelson Barker gives us the character of Nathan Yank, domestic and runner-of-errands for the play’s romantic hero, who repeatedly loses his way amidst the wearisome sameness of Philadelphia’s streets, much to the consternation of his employer and the complication of the plot. While Barker’s sentimental comedy walks the streets of prosaic sameness rather than those of symmetry and rectitude, he is not so much interested in contesting the self-image of Philadelphia as he is in enjoying a good-natured jest with his knowing audience. Nor is the city as such at the center of Barker’s dramaturgy: the final acts of the play take us out of Philadelphia altogether, to a quiet country estate in Fairmount. Bird, by contrast, cannot imagine leaving the city behind, for what would his Looking Glass have to show us then? Otter has written about Benjamin Franklin’s autobiographical writings as, among other things, a guide “to crafting appearances that unsettled the relationship between character and performance,” deploying tales of his youthful progress in the city to “help create a public arena in which individuals were taught to be acutely conscious of their own social performances.” [16] Bird continues this work, albeit in a different key, with an early scene between his malefactor brothers where Ravin upbraids the less-assured Ringfinger over the latter’s persistent weakness for picking pockets. Picking pockets is, Ravin tells him, “a damned low vice” when set against the more refined criminal endeavor of counterfeiting. Refusing to aim higher has had a deleterious effect on Ringfinger, whose “gentility sits as clumsily upon [him] as new clothes.” Gentility and breeding, the sine qua non of the Philadelphia gentleman, are simply matters of wearing the costume well and of playing the role with confidence, for “character . . . is oftener established by conceit than by natural privilege.” [17] This troubling of the relationship between substance and “mere” appearance prefigures the promiscuous relationship in Bird’s Philadelphia between the gentleman and the scoundrel; nowhere is this more clear than in the character of Bolt, a good-for-nothing rogue whose ill-treatment at the hands of the brother villains leads to their demise. Roslin describes Bolt as indeed a “gentleman,” but one with a “black eye.” He expands upon this observation, noting that Bolt is the very “representative of a Philadelphia buck” one who has had opportunities of becoming a gentleman, [but] amends his gentility by the addition of certain accomplishments peculiar to the vulgar; that is, he has been half-educated at college and half bred at home; is seen sometimes at a lawyer’s office [but] … more frequently in the tavern with a terrapin under his nose and a wine bottle at his elbow: he fiddles a little and boxes to admiration; wears a costly coat; keeps a mistress, and sometimes a dog; above all can brag of having shot one grouse on the Jersey colings and one man on the Delaware lines. [18] Bolt is thus an apparently successful Philadelphia lawyer who hails from a supposedly well-bred Philadelphia family. Yet he is a man of halves: part genteel cavalier, part vulgar roughneck. Otter notes that in Benjamin Franklin’s Philadelphia, “a strategic display of enterprise might lead to worldly success [as] . . . habits of industry, discipline, and virtue” serve to “secure character.” [19] Bolt, however, particularly in Roslin’s representation of him, destabilizes character in his troubling of any distinction between high and low. Not simply a slumming gentleman, he appears to be downright dangerous: while Bolt engages in genteel pastimes like grouse hunting (albeit with limited success), his shooting a man “on the Delaware lines” might betoken either a refined duelist or an unstable sociopath. Indeed, Roslin’s servant, Nathan Nobody, observes that all aristocratic families of the city are most likely mere whited sepulchers, asserting to his master in the spirit of hearty “republicanism” that whenever he sees one of their coats of arms he can only conclude that “they have formerly . . . had in the family more arms than ears; that their titles are registered in a jail book; that their family house was a dunghill and their tree of genealogy a gallows.” The colorful and dexterous Nobody appears to have learned this sort of leveler’s vision at the theatre, where he also came to appreciate “how a wise man can climb on the shoulders of fools.” [20] In Bird’s variation on Abbott and Costello’s verbal monkeyshines, Nathan Nobody is a Somebody, while the aspirational aristocrats of Philadelphia are the real Nobodies. As mentioned above, it is largely upon the byways and back alleys of the city that Bird’s drama of contestation and shifting selves is played out. The “wearisome regularity,” of Philadelphia’s streets, the “symmetry and discipline” of its gridiron pattern of thoroughfares, are here reworked so as to prepare a common space for emergent and variable identity, the sort of undertaking which Elizabeth Maddock Dillon regards as “the shared terrain … of embodiment and representational force.” [21] Indeed, most of the decisive action of Looking Glass takes place out of doors on the city’s thoroughfares. In the course of the play’s five “street scenes” Roslin and Nathan agree on an undertaking that drives the early action, Bolt flirts indecorously with a series of ladies (bringing on the decisive intervention of the sailor, Tom Taffrail), Diana is rescued by Raleigh after she has taken flight from Bolt, Emma is rescued from Mrs. Gall and Ravin by Roslin, and finally, Nathan is delivered from Ravin’s clutches by Tom Taffrail (thus setting up the play’s concluding action). In the course of such intrigue, Philadelphia is transformed into an utterly unrecognizable landscape – or seascape – of protean, Bosh-like strangeness, perhaps best represented by Tom Taffrail’s indignant retort to Bolt that he is not the only man that has been run foul of by unlawful cruisers in this here cursedty [sic] deceitful town. There’s sharks and swordfish enough, though they keep their heads underwater, to nibble one’s eyes out of his head and run their snouts into one’s keel. I have seen a painted pirate run up into a gentle-man’s headquarters as naturally as into a Spanish West-India harbour [sic]. [22] The good citizens of Philadelphia are here reduced to sinister sea creatures or the keels of renegade corsairs (the latter identification pungent with sexual innuendo)—a comic but nevertheless disquieting depiction that conflates machine with man and beast. Nor is it an arbitrary choice to give these sentiments to Tom. “Seafarers and their families dominated certain parts of the Philadelphia cityscape,” Simon P. Newman reminds us, enjoying “a vibrant and highly visible culture.” While Philadelphia’s sailors “participated in the street politics of the early republic alongside laborers, mechanics, and other working men and women, more than any other group they had witnessed and experienced revolutionary transformations, and they participated in American politics within that context.” [23] A peculiar and pugnacious combination of rube and sea-dog, Tom is also the consummate street performer, belting out a spooky moritat about a murderous sailor and his mistress’ ghost as part of Nobody’s deliverance from Ravin’s clutches. Not only has Bird tapped into and deployed what Newman regards as the self-conscious display that characterized the behavior of Philadelphia’s seafarers, whose “scarred” and “tattooed” bodies vividly “proclaimed their profession,” [24] but he also allows the character who would have most closely been identified with the revolutionary energies of the Atlantic World the power to most memorably re-inscribe the streets of Philadelphia as unsettling sea-lanes of depravity, full of predatory creatures best policed by guileless sailors with powerful fists and strong singing voices. Indeed, fisticuffs are never far off in Bird’s Philadelphia. It is Tom who earlier thrashes Bolt and his cronies when the part-time lawyer assails Diana on a street corner; frightened and angry, she demands vengeance, insisting that her suitor, Mr. Raleigh, “come along and make ready to beat somebody.” “Isn’t this the City of Brotherly Love?” protests the Southern gentleman. [25] It would appear not. In her New World Drama , Elizabeth Maddock Dillon writes of how dramatic texts as well as theatrical performance engender “operations of representation” that oscillate between “riotous disorder and collective consent,” for drama and performance make visible “the possibility of consensus in the making as well as the possibility of . . . dissolving [a] collective sense of meaning . . . into one of noise and riot.” [26] I suggest that The City Looking Glass accomplishes precisely this work: dissolving a consensus image of “the City of Brotherly Love” as an ordered, gentlemanly, Federalist city while proposing another. Bird’s play offers us a Philadelphia at once less-familiar and more frightening—more volatile yet more exuberant—than the metropolis imagined by James Nelson Barker, a rendering that also seems to lure us away from the possibility of consensus. Indeed, the City of Brotherly Love has here become the space of rough-and-tumble and free-for-all, of disorderly “noise and riot.” If Bird’s looking glass may be apprehended in and as the act of performance, those reflections we do not see—or those performances we glimpse only fleetingly—are at least as significant as those that command our fuller attention. Though largely absent from the play, Bird would seem to deploy Philadelphia’s African American population as a further signification of disruption and dissensus at the performative heart of the city’s contested character. Samuel Otter has commented upon Bolt’s humiliation when one of the female passersby he seeks to accost turns out to be a finely-attired African American woman, arguing that staging such a “misalignment between costume and visage, and playing this exposure for shock and laughs” underlines a point of juncture between Bird’s treatment of African Americans in Looking Glass , and Edward W. Clay’s notorious print series, “Life in Philadelphia.” [27] Certainly this moment in the play performs work similar to Clay’s etchings, widely popular and first issued between 1828 and 1830: to mock social posturing amongst the city’s African American population. At the same time, Bird’s text is more multivalent here than we might think, very much as Clay’s print series also seems to have been. Otter reminds us that Clay’s African American caricatures represent “a mixture of class desire and African American satire, in ratios impossible to recover.” [28] This point is further clarified by Christian DuComb, who speaks of Clay’s aquatints as “lampooning the pretentious manners of both whites and blacks . . . [albeit] Clay’s mockery of affluent whites seem[s] comparatively mild.” [29] What is especially interesting about Bolt’s brief encounter with the black woman is that, though finely dressed, she is hardly displaying or performing herself in the way that Bolt and his cronies seem to be: indeed, what first attracts Bolt’s attention is that she “bends her head and walks fast” as she passes by, anxious (most likely) to avoid the attention of these white men. Douglas A. Jones, Jr. has explored the significance of self-display and parade for African Americans during the early years of the nineteenth century, arguing that such phenomena signified that “their (black nation within a) nation existed,” [30] such moments of self-enactment functioned in a sense “as rituals do, in that they aestheticized, formalized, and sustained structures of (national) feeling among their [African American] participants.” [31] Looking Glass may thus be said to undermine and/or deny such moments of efficacious self-display for/to Philadelphia’s African Americans. There is no such “national feeling” in evidence at such a hurried and apparently apprehensive moment. It is Bolt, in fact, whose swaggering self-performance is called to our attention—though such behavior hardly makes a favorable impression here, merely reinforcing (as one of his henchmen would have it) that Bolt “prides himself on being an ignoramus.” [32] Every bit as compelling is the utter absence of African American characters otherwise. The invisibility of the city’s African Americans in Bird’s Looking Glass may very well have been a function of their irreducible visibility in the cultural and political life of contemporary Philadelphia. By the decade of the 1820s, Philadelphia was “the most important center of free blacks in the country, [its] black churches, schools, and mutual aid associations . . . more numerous than any other American city’s.” [33] Such a reality unsettled white historians like John Fanning Watson, who in 1830 lamented that “the aspirings [sic] and little vanities” of contemporary black Philadelphians “have been rapidly growing,” and “while twenty to thirty years ago they were much humbler, [now] they show an overweening fondness for display and vainglory.” [34] The villainous Ravin seems especially perturbed by the city’s blacks, exhibiting a penchant for perceiving Philadelphia itself through the lens of its African American population (perhaps as a reminder of his hailing from less racially heterogenous New Hampshire). Outraged by the behavior of Raleigh, Ravin accuses him of possessing “more impudence than a Philadelphia negro.” [35] Later, in drunken exasperation, he laments to Mrs. Gall that “they allow no nuisances here, except negro class meetings, dogs, and church bells.” [36] Such class meetings did indeed signify to many of Philadelphia’s uniquely visible and influential African American population; ever since clergyman Richard Allen established the first such black communion in Philadelphia in 1786, such class meetings symbolized “equal privileges for blacks,” even as they engendered “recalcitrant white opposition” from the very beginning. [37] Interestingly, in his descriptions of Philadelphia’s blacks, Ravin uses the term “negro”—an appellation that John Fanning Watson reports was no longer favored by the city’s more-assured and self-conscious African Americans, who increasingly preferred to call themselves “coloured” [sic]. [38] It is hard to know whether Ravin’s turn of phrase signifies his own or Bird’s indifference to this preference (or indeed, whether or not Watson is even entirely correct). What is more certain, however, is that Bird’s Looking Glass reflects its author’s (and most likely white Philadelphia’s) ambivalence about its African American population, a population that is at once largely absent from the play as well as inseparable from all the “noise and chaos” inherent in the representation and signification of Philadelphia’s combustible, boisterous, and often-antagonistic urban character. Highway Robbery In City Looking Glass , Ravin arranges for an ersatz kidnapping of Diana so that he himself might “rescue” her from the clutches of his co-conspirator. The plot (which quickly unravels) is set to take place as Diana travels by coach along the Ridge Road. [39] The primary thoroughfare connecting Philadelphia and Reading, the Ridge Road had been in use since the early years of the eighteenth century; it was heavy with traffic in Bird’s day, offering weary travelers a number of inns and fashionable hotels where they might rest after a long day’s journey. It was a dangerous route as well, and in the year following the publication of City Looking Glass , a real incident took place on the Ridge Road that riveted the attention of all of Philadelphia. In the early morning hours of 6 December 1829, the Reading Mail Stage was set upon by three highwaymen named Porter, Poteet, and Wilson. According to contemporary accounts, these men were weavers residing in Northern Liberties, a district at the time that was just outside of the City of Philadelphia. Porter seems to have been the ringleader: he apparently organized the undertaking and it was he who robbed the passengers and rifled through the mailboxes while Wilson and Poteet guarded him with their pistols. [40] Eventually, the three were apprehended; Porter would be tried and executed upon Poteet’s testimony, while Wilson’s sentence was commuted to life imprisonment by President Jackson. These men belonged to Philadelphia’s growing population of Irish immigrants, many of whom resided in Kensington and the Northern Liberties, where they were often employed as semi-skilled handloom weavers. Indeed, tensions in the former neighborhood had already ignited into rioting in 1828, with immigrant Roman Catholic Irish weavers pitted against Protestant American Nativists. [41] Charles Durang speaks of the “unprecedented excitement” in Philadelphia “resulting from the trial and conviction of the three mail robbers” in the spring of 1830, going on to mention that “business at the Walnut Street Theatre had not been very brisk, and it struck [manager] Sam Chapman that to dramatize the subject of this excitement would prove a clever card to attract the audience who then patronized the house.” [42] Called The Mail Robbers , the play would premiere on 10 May of that year. Clearly, the crime struck a chord and Chapman aimed to capitalize. Mrs. Trollope herself notes the “great interest” shown by a number of Philadelphians in the case of “two criminals who had been convicted of robbing the Baltimore [sic] Mail, and who were lying under sentence of death.” She was told that “one of the prisoners [Wilson] was an American, and the other [Porter] an Irishman,” the former convinced that his sentence of death would be commuted. She goes on to report that several of her companions, “in canvassing the subject, declared that if one were hanged and the other spared, [Porter’s] hanging would be a murder and not a legal execution, [as] very nearly all the white men who had suffered death since the Declaration of Independence had been Irishmen.” [43] This sympathy for Porter is perhaps surprising, particularly given the fact that the Philadelphia Saturday Bulletin had described him as a terrifying criminal, “the blackest and most fiendish we ever looked upon,” whose “very childhood exhibited symptoms of a bold, audacious and vindictively wicked disposition, which defied all advice and correction.” [44] The discussion described by Mrs. Trollope reminds us that the production at the Walnut Street was extremely attuned to the obsessions of Philadelphia. Indeed, the fates of Porter and Wilson had yet to be resolved at the time The Mail Robbers was presented; Porter would not be executed until 3 July 1830—about two months after the play’s premiere. While The Mail Robbers , along with Looking Glass , seeks to challenge, redefine, and reconfigure notions of what Philadelphia means and how the city signifies to/for its inhabitants, there is one especially important difference to consider here. The response to the former play is shaped in certain especially significant ways by its performance (the latter play, as mentioned above, seems never to have been staged). In both plays, Philadelphia (and particularly its hinterlands in the case of Mail Robbers ) is a place characterized by real danger, but that danger seems to have been more urgently and unambiguously presented in Mail Robbers— perhaps not surprisingly, given the episodes dramatized here were inspired by true events. As we will see, what is especially interesting is the way in which the real-life and enacted dramas seem to have been to some degree conflated by individuals like Charles Durang, whose History of the Philadelphia Stage provides us with a sense of the peculiar semiotic disruptions that Chapman and his play may have accomplished for audiences of the Quaker City. Once more, the locus for contesting the character of the city and its environs are the streets and byways of the region, as the venerable old Ridge Turnpike becomes a place of mayhem and crime. Federal Philadelphia may have built its primacy upon the port and docks that connected it to the wider Atlantic world; by the beginning of the 1830s, however, Philadelphia’s commercial supremacy as a shipping port was slipping badly, with New York and Baltimore on the rise. Even so, rich deposits of iron and anthracite extracted upstate began to transform Philadelphia into the nation’s primary center of manufacturing. [45] In Mail Robbers , the city’s focus is turned from the Delaware wharves toward the transshipment centers, factories, and coalfields of Schuylkill County and the Lehigh Valley. According to the Columbia Star , Porter was especially interested in setting upon the Reading Mail because it carried valuable goods and well-to-do travelers between Philadelphia and the increasingly-prosperous industrial hubs of Reading and Pottsville. [46] In turning the city toward its own backcountry, Chapman was also offering his audience a kind of anthropological night journey into the wastes of Philadelphia’s contemporary “urban wilderness.” In doing so, his drama would seem to have undermined the ways in which Philadelphia had long sought to deploy its urban and semi-urban green spaces not as signifiers of wastes and danger but as “carefully constructed rural ‘stages’ upon which to perform” itself. [47] Naomi J. Stubbs has argued that it was within and upon “stages” such as the gardens at Gray’s Ferry just across the Schuylkill River, and those located at Vauxhall at Broad and Chestnut streets, that a salubrious “oneness with nature” might be enacted; indeed, by “highlighting those features . . . most clearly conforming to the rural idyll, proprietors [of these sites] capitalized on ideas of rural innocence and its relationship to patriotism through” the enactments of those various entertainments offered at such locations. [48] The rural and semi-rural space that served as the locus for Mail Robbers was apparently reconfigured as savage and terrifying by Chapman and his creative team, however, presenting its audience with a picture of human beings, not as well-pruned cultivars, but as untamed and intractable prodigies of nature and liberty run amok. Yet here it is not simply urban or semi-rural spaces that function as sites of contestation: the actor-manager at the helm of the Walnut Street, the playmaker who had crafted The Mail Robbers, became himself the locus of contested viewings and interpretations. A playbill promoting the drama suggests that Chapman sought to sell the play as a bit of moral edification, for we read that the theatre managers “ever desirous to display vice in its true colors and to show the rising generation the inevitable consequences of crime, have embraced the leading features of the late atrocious mail robbery in forming the present drama.” [49] Durang reports that the play was repeated on the evening after its premiere to “a full pit and gallery,” despite the fact that “the boxes were thin.” [50] This would seem to suggest that responses to the play were divided along class lines, with more respectable and genteel theatregoers turning away from what more robust, populist viewers applauded. Such a conflicted response comes as no surprise when we consider the variety of ways in which Porter and his behavior were understood in Philadelphia, as well as the various ways of reading or viewing Chapman himself. Despite the depiction of Porter in the Philadelphia Saturday Bulletin as little more than a savage, Mrs. Trollope’s companions clearly sympathized with him, as the city’s growing Irish population doubtless did as well. The American Sentinel and Mercantile Advertiser reported that “special constables,” as well as a corps of “Marines from the Navy Yard” were placed on alert the day that Porter met the hangman, as “many persons were apprehensive that [his execution] would be attended with riot,” most likely by Irish immigrants from Kensington and Northern Liberties. [51] Most compelling here, however, is Charles Durang’s response, for he seems to conflate Chapman and Porter while at the same time evaluating both men’s “performances” quite differently. He describes the latter as an Irishman (a stout, thickset man, with a very sinister countenance pitted with the smallpox) [who] seemed to give all the orders to his associates in villainy. He exhibited not only that quality which in an honorable cause would have been called chivalrous bravery, but also, in rifling the passengers, displayed much courtesy and politeness. [52] Durang goes on to report that Porter’s chivalry manifested itself most memorably in his refusal to take a silver watch given to one of the passengers by his mother and that he even went so far as to return a piece of tobacco. Clearly, we are encountering here what Peter P. Reed regards as a fundamental characteristic of the rogue protagonist upon the early American stage: the demonstration of “singular and spectacular outlaw charisma.” [53] What is especially interesting about Durang’s recollection of the crime is that no such behavior is attributed to Porter in the account of the robbery printed in the Columbia Star , where it is Poteet who is said to have returned a watch (supposedly a family heirloom) to one of the passengers, as well as half-dollar to another. Given that his description of the real Porter and the actual crime is offered in the context of a description of The Mail Robbers , one begins to feel that Durang’s recollection of the former may have been shaped by the latter. If so, does this supposed depiction of Porter and his behavior provide us with a rough sense of what Chapman’s Mail Robbers —and the performance of Porter—may have offered audiences? We can do little more than speculate here, but certainly, Durang is much less sanguine about Chapman’s portrayal than Porter’s self-enactment. He is especially critical of Chapman’s “false and trashy, melodramatic coloring,” for while conceding Chapman an “artist in that species of clap-trap drama, . . . the chaste and high behests of Melpomene” being absent from his craft, his acting was merely “pretentious and illusory,” his gifts sufficient only for dramatizing “local subjects of a startling and horrid nature.” [54] The conflation of Porter’s charismatic lowness with Chapman’s less-admirable low style would seem to present Chapman / Porter as what Reed might call “a contested site of cultural valuation,” part of that larger process whereby the stage “transforms the outcasts and conscripts of circum-Atlantic modernity into entertainment.” [55] Indeed, the conflation of Porter and Chapman seems itself to be a function of that “stagey low [which] emerges from and destabilizes the identity formations, collective affiliations, and disciplinary practices of Atlantic modernity.” [56] Further destabilizing rogue representations, however, is the contrast between Durang’s ungenerous assessment of Chapman’s capabilities and what we find elsewhere, particularly when we turn to the reminiscences of Francis C. Wemyss, the British theatre impresario who brought him from Covent Garden to the United States in 1827. [57] Wemyss writes that to his mind Chapman was “a man of varied talent, of much knowledge and a universal favorite,” going on to note that “had he lived, he would have produced an entire revolution in minor American drama.” [58] Unfortunately, Chapman met his demise soon after the premiere of The Mail Robbers —indeed, as a direct result of his staging the play, at least in Durang’s telling. “For the purpose of dramatizing this abhorrent event,” he writes, “Chapman, with his scene painter Wilkins or Harry Isherwood (we forget which) went on horseback to view the spot [where the robbery took place], so as to give an accurate description of its localities.” [59] While at the scene, Chapman was wounded in a fall from his horse; the wound was further infected when later that evening he donned his costume at the Walnut Street—including a brass armor breastplate which he wore against his skin. “Verdigris poisoned the wound,” Durang goes on to report, and Chapman died a few days later, on 16 May. [60] Reinforcing Reed’s sense that presenting the underclass on American stages represents a constant tension between “discipline and unruliness,” [61] it is not especially difficult to read Durang as celebrating Porter’s unruliness while also offering us a tale of stage sensationalism and hack melodrama justifiably disciplined: Chapman the “claptrap” performer is hoist with his own phenomenological petard, the enactment of his unseemly drama leading directly to his demise. However, the question remains, why is Chapman so obviously Durang’s bête noir ? Here we must turn again to the particulars of the Philadelphia stage. Reed writes of how, beginning in the 1820s, “the clubby, personal world of managers and actors who had produced the post-revolutionary generation of theatre had begun to disappear.” [62] In Philadelphia, a development which is sometimes understood as a gradual phenomenon happened with a bang, at a very particular moment. Though Philadelphia was “the emporium of all the regular dramatic talent of the United States” during the 1828–9 theatre season, according to Francis C. Wemyss, “this season was also the most disastrous one ever known; the actors being literally in a state of desperation.” [63] By the end of the season, the three principal theatres of the city (the Chestnut Street, the Arch Street, and the Walnut Street) had closed their doors. William Warren, manager of the venerable Chestnut Street and direct heir of its Federal Era founders, was obliged to surrender his responsibilities to a new management team, consisting of Wemyss himself and Mr. Pratt. William Wood, formerly Warren’s co-manager and himself struggling to helm the tottering Arch Street, wrote subsequently of this crisis as one brought about by over-competition between the three principal theatres, going on to say that the drama “was at sixes and sevens” during the tumultuous 1828-9 season. According to Wood, it is at this moment that the history of the Philadelphia theatre, “that is to say, any history of a continuous and regular management” now “comes to an end,” for there had been “a complete debacle, or breaking up of everything that had been.” [64] The new men who were left standing in the wake of this catastrophe were managers like Wemyss and performers like his protegee, Sam Chapman. Thus, we see how Chapman may have signified the inauguration of a cheaper, tawdrier, less-decorous chapter in the history of the Philadelphia theatre—at least for men like Durang—with Mail Robbers serving as the instrument of Chapman’s subsequent (and not wholly unwelcome) removal from the stage. The Devil and Dr. Foster However, to fully grasp Chapman’s signification upon the Philadelphia stage, we must also understand his role relative to the Walnut Street’s production of an 1830 pantomime entitled Doctor Foster in Philadelphia . As with Mail Robbers , actual events lie very much at the center of the play’s energy and signification: a tale of misrepresentation and theft and naked chutzpah. Here, however, the culprits are not banditti but the impresarios of the Walnut and Arch Street theatres themselves. Similar to what we saw in the Looking Glass , the most memorable episodes of Doctor Foster take place on the street, within the public sphere and the space of public action—though the resolution offered by Foster appears to have been pitched to a different key. If Looking Glass expresses a kind of troubled, admonitory pleasure in the shifting sense of what Philadelphia means, Foster seems all giddy delight as the action winds up – it is a coming out party of sorts in celebration of a civic identity just coming into its own. Likewise, if Mail Robbers allows us to appreciate how the conflation of performance with real event works for Durang and most likely for others to represent both the nobly wicked (Porter) and the opportunistic (Chapman) as receiving their just desserts, Doctor Foster’s resolution is zanier and more explosive. With one stroke, the restoration of order appears to have been presented here as both accomplished and unlikely—perhaps even unhoped for. Doctor Foster grew directly out of what William Wood regards as a self-destructive battle between the city’s primary theatres, in particular the Arch Street and the Walnut Street. Indeed, Doctor Foster was intended in part as an ironic response to rival productions of a pantomime entitled Doctor Faustus ; the Walnut Street’s staging opened on 12 December 1829, the Arch Street’s four days later. There was a bit of skullduggery involved, however, for Durang reports that “the Chapman dynasty” at the helm of the former playhouse infiltrated the Arch Street under the pretense of confraternal solicitude, only to highjack the particulars of that theatre’s much-anticipated production of Faustus and rush the Walnut Street’s staging onto the boards just prior to its rival’s. [65] Durang reports that “public opinion was much divided on the relative merits of the piece as brought out by the two theatres,” though it is clear that he disapproves of Chapman’s decision to “reciprocate those marks of civility” extended to him on the part of the Arch Street management by “literally uprooting” its staging of the pantomime and transposing it to the Walnut Street. [66] Clearly, this was not the sort of “regular” and gentlemanly management that was said to have long-characterized the Philadelphia theatre, and whose loss is so bemoaned by William Wood above. Unsurprisingly, Francis Wemyss represents Chapman’s actions quite differently, arguing that his protegee’s gambit “was a fair business rivalry for which S. Chapman deserves great credit,” for “he reaped, by promptitude, the reward that belonged to [Arch Street manager] Philips.” [67] Once more, we see the Philadelphia stage and its rival theatres at the heart of Philadelphia’s self-enactment, for it seems to have been impossible for audiences to view either staging of Faustus without also seeing the performance of the city’s leading cultural institutions as themselves being indissolubly part of the drama. This point becomes even more clear when we consider that the Walnut Street also presented, on the same evening as the eleventh performance of Faustus (25 th December), an historical melodrama entitled William Penn; or the Elm Tree . Durang seems to regard this staging of Philadelphia and its past as a kind of antidote to the unsavoriness of the Faustus affair (though Chapman appeared in the play as the Quaker, Hickory Old Bay), conflating its romantic evocation of a bygone age with nostalgia for his own youth. All the local scenes in and adjacent to our city wherein … Penn’s first interview with the Indians occurred were accurately taken and beautifully painted. The Great Elm Tree (under whose wide-spreading branches we have passed in our boyhood), the ship Welcome floating under the bank of the Delaware, reposing … under the shadows of the majestic elm, were all very beautifully depicted. [68] Durang subsequently goes on to argue that “the representation of such historical subjects … impresses the mind with a love of country and brings pleasant memories back to the mind of age,” even as the Philadelphia stage here becomes “a normal institution to impart moral lessons in relaxation.” [69] We thus see in those dramatic offerings presented at the Walnut Street on Christmas night of 1829 contested representations of what Philadelphia is, contested representations of the work accomplished by its cultural institutions. Once more, Otter’s characteristic “set of rhetorical instabilities” is reconfigured here as a set of performative instabilities, as Philadelphia’s “spatial complexities and local urgencies” compel its dramatists to present the city “as an event, [as] the place where . . . civic identity [was] forged while the country and a transatlantic audience watched.” [70] William Penn also seems to have something in common with one of Stubbs’s several pleasure gardens: spaces on the cusps of things where cultural identity, “being intrinsically tied to the rural idyll, [to] simplicity, and innocence” feels itself to be challenged and even “supplanted by increasingly urban and modern ideas.” [71] It is this tension between rural simplicity and urban modernity—not to mention a related tension between the idealizing mission of art and its more subversive, populist vitality—that is on full display when we consider the double bill of William Penn and Doctor Faustus relative to the staging a few months later, of Doctor Foster in Philadelphia . The latter, which opened on 23 rd March 1830, is described as a “local burlesque parody” [72] of the Faustus tale, and represents a celebratory fortissimo relative to the symphony of unfolding, disruptive, and insurgent energies that we have been exploring. Certainly, there was nothing new in a burlesque treatment of Faustus , nor in the resituating of the good doctor’s medieval career within a bustling, contemporary metropolis; such treatments were already familiar to London theatre-goers, who had seen their first Faustus harlequinade as early as 1723. [73] What is unique about the Walnut Street’s treatment, however, is its determination to deploy the form as a way of seeing and enacting Philadelphia itself, utilizing as it does the sudden transformations and visual sleights-of-hand so characteristic of pantomime to destabilize any representation of the city as the gentlemanly, “distressingly regular” metropolis so famously bemoaned by Charles Dickens about a decade later. [74] The action begins in an “old times suburban schoolhouse in the vicinity of Philadelphia,” where Dr. Foster (played by Sam Chapman’s brother, William) first raises Mephistopheles, quickly shifting to “a view of the old Hall of Independence” peopled with “political loafers and office seekers.” Here a parade of rowdies apparently spoofed a popular song, “March, March, March Along Chestnut Street,” the scene reducing to ridicule one of the city’s most solemn sites, especially once a huckster appears to hawk Swain’s Panacea to “ladies, negroes, cripples and . . . Siamese boys.” [75] It is fairly easy to understand such a “graphic and miraculous representation” of lowlifes and the urban hoi polloi as an instance of what Dillon describes as “the local and embodied nature of the performative commons,” an embodiment imparting to an otherwise-invisible populace the enduring force of “possibilities . . . that can be mobilized at the site of ontic and mimetic intersection . . . in scenes of dissensus and epistemic disruption.” [76] In fact, what Durang calls “the old Hall of Independence”—a kind of national “performative commons”—had only quite recently been awarded this illustrious sobriquet, for it was the Marquis de Lafayette’s visit to the site upon his grand tour of the United States in 1824 that helped to shape the Philadelphia public’s growing awareness of the city’s history. As Nicholas Wainwright has noted, Lafayette’s official reception in the East Room of the State House brought the building itself “which had hitherto been accorded little reverence,” to the attention of the guarantors of Philadelphia’s cultural patrimony. [77] On that day a parade very different from the one described in Durang’s account of Doctor Foster passed before the State House. Beneath a triumphal arch some 24 feet high marched Lafayette’s military escort: 4000 cavalrymen, infantrymen, artillerists, and riflemen, along with 150 veterans of the Revolutionary War and a number of floats carrying several hundred cord-winders, rope-makers, weavers, shipbuilders, butchers, and coopers. [78] While few in the audience would have experienced the events of 1776, Lafayette’s parade had taken place less than six years before Doctor Foster was presented and would have thus been very much alive in civic memory. The parade of loafers and office-seekers, of hucksters and mountebanks and cripples, thus conflates, undermines, and destabilizes several of the most celebrated moments in Philadelphia civic memory by reclaiming the “performative commons,” while at the same time deflating the aesthetic aspirations of the Doctors Faustus presented just a few months earlier. High culture and momentous history are here reduced to dispute and ridicule, even as such ridicule opens up a space for an irreverent, and impertinent present—a present (and a city) that increasingly prided itself on a refusal to stand on ceremony. A subsequent transformation then hurls Foster into the midst of what we have already discovered to function as a signifier of robust, “chaotic,” and decidedly contemporary Philadelphia: an African American scene—specifically a religious meeting quickly expanding into a euphoric, disorderly “general melee.” [79] While we have only Durang’s performance reconstruction to work from, it would seem rather easy here to apply the lens offered to us by Eric Lott when attempting to grasp the multivalent semiotics of such a moment. This church celebration presided over by a “sable gemman” [sic] invites the Walnut Street’s predominately white audience both to participation and derision, to “disavowal or ridicule of the Other” as well as to “an interracial identification with it” [80] —the “Other” in this case almost certainly white actors in blackface, further destabilizing any one definitive reading of this performative moment. Despite the difficulty of determining Durang’s particular attitude here (patronizing affection or ridicule are only two options), the deployment of what Douglas A. Jones, Jr. has called “linguistic incompetence” in his description of the religious meeting (“sable gemman”) would seem to reinforce the “belief that African Americans were inherently lacking as speaking subjects and therefore unqualified for full freedom in the increasingly modern world.” [81] As Jones, Jr. points out, in the absence of slavery, culture was deployed by white Northerners as a strategy for keeping African Americans captive in a realm of “existential indeterminacy.” [82] Given the relatively large size of Philadelphia’s African American population, not to mention the city’s proximity to the slave-owning Southern states (the city’s upper classes were dominated by Copperheads), [83] such a strategy was particularly and characteristically fraught in the Quaker City. In the midst of such a discussion, it is difficult not to think of Pavel Petrovich Svinin’s famous rendering of Philadelphia’s Black Methodists Holding a Prayer Meeting , executed in watercolor and pen and ink sometime around 1813. This outdoor scene is equal parts ebullience and chaos; its depiction of the celebrants in what would appear to be a contagious moment of communal spiritual ecstasy is equal parts ridicule and fascination – the artist both identifying with and determinedly distancing himself from his subjects. Svinin thus may be said to refract and to reiterate Jones, Jr.’s “existential indeterminacy” in this work. With much less to go on, Durang’s tone (as well as Doctor Foster’s ) may very well reflect a similar fluidity, accomplishing the work of the “captive stage” in the slippery space between ridicule and subversive high-spirits, between racist mimicry and patronizing fascination. In the following scene, after Foster has escaped from the Arch Street Prison (where he had been incarcerated for attacking a local politician), we find ourselves on Prune Street, “next to the old jail wall,” where Foster “appears as Colonel Pluck of the Bloody Eighty-Fourth Regiment.” [84] This is a particularly dense moment of the pantomime, one which we can only understand by situating it within the city’s particular past and present. The “old jail wall” on Prune Street where Foster finds himself doubtless belongs to what was known as the Walnut Street Penitentiary, a structure that extended from Walnut to Prune Street and from Fifth Street to Sixth. Established in 1773, the prison had been subsequently transformed “from a simple holding place for those awaiting trial . . . into a place and instrument of punishment and reformation in and of itself, wherein the minds and bodies of criminals might be attuned to responsible work.” [85] In new construction undertaken in the 1790s, it was specified that there be added cells “for separate and solitary confinement,” thus inaugurating what would become perhaps the most distinctive feature of the so-called Pennsylvania System of prison reform. [86] The Arch Street Prison from which Foster has escaped represented a subsequent (and failed) attempt at reform; inaugurated in 1823, it proved a notoriously disagreeable place whose inmates suffered from an outbreak of cholera just weeks after the prison was opened. Peter P. Reed has commented upon the ways in which theatrical forms, and pantomime in particular, were put to use in the early Republic, pointing out how such entertainments allowed the “stagey low” to emerge from and destabilize “identity formations” and “disciplinary practices of Atlantic modernity.” [87] Here Doctor Foster deploys the quick transitions and transformations characteristic of pantomime to destabilize the often-misplaced idealism and moral pretentiousness that compromised Pennsylvania penal reform in the fraught transition from theory to praxis. Neither the Arch Street nor the Walnut Street prisons can contain nor forestall the hijinks of the protean Dr. Foster (at once a Philadelphia schoolteacher, Doctor Faustus himself, and now Colonel Pluck) as the sheer performative gusto of the character makes him impervious to imprisonment and utterly resistant to the sort of “responsible work” that the penal system was supposed to engender in all those who were locked away. Instead of turning to thrift and industry, Foster turns to mock aria, belting out “It’s my Delight to Learn Them to Write in our City,” before the scene shifts “slap dash” to yet another exterior, where Foster raises visions of specters from steamy washtubs. [88] Disciplinary practices (and institutions) are not for him. Foster’s appearance as Colonel Pluck also situates the pantomime as an act of phenomenological vandalism carried out against Philadelphia’s decorous, gentlemanly self-image as propagated and circulated by the city’s elite. Since the passage of the Militia Act in 1792, Philadelphia workingmen had bristled at the requirement that all able-bodied white males between the ages of eighteen and forty-five serve with local, self-governing militia detachments. While elite volunteer units (disparagingly called “Silk Stocking Companies”) formed the upper tier of Pennsylvania’s militia during the first half of the nineteenth century, the public militia companies ranked far below these in civic esteem. All eligible men unable to afford private company membership were required to enroll in such public companies, where they could expect only the poorest sort of training, often at the hands of indifferent or incompetent officers. Taken from work without compensation and often fined for non-compliance, these men also had to equip themselves at their own expense. [89] The Northern Liberties 84 th Regiment was one such company, and in 1825 its members elected John Pluck, a hostler or perhaps a tavern keeper described in contemporary accounts as bow-legged and hunchbacked, as their colonel. On Muster Day, in an attempt to “irritate middlebrow spectators with a drawn-out parody of the militia system,” [90] Pluck led the men of the 84 th in what the Saturday Evening Post described as a “Grand Military Farce.” [91] He was “mounted on a spavined white nag, behatted with a huge chapeau-de-bras , [and] a . . . woman’s bonnet . . . burlap pants clinched up with a belt and enormous buckle [as well as] a giant sword parodying ceremonial military dress.” [92] Pluck quickly became a national celebrity, appearing on stages in New York, Boston, Providence, Albany, and Richmond before returning to Philadelphia and finding himself court-martialed. Sean DuComb tells us that the erstwhile Colonel’s “name and likeness circulated widely for more than a decade after his national tour,” though by 1832 Pluck would undergo a transformation from an “agent of parody” into “an object of contempt, [a] symbol of racialized disorder” conflated with African American organizers of annual parades anticipating (and later celebrating) the abolition of slavery in the British West Indies. [93] Intriguingly, Doctor Foster seems to represent Colonel Pluck in mid-career, a parody of Philadelphia elite pretension and “Silk Stocking” affectedness rather than a burlesque of African American aspiration (indeed, the only musical number that is not explicitly identified as a parody in Durang’s description of Doctor Foster is a serenade performed on the Kent Bugle by Philadelphia’s celebrated African-American maestro, Frank Johnson). Here an 1825 Muster Day lampoon of proud militiamen on display is replicated onstage (rather in the manner of Richard Schechner’s “twice-behaved behavior”) to produce both a simulacrum of an earlier event as well as a further destabilization of aristocratic Philadelphia at the hands of the “stagey low.” In eighteenth-century afterpieces like The Necromancer , as John O’Brien points out, when Harlequin Faustus is at last taken to Hell, a convocation of pagan deities typically arrives for a concluding masque, the presence of the gods “a sign that order has been restored to a cosmos disrupted by [Faustus’] illicit magic.” [94] When Dr. Foster is carried off to the infernal regions, however, the effect and intention seem very different, the audience enjoying a grand and most sudden ingenious change of [Carter’s Livery Stables] into frying pandemonium. Chorus of fryers, bakers, brewers, bailers, roasters, stewards and broilers [crying] “Put him in the pot & make him hot. Hot pot, make him hot.” [95] The Walnut Street’s burlesque refuses us a sense of order restored from on high. For it is not the gods, but a combustible and uproarious gang of kitchen laborers who take the stage—managing to punish Foster while at the same time declining to resolve the silliness and visual anarchy of the evening into anything like regularity and order. We are left here in a space halfway between charivari and street party, a space where “anything can happen and it probably will”— Hellzapoppin’ on the streets of the Quaker City. Indeed, Durang’s closing remarks concerning the play point to the final transformation that Doctor Foster was able to accomplish. “This truly ridiculous burlesque upon the drama of ‘Faustus,’ the production of which had caused so much bitter rivalry between the Arch and the Walnut houses, to both of their detriment, now created much fun and laughter.” [96] The play reimagines Philadelphia itself as a kind of urban Cockaigne, a chaotic city of grotesque yet thoroughly delightful anarchic misrule and semiotic plenitude—exorcizing the specter of morally edifying (and financially ruinous) high drama from both the Arch Street and the Walnut Street houses, clearing a space on the Philadelphia stage for the delight of the masses rather than their moral edification. We are here a long way indeed from Penn’s Greene Country Town, from his Great Elm Tree, and from the good ship Welcome , just as we are a long way from the street scenes created by William Russell Birch—from a city characterized by nostalgia, genteel regularity, and a “prosaic despotism of right angles.” In the Philadelphia of Sam Chapman and Robert Montgomery Bird, a city that had only just begun to see and to perform itself as such, the angles are forever crooked and the conduct provocatively irregular. Conclusion When Philadelphia audiences of the early Jacksonian era beheld for the first time their (very contemporary) city reflected back to them from the stages of Philadelphia’s several playhouses, they encountered something deliberately other than the rural idyll of Penn’s Holy Experiment as well as something deliberately alternative to the eighteenth-century Shrine of Liberty. The civic culture of the Quaker City was at an inflection point, and Philadelphians went to the theatre in part to experience the reworking, the re-presentation, of that civic identity in performative time. What they found was a heterogenous and volatile, dangerous yet exuberantly modern metropolis—a place of “noise and riot” characterized by depravity and violence as well as by a raw and free-wheeling absurdity, by the grotesque as well as the gleeful. Indeed, plays like Mail Robbers and Doctor Foster in Philadelphia invited audiences to apprehend not just the “stagy low” but the theatres themselves as sites where contemporaneity was being constructed—with the playhouses and their managers often engaged in self-referential sleights-of-hand. Here the relationship between signified and signifier becomes a shifty and promiscuous one, whether deliberately (dueling Doctor Faustus productions become the singular travesty of Doctor Foster , with Philadelphia and her theatres themselves as protagonists), or by semiotic happenstance (an actor-manager suffers a mortal blow for the crime of bad taste, while the somehow nobler though more dangerous Porter who inspired his performance faces execution on the gallows). For its part, Robert Montgomery Bird’s City Looking Glass seems to have inaugurated the sort of semiotic rough-and-tumble characteristic of a thoroughly reimagined urban-cultural landscape. Here we find ourselves for the first time in a space where Quaker earnestness and solemnity dissolve into the outrageous and the preposterous, where street scenes reveal neither “wearisome regularity” nor patriot parades but instead crooked alleyways peopled by morally-misshapen lowlifes whose machinations drive the action of the play and who seem intent upon finishing off once and for all any lingering sense of Philadelphia propriety or the idealism that supposedly characterized the city’s founding. Consensus becomes dissensus, with Philadelphia placed on display as a site for the contestation of identities. The City of Brotherly Love had stepped through the looking glass, and the streets now firmly belonged neither to sober Square Toes nor to stalwart patriots, but to the rascals, the reprobates and the scoundrels. References [1] Gary B. Nash, First City: Philadelphia and the Forging of Historical Memory (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002), 124. [2] Ibid., 109. [3] Ibid., 8-9. [4] Bird, City Looking Glass (Philadelphia: 1828), 4. [5] Ibid. [6] “A Mirror of the Times: A History of the Mirror Metaphor in Journalism” Journalism Studies , vol. 12, no. 5 (2011): 578. [7] Samuel Otter, Philadelphia Stories: America’s Literature of Race and Freedom (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 8. [8] Ibid. [9] Ibid. [10] Francis Courtney. Wemyss, Twenty-Six Years of the Life of an Actor and Manager (New York: Burgess, Stringer and Co., 1847), 84–5. [11] Peter P. Reed, Rogue Performances: Staging the Underclasses in Early American Theatre Culture (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 133. [12] Ibid., 137. [13] Otter, Philadelphia Stories , 11. [14] Trollope, Domestic Manners of the Americans (New York: Alfred K. Knopf, 1949), 260–61. [15] Hamilton, Men and Manners in America (New York: Augustus M. Keeley, 1968), 337–38. [16] Otter, Philadelphia Stories , 73. [17] Bird, City Looking Glass , 6. [18] Ibid., 66. [19] Otter, Philadelphia Stories , 88. [20] Bird, City Looking Glass , 18. [21] Elizabeth Maddock Dillon, New World Drama: The Performative Commons in the Atlantic World, 1649 – 1849 (Durham: Duke University Press, 2014), 3. [22] Bird. City Looking Glass , 114. [23] Simon Newman, Embodied History: The Lives of the Poor in Early Philadelphia (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), 122–3. [24] Ibid. [25] Bird, City Looking Glass , 48. [26] Ibid., 49. [27] Otter, Philadelphia Stories , 105–6. [28] Ibid., 87. [29] Christian DuComb, Haunted City: Three Centuries of Racial Impersonation in Philadelphia (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2017), 60. [30] Douglas A. Jones, Jr., The Captive Stage: Performance and the Proslavery Imagination of the Antebellum North (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2014), 34. [31] Ibid. [32] Bird, City Looking Glass , 45. [33] Nash, First City , 147. [34] John Fanning Watson, Annals of Philadelphia: Being a Collection of Memoirs, Anecdotes, and Incidents of the City and Its Inhabitants (Philadelphia: 1830), 479. [35] Bird, City Looking Glass , 30. [36] Ibid., 52. [37] Gayard Wilmore, ed., African American Religious Studies: An Interdisciplinary Anthology (Durham: Duke University Press, 1989), 7. [38] Watson, Annals of Philadelphia , 479. [39] Bird, City Looking Glass , 21. [40] Columbia Star and Christian Index (Philadelphia: 15 May 1830), 318. [41] Michael Feldberg, The Philadelphia Riots of 1844: A Study of Ethnic Conflict (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1975), 4, 13. [42] Charles Durang, The Philadelphia Stage from 1749 – 1850 (Philadelphia: Philadelphia Sunday Dispatch, 1854-55), vol. III, 243. [43] Trollope, Domestic Manners of the Americans , 286. [44] Philadelphia Saturday Bulletin . INCOMPLETE CITATION, (Philadelphia: 15 May h , 1830). [45] Nash, First City , 157. [46] Columbia Star and Christian Index. INCOMPLETE CITATION, 318. [47] Naomi J. Stubbs, Cultivating National Identity through Performance: American Pleasure Gardens and Entertainment (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 54. [48] Ibid. [49] Quoted in Durang, The Philadelphia Stage , vol. III, 275. [50] Ibid. [51] American Sentinel and Mercantile Advertiser (Philadelphia: 3 July 1830). [52] Durang, The Philadelphia Stage , vol. III, 243. [53] Reed, Rogue Performances , 10. [54] Durang, The Philadelphia Stage , vol. III, 243. [55] Reed, Rogue Performances , 5. [56] Ibid. [57] Oscar Weglin, Early American Plays, 1774 – 1830: A Compilation of the Titles of Plays and Dramatic Poems Written by Authors Born or Residing in North America Previous to 1830 (New York: The Literary Collector Press, 1905), 21. [58] Francis Courtney Wemyss, Theatrical Biography, or The Life of an Actor Manager (Glasgow: Griffin & Co., 1848), 160. [59] The Philadelphia Stage , vol. III, 243. [60] Ibid. [61] Reed. Rogue Performances , 186. [62] Ibid., 15. [63] Wemyss, Theatrical Biography , 153. [64] William Wood, Personal Recollections of the Stage (Philadelphia: Henry Carey Baird, 1855), 353. [65] Durang, The Philadelphia Stage , vol. III, 266. [66] Ibid. [67] Wemyss, Theatrical Biography , 154. [68] Durang, The Philadelphia Stage , vol. III, 271. [69] Ibid. [70] Otter, Philadelphia Stories , 14. [71] Stubbs, Cultivating National Identity through Performance , 59. [72] Durang, The Philadelphia Stage , vol. III, 271. [73] John O’Brien, Harlequin Britain: Pantomime and Entertainment, 1600 – 1760 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), 110. [74] Charles Dickens, American Notes for General Circulation , ed. Patricia Ingham (New York: Penguin, 2000), 104. [75] Durang, The Philadelphia Stage , vol. III, 271. [76] Dillon, New World Drama , 29–30. [77] Nicholas B. Wainwright, “The Age of Nicholas Biddle: 1825–1841” in Philadelphia: a 300-Year History, ed. Russell F. Weigley (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1982), 301. [78] Rosemarie K. Bank, Theatre Culture in America , 1825–1860 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 14. [79] Durang, The Philadelphia Stage , vol. III, 271. [80] Eric Lott, Love and Theft: Blackface Minstrelsy and the American Working Class (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 124. [81] Jones, Jr., The Captive Stage , 49. [82] Ibid. [83] Nash., First City , 231. [84] The Philadelphia Stage , vol. III, 271. [85] Newman, Embodied History , 10. [86] LeRoy B. DePuy, “The Walnut Street Prison: Pennsylvania’s First Penitentiary.” Pennsylvania History: A Journal of Mid-Atlantic Studies . vol. 18, no. 2 (1951): 131. [87] Reed, Rogue Performances , 5. [88] Durang, Philadelphia Stage , vol III, 271. [89] Nash, First City , 201. [90] DuComb, Haunted City: Three Centuries of Racial Impersonation in Philadelphia (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2017), 90. [91] Saturday Evening Post . (Philadelphia: INCOMPLETE CITATION AND DATE FORMAT 21 May, 1825). [92] Susan G. Davis, “The Career of Colonel Pluck: Folk Drama and Public Protest in 19 th Century Philadelphia,” Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography , vol. 109 no. 2 (April 1985): 188. [93] Ducomb, Haunted City , 89–91. [94] O’Brien, Harlequin Britain , 110. [95] Durang, The Philadelphia Stage , vol. III, 271. [96] Ibid. Footnotes About The Author(s) RAYMOND SARACENI teaches in the Center for Liberal Education at Villanova University. He is a company member of Iron Age Theatre and holds a Ph.D. in drama from Tufts University. Journal of American Drama & Theatre JADT publishes thoughtful and innovative work by leading scholars on theatre, drama, and performance in the Americas – past and present. Provocative articles provide valuable insight and information on the heritage of American theatre, as well as its continuing contribution to world literature and the performing arts. Founded in 1989 and previously edited by Professors Vera Mowry Roberts, Jane Bowers, and David Savran, this widely acclaimed peer reviewed journal is now edited by Dr. Benjamin Gillespie and Dr. Bess Rowen. Journal of American Drama and Theatre is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents - Current Issue “An Art for Which There Is as Yet No Name.” Mobile Color, Artistic Composites, Temporal Objects The Anti-Victorianism of Victorian Revivals Tricks, Capers, and Highway Robbery: Philadelphia Self-Enactment upon the Early Jacksonian Stage “The Spirit of the Thing is All”: The Federal Theatre’s Staging of Medieval Drama in the Los Angeles Religious Community The Queer Nuyorican: Racialized Sexualities and Aesthetics in Loisaida Rise Up! 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Dan Venning Back to Top Untitled Article References Copy of References Authors Keep Reading < Back Journal of American Drama & Theatre Volume Issue 33 1 Visit Journal Homepage "Ya Got Trouble, My Friend, Right Here": Romanticizing Grifters in American Musical Theatre Dan Venning By Published on December 10, 2020 Download Article as PDF Grifters. Flim-flammers. Matchstick men. Confidence men. [1] These are only a few of the many exotic and perhaps amusing-sounding names for those who spin the truth and perpetrate frauds on unsuspecting victims. There’s a certain charm to the concept of the con artist, as hinted at in the term “artist,” suggesting that there is an art of the con—at least in fiction, or in the abstract. As evidenced by classic films like The Sting (1973), Ocean’s Eleven (1960, 2001), and Catch Me If You Can (2002), the character of the grifter is often depicted as charming, sympathetic, fun, or glamorous. Perhaps that is part of the reason we wound up with a con man in the White House. Many Americans consistently root for the con man even in the real world. President Donald J. Trump’s very admission of being a confidence man is what leads his supporters towards this trope, since this is precisely what he has done, repeatedly. In the Access Hollywood tape where he admitted to sexual assault, he said “when you’re a star, they’ll let you get away with anything.” It’s the “get away with it” that I’m focusing on here—by deploying the trope of the con man, Trump doesn’t even have to pretend he’s honest. And he knows it: “I could stand in the middle of 5th Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose voters,” he said on the campaign trail. And this is nothing new for him: he’s been a shark for decades. He ends his (ghostwritten) book, Trump: The Art of the Deal (his name is indeed part of the title) by proudly describing how he obtained his private plane for a price that was less than a third of what it was actually worth. Then he goes on to promise that soon he will stop negotiating and scamming: “I’ve spent the first twenty years of my working life building, accumulating…the biggest challenge I see over the next twenty years is to figure out some creative ways to give back some of what I’ve gotten.” [2] For a true grifter like Trump, the promised reformation is always in the future, or imaginary; all that’s real is the egotism of the scam. Chuck Klosterman, the American pop culture essayist, writes about the viciousness of con artists in the chapter “Villains Who are Not Villains” in his book I Wear the Black Hat . Klosterman describes the American pop mythologizing of con artists as “people who—in theory—are bad citizens and social pariahs,” but also “charismatic.” He notes that the American con story usually involves a character who “has complex feelings about taking money from strangers,” who is “never as immoral as the person he works with,” and whose “marks” (those the con artist dupes) bear a great deal of the blame because “you can’t con an honest man.” But Klosterman also acknowledges that this is a false picture: those who have encountered real con artists know that they can destroy lives—the romanticized vision “is not something that’s true; it’s only something we believe.” [3] The con artist is especially prominent in American cultural studies. This makes sense, since the grifter is simply the fraudulent extreme of the salesman, and, as evidenced from both literary and historical figures, the salesman and the “American Dream” he hawks live at the heart of the imagination of the American capitalist marketplace. In his autobiography, Benjamin Franklin articulates a rhetoric of bootstrapping virtue, in which hard work, honesty, and righteousness can promise any American a comfortable life. In his showy The Art of Money Getting , P. T. Barnum positions integrity and commercial success as almost interchangeable, arguing for the monetary worth of everything from circumspect communication to charitable giving. In works such as these, we see the American Dream sold—as the art of selling. As Scott A. Sandage argues in Born Losers: A History of Failure in America , in the nineteenth century, this ideology came to be cemented as an American cultural principle: a human being’s worth (and especially a man’s masculine virtue) could be tied to their financial success: those who fail to make money suffer from some moral deficiency, and those who don’t strive for riches in the first place are even worse. [4] Under this perverse logic, Charlie Brown and Willy Loman are not the victims of their own faith in an American Dream that simply isn’t attainable to everyone, but are sad sacks who deserve to be ridiculed. And in such a rubric, Mark Twain’s The Duke and The King, the con men from Huckleberry Finn who pose as heirs to claim inheritances from deceased persons they don’t know and who eventually sell Jim back into slavery, are not villainous entertainers, but somehow come to deserve the money that they swindle from the gullible. Recently, The New Yorker ’s Jia Tolentino posited con artistry as the core aesthetic of American identity; “scamming seems to have become the dominant logic of American life,” she wrote in 2018, later expanding her argument in her book Trick Mirror to claim that grifting is “the story of a generation” and that millennials have “been raised from adolescence to . . . adulthood on a relentless demonstration that scamming pays.” [5] Indeed, such romanticizing of the figure of the grifter is as prevalent in the American musical theatre as it is in American cinema, politics, literature, and the sort of pop culture about which Klosterman and Tolentino write. At the same time, the figure of the con artist has not been adequately studied within the field of musical theatre studies, despite the fact that numerous studies of this genre argue that musicals are key to the development of American national identity—and to the personal identities of both mainstream and marginalized Americans. [6] As David Savran has argued, the Broadway musical is itself a particularly American form precisely because of its “cultural instability” born from its melding of a variety of genres and both “popular and elite cultures,” its innovations and revisions that constitute reflection “upon the history of popular entertainments in the United States, from minstrelsy to hip-hop,” and its deployment of both conservative cultural nostalgia and progressive utopianism. [7] This article thus contributes to parallel discussions of what it means to “be an American” by drawing a connection between American cultural studies and studies in American musical theatre. There are numerous examples of con artists in American musicals. Even The Duke and The King have appeared on Broadway, in Big River (1985), Roger Miller and William Hauptmann’s musical adaptation of Huckleberry Finn . Mark Bramble, Michael Stewart, and Cy Coleman brought Barnum (1980) to Broadway, allowing the great impresario himself to take advantage of the suckers born every minute. Cons are central plot points in some of the most significant works of musical theatre history: Gaylord Ravenal in Show Boat (1927) and Sky Masterson in Guys and Dolls (1950) are both gamblers who win the affection of a trusting woman through trickery, as does the titular character in Rodgers and Hart’s Pal Joey (1940). Rodgers and Hammerstein deploy the less-than-honest salesman as comic relief through figures such as Ali Hakim in Oklahoma! (1943) and Luther Billis in South Pacific (1949). A monograph-length study tracking the full development of the trope of grifters in musical theatre would certainly be possible, looking at these figures and others. To name only a few: Bialystock and Bloom in The Producers (2001), Oscar Diggs (the Wizard) in Wicked (2003), Elders Price and Cunningham in The Book of Mormon (2011), the murderous Monty in A Gentleman’s Guide to Love & Murder (2012), and the main characters in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (2004). Considering all of these examples from the so-called “golden age” of mid-twentieth century American musical theatre to the present, it is reasonable to interrogate what it is about American culture, and what it is about musical theatre, that makes these characters so prevalent. Examining the ways these characters are celebrated in song on stage allows us more effectively to understand the ways American culture venerates con artists, despite the actual harm they cause. In this article, I argue that musical con artists embody an extreme lionization of American individualism, becoming emblematic of the ways in which our culture wants to understand, forgive, or even idolize those who take advantage of others, precisely because grifters maintain their status as empathetic subjects, even—or perhaps especially—as they turn people and communities into objectified marks. The charm of the con artist is the charm of the individual. Part of the project of being a confidence man is the ability to maintain control of the narrative about oneself, constantly redefining and transforming the self as an individual in opposition to broader, undifferentiated groups of people who will be conned. As Lin-Manuel Miranda articulates in the final song of Hamilton (2015), “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?,” which is in a sense a celebration of historiography: who constructs the record matters. [8] The con man maintains that control of the narrative about himself—transforming from a villain into a savior, from a victimizer into a sympathetic hero. As examples of this celebration of the grifter in the American imaginary, I focus on three examples in the canon of American musical theatre—from the 1950s golden age of the form to today: Harold Hill in The Music Man (1957), Starbuck in 110 in the Shade (1963), and the title character in Dear Evan Hansen (2015). The con artist Harold Hill is the hero of Meredith Willson’s golden age musical The Music Man —which beat West Side Story for the Tony Award for Best Musical in 1958. Bill Starbuck, who sells pipe dreams of water in N. Richard Nash, Harvey Schmidt, and Tom Jones’s musical 110 in the Shade (based on Nash’s play The Rainmaker , from 1954), is ultimately depicted not as a predator but as a primal spirit of romantic—albeit not practical—passion. I utilize these first two shows because they place con artistry front-and-center in their plots: the grift isn’t secondary, at the service of a romantic narrative, or as a comic subplot. Furthermore, both The Music Man and 110 in the Shade are paragons of the mid-twentieth century book musical form, what some critics including Mark N. Grant, Raymond Knapp, John Kenrick, Larry Stempel, and others have labeled the golden age of musical theatre, before conceptual innovations in the form that began in the late twentieth century. [9] And in Dear Evan Hansen , the title character, a high school student who reaps immense social profit by spreading a lie, is never portrayed as a victimizer but instead as a sympathetic figure whose misdeeds must ultimately be forgiven and forgotten. Dear Evan Hansen is a crucial example because as an extremely recent Broadway hit, with numerous Tonys and an immense popular following, the show demonstrates that the trope remains currently in full force. Focusing on these three specific examples also allows me to examine three different types of grifters. Harold Hill is essentially a rip-off artist. Like Max Bialystock from The Producers , this type of con artist plans to provide a product that is no good or unusable. Hill is actually selling instruments and uniforms and a real musical is indeed created within The Producers , but the rip-off artist knows—and even hopes—that the community to which he sells this dud will get nothing out of it. Starbuck represents the second type. He is the classic snake-oil salesman: part evangelist but wholly a huckster, this type draws upon the conventions of a preacher to promise a salvation (in which he does not believe) but that the community he swindles desperately needs. The title character in Gantry (1970), faith healer Jonas Nightingale in Leap of Faith (2012) and Elder Price in The Book of Mormon use actual religion; but others like Masterson in Guys and Dolls or Freddy Benson, Lawrence Jameson, and “The Jackal” in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels use the promise of romance. Even Ali Hakim, who pretends laudanum is a “magic potion,” is an example of this type. In some respects, the blatant hypocrisy of this type, of which Starbuck proves a particularly nefarious example, makes him even more vicious than rip-off artists like Hill. The third type is in some ways the most morally complex. He is a precocious or developing con artist, and we watch him transition from an earnest young man into someone able and willing to con his whole world. Evan Hansen falls into this type, as do J. Pierrepont Finch from How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying (1961), Leo Bloom in The Producers , and Elder Cunningham in The Book of Mormon . In this article, I examine one of each of these types, demonstrating the ways in which musical theatre aesthetics position all of them as romantic heroes and who are ultimately redeemable. Most commonly, scholars have approached these sorts of figures in musicals as “tricksters,” specifically outsiders working to make their way into the American mainstream. In Transposing Broadway: Jews, Assimilation, and the Broadway Musical , Stuart Hecht examines figures such as Finch from Frank Loesser’s How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying , “an empty cipher, a fraud,” who uses charm, luck, and a gambler’s gamesmanship to win love and financial success. In his chapter “How to Succeed,” Hecht’s point is that strategies such as Finch’s are emblematic of the way that “at some level the standard book musical became a sort of tacit blueprint of how to make it in America.” [10] And one of those ways to achieve the American dream, as Finch demonstrates, is trickery. Hecht’s investigation of the impact of American Jewish immigrants on the development of the musical form in as a symbol for the promise of the American dream builds upon Andrea Most’s study, Making Americans: Jews and the Broadway Musical , which examines musical theatre from the first half of the twentieth century as a form of self-fashioning for American Jews. Most similarly argues for this self-fashioning as a form of clever trickery: “overt Jewish characters and themes actually disappear as the decades progress,” as the Jewish creators of these musicals sell Jewish-American identity as anti-Communist, white, and fully assimilated into mainstream Americana. [11] This approach to the con artist as essentially a trickster in musical theatre studies makes sense, since scholars of con men note that the character is usually portrayed as a sort of American descendant of the commedia dell’arte clown Arlecchino, the crafty servant who is always out to play a prank, but is ultimately harmless. This can be seen in analyses like those of Gary Lindberg, who in The Confidence Man in American Literature , describes the grifter as a “trickster,” “jack-of-all-trades” and “rogue survivor [with] the ability to shift shapes and yet to keep free of the world.” The characters Lindberg describes, from Huck Finn to Jay Gatsby and Saul Bellow’s Augie March, as well as real figures like Benjamin Franklin and P. T. Barnum, are always viewed with a degree of admiration as they perpetrate hoaxes that are part “masquerade.” [12] David Maurer opens his linguistic study The Confidence Man with this: “The grift has a gentle touch. It takes its toll from the ripe sucker by means of the skilled hand or the sharp wit. In this, it differs from all other forms of crime…it never employs violence to separate the mark from his money.” [13] Indeed, Maurer sounds like he is describing a trickster, not exactly a criminal. However, as I argue throughout this article, there is a crucial difference between the con artist and the commedia trickster figure. Arlecchino, his ancestors, descendants, and parallels in other theatrical traditions do indeed perpetrate frauds. They love money, are gluttonous, and lustfully pursue sex. But in the end, they usually side with the lovers or heroes in their fight against oppressive authority figures. The authentic trickster figure is more of what Robert Ray calls an “outlaw hero,” ultimately serving the broader community while enjoying life as much as possible, as opposed to the grifter who ultimately cares only about his own interests. [14] The archetypal American con artist of the sort defined by Lindberg and Maurer was, in a sense, predicted in one of the earliest studies of our country, Alexis de Tocqueville’s Democracy in America . In perhaps the most famous chapter in this text, “The Main Causes Tending to Maintain a Democratic Republic in the United States,” Tocqueville articulates three main factors that allowed democracy to flourish in the United States as opposed to late-eighteenth century democratic experiments in Europe which had floundered. For Tocqueville, these three factors are the mores of the American people, the laws and constitutional structure created at the establishment of the country, and the geography itself. In describing American geography, Tocqueville presents a picture of “an almost limitless continent” made up of “empty” and “wild” spaces, which tempt Americans into embodying the spirit of individualism, ambition, and adventure that would become typical of the grifter: [Americans] find prosperity almost everywhere . . . for them desire for well-being has become a restless, burning passion which increases with satisfaction. They broke the ties of attachment to their native soil long ago and have not formed new ones since. To start with, emigration was a necessity for them; now it is a sort of gamble, and they enjoy the sensations as much as the profit.[15] In her book on con artists in nineteenth-century American fiction, Susan Kuhlmann uses strikingly similar language: It helps to consider the con man as a one-man enterprise, inspired just as much by the beauty of his scheme as by the need for aggrandizement. Viewed in this light, he represents an individualization of manifest destiny. He takes to heart the belief that a free man may be whatever he claims he is, may have whatever his skill can win, may feel at home in any man’s house. Superior wit, skill in the use of resources, a nomadic and bachelor existence, adaptability, enthusiasm, and a continual desire to better one’s condition—these are the qualities associated with the type of character whom we think of as having ‘opened’ our country. They are also qualities of the confidence man.[16] Of course, these are false stereotypes—and seductive ones indeed. Just as Tocqueville’s “openness” of an American wilderness was a myth that ignored the fact that frontier-settlers had pushed out the original inhabitants of the so-called frontier, the reality of con men is a lot less glamorous: had Harold Hill completed his original plans, River City would have lost a ton of money, celebrating its American identity with a silent parade of a band of duped people. Meredith Willson’s The Music Man opens on the most American holiday of them all, the 4 th of July (1912), with “Rock Island,” in which a chorus of salesmen alert the audience to the plans of con artist Professor Harold Hill, a swindler who comes into small towns, convinces the residents that their local culture can be improved by the presence of a boys’ band, sells them on instruments and uniforms by promising to serve as music teacher (even though in fact he actually can’t read music, and “don’t know one note from another” [17] ), and then skips town with payment. Essentially, Hill’s gimmick is selling small-town hicks on high culture and the idea of self-improvement: using their own American idealism as the very bait that turns them into his marks. [18] As with any good confidence man, Hill “never worries ’bout his line,” but makes up his scheme on the fly. In River City, Iowa (Hill’s mark during the course of the show), the grifter protagonist uses the arrival of a new pool table to rail against vice and sin, arguing that the pool table spells “Trouble / Right here in River / City! With a capital / T and that rhymes with / P and that stands for / Pool.… Fifteen numbered / Balls is the Devil’s / Tool!” [19] Hill sells the idea of the band (and music itself) as a cultural antidote to the vice about to flood River City—and the people are convinced. Although the residents of River City are uncultured, Willson goes to great pains to ensure that producers of the show and his audience, however, see the townspeople as essentially good Americans. Laurie A. Finke and Susan Aronstein place The Music Man alongside Anything Goes (1934) and Oklahoma! as a “community building … Golden Age musical […that presents] Broadway’s traditional vision of America as a land where dreams, with a little luck and a lot of hard work, can come true.” [20] In a note to directors in his libretto, Willson writes, “THE MUSIC MAN was intended to be a Valentine and not a caricature. Please do not let the actors…mug or reach for comedy effect… [they] should be natural and sincere…. The humor of this piece depends upon its technical faithfulness to the real small-town Iowans of 1912.” [21] This is reinforced by the fact that in their first song, “Iowa Stubborn,” the townspeople note that while they may be hard-nosed and thrifty, “we’ll give you our shirt / And a back to go with it / If your crops should happen to die.” [22] These are the sort of people Hill plans to swindle. Hill is redeemed, both for the citizens of River City and the audience, like so many con men in musical theatre, through the love and forgiveness of a woman he intended to dupe. Over the course of The Music Man , a romance blossoms between Hill and the town’s bookish librarian, Marian Paroo, who discovers Hill’s schemes. However, upon seeing how Hill’s feigned passion for music actually inspires her shy younger brother Winthrop and town troublemaker Tommy Djilas, Marian falls in love with Harold, who reciprocates, and at the end of the musical she comes to his defense when his scam is exposed. The band is actually created, and, although it plays badly, Harold is welcomed into the community—and Marian’s arms. Stacey Wolf describes the show’s finale, “Seventy-Six Trombones” as essentially designed to “celebrate the community.” [23] This is, of course, despite the fact that Hill has betrayed and bankrupted countless similar communities, and seduced women like Marian before, as we hear from traveling salesman Charlie Cowell: Who do you think you’re protecting? That guy’s got a girl in every county in Illinois, and he’s taken it away from every one of ’em! And that’s 102 counties! Not counting the piana teachers like you he cozies up to, to keep their mouths shut![24] Hill is redeemed within the world of The Music Man , but only because we never see those 102 earlier Marians, whose love somehow didn’t transform the con man. If Harold Hill’s villainy (stealing money from clueless but basically good communities across the Midwest) seems heartless, compare this to Bill Starbuck’s nefarious plans in 110 in the Shade and the play on which it was based, The Rainmaker , in which the con artist seeks to prey upon a community that is gullible specifically because it is desperate. The story of these works takes place in an unnamed “western state from dawn to midnight of a summer day in a time of drought” [25] during the Great Depression. In the musical, the small town is called “Three Point,” but it might as well be called nowhere. The townspeople are looking for some kind of salvation. In the opening number of the musical, “Another Hot Day,” they complain that “The earth is burnin’. / Crops is bad, / And land is dry.” [26] In his foreword to the original play, Nash describes: When drought hits the lush grasslands of the richly fertile West, they are green no more and the dying is a palpable thing. What happens to verdure and vegetation, to cattle and livestock can be read in the coldly statistical little bulletins freely issued by the Department of Agriculture. What happens to the people of the West—beyond the calculable and terrible phenomena of sudden poverty and loss of substance—is an incalculable and febrile kind of desperation. Rain will never come again; the earth will be sere forever; and in all of heaven there is no promise of remedy.[27] Into such a landscape comes Bill Starbuck, promising that from his very confidence—for he is indeed a confidence man—he can make it rain. He admits that he is a wholly self-made and invented man: “My method’s like my name / It’s all my very own. / You wanna hear my deal? / You only need a hundred dollars in advance, / In twenty-four hours, / You’ll have rain.” [28] In the character descriptions in both the play and musical versions, Starbuck is described as “ a big man, lithe, agile—a loud braggart, a gentle dreamer. He carries a short hickory stick—it is his weapon, his magic wand, his pride of manhood .” [29] Starbuck’s promise is ridiculous, but the people of Three Points are vulnerable enough that they take him up on his offer. [30] As in The Music Man , Starbuck—really just Bill Smith—somehow earns the love of a good woman who sees through his ruse, Lizzie Curry. And Starbuck, in return, saves Lizzie, allowing her to open up, find passion, and discover herself: “Suddenly I’m beautiful / All because of you,” she sings. In turn, Lizzie gets Starbuck to admit, “Lizzie — I got somethin’ to tell you — ! You were right — I am a liar … and a con man and a fake! I never made rain in my life! Not a single raindrop! — nowhere! — not anywhere at all.” [31] Yet—unlike Harold Hill—although Starbuck admits his villainy, he doesn’t change. He offers to stay with Lizzie for a few days, but not forever. He asks her to come with him, to serve as his partner, to invent her own name, “Melisande.” But ultimately, Starbuck saves Lizzie not by turning her into a grifting wanderer like himself, but by allowing her to declare her love for the local Sheriff File. [32] And then it rains. The townspeople, and the sheriff, let Starbuck go—with the hundred dollars—even despite his admission of having duped them, despite his having seduced Lizzie and physically attacked File, and despite everyone’s knowledge that he plans to replicate his scam on the next desperate town he finds. Somehow, the grotesque abuses Harold Hill and Starbuck try to perpetrate upon unsuspecting communities are sold to audiences as alluring. At least part of the answer as to how this is accomplished comes from the form of musical theatre itself. The romantic melodies of love ballads, the comic rhymes and bouncing rhythms of patter songs, the soaring and heartfelt curtain numbers that are designed to bring audiences to tears, and to standing ovations. As Raymond Knapp points out, in The Music Man con artists can indeed “find their redemption through music,” [33] even if, when one reflects upon their actions, it quickly becomes apparent that these characters do not deserve our sympathy. By comparison, the scam perpetrated by the titular character in Dear Evan Hansen might seem less nefarious. An anxiety-ridden high-school student who has been instructed to write letters to himself as a form of therapy, Evan writes a depressed letter to himself, acknowledging that “Dear Evan Hansen: It turns out, this wasn’t an amazing day after all.” He signs the letter “Sincerely, your best and most dearest friend, Me” and confesses that “All my hope is pinned on Zoe,” his crush. [34] Evan’s letter is stolen by Connor Murphy, Zoe’s brother, an angry and depressed bully, who then kills himself, and the letter is discovered. The Murphy family and students at the school think that this letter was written by Connor to Evan, and that the two were friends. Evan allows this misapprehension to be taken as the truth, and even begins to tell stories about his and Connor’s “friendship,” creating “The Connor Project” about suicide awareness—all in order to get closer to the Murphy family. Evan gains popularity in school and becomes an online celebrity for his moving tributes to his “friend” Connor. Zoe becomes his girlfriend, and her father, Larry, becomes the father that Evan, who was raised by a single mother, has never had. The Murphys offer to pay for Evan to go to college. Finally, crushed by guilt, Evan admits what he’s done to the Murphy family. But they never reveal his fraud to the wider community. He loses his girlfriend and surrogate family—all of whom he attained on false premises—and, when we last see him, quasi-forgiven by Zoe in a sun-lit orchard, he tells himself “Today is going to be a good day.” [35] Indeed, at first glance there are numerous significant differences between Evan Hansen and the pair of examples I’ve drawn from mid-twentieth century American musicals. Both The Music Man and 110 in the Shade are period pieces set decades before they were written and in provincial communities far from Broadway where they were first staged. Dear Evan Hansen is unmistakably present—the social media utilized throughout projections in this musical makes frequent references to the 2016 election. While Hill and Starbuck are life-long fraudsters who set out to destroy the communities with which they engage, what we see is Evan’s first, and hopefully only, con—which he falls into accidentally. The archetypal grifter is out for one thing: money. Yet Evan seeks different things: a relationship with Zoe, a father-figure he has never had, as well as popularity and acknowledgment within the cliquish community of high school. And of course, most notably, Hill and Starbuck are adults, while Evan Hansen is a teenager who suffers from depression. Nonetheless, the pattern articulated through works like The Music Man and 110 in the Shade still fits: while Evan isn’t out to get money, what is more valuable to a high school student than the social capital of popularity and sex with his crush? Evan is an opportunistic grifter putting his own interests above those of the community, who is somehow granted salvation in the eyes of the audience through the caring forgiveness proffered by the female lead and the affective power of soaring melodies. The audience, like the Murphy family, is asked to forgive Evan for his psychological abuse because he feels really bad about what he has done. In his critique of the play for Slate , Jason Zinoman writes that the show’s greatest success is that it “is testament to the power of skillfully crafted art to reframe, manipulate, and even obscure moral concerns.” [36] Dear Evan Hansen is a hit with teenagers; the catchphrase Evan invents to sell his lie, “You will be found,” is sold on actual marketing material for the show. The fact that con artists like Harold Hill, Bill Starbuck, and Evan Hansen are sold as heroes within these musicals, and not villains, should be of particularly little surprise to us in the era of Trump. And so, as a coda, I return to our grifter-in-chief. Perhaps to some degree because of fictional narratives like those from these musicals, some audiences of our American political spectacle assume that this con man in the White House can and will reveal himself as only a mischievous trickster or heartfelt idealist, redeeming himself and saving all of us in the process. Maybe he’ll even sing a song when he finally does so. As Klosterman writes: “Is there anything more attractive than a polite person with limitless self-belief? There is not. First, you must love yourself. And if you do that convincingly enough, others will love you too much.” [37] And as Tolentino posits, the most authentically American character type is one who lacks all authenticity, who puts the truth up for grabs and claims to be a “straight talker” while denigrating the “fake news” of verifiable facts. Some of us may know that we’re being had, but the truth is, right now, we’ve got trouble. We’re all living in River City. And in such a political landscape, it should be no surprise that once theatres reopen at the end of the coronavirus pandemic, a revival of The Music Man is returning to Broadway. The figure of the con artist in musical theatre isn’t skipping town anytime soon. The author would like to thank numerous scholars for helpful feedback on various drafts of this article. These include audience members at the 2018 Theatre History Symposium of the Mid-America Theatre Conference; Pattie Wareh and the Union College Department of English; and the editors and anonymous reviewers for JADT . References [1] The gendered term persists in discourse on this topic, despite the obvious fact that scams can be (and are) perpetrated by those of any gender. In fact, my central examples of con artists are all male, and for that reason, as well as the general term of the “confidence man,” I periodically use the male pronoun throughout this paper when discussing grifters. A broader study might examine the few female examples in musical theatre, such as the perpetrator of the long con in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels , but I suggest that this is an exception that proves the rule. [2] Donald J. Trump with Tony Schwartz, Trump: The Art of the Deal (New York: Ballantine Books, 1987), 366-67. [3] Chuck Klosterman, I Wear the Black Hat: Grappling with Villains (Real and Imagined) (New York: Scribner, 2014), 41-43. [4] Scott A. Sandage, Born Losers: A History of Failure in America (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005). Especially noteworthy is Sandage’s quotation of Ralph Waldo Emerson, who wrote in 1842 that “nobody fails who ought not to fail. There is always a reason, in the man , for his good or bad fortune,” 46. [5] Jia Tolentino, “The Fiends and the Folk Heroes of Grifter Season,” The New Yorker , 5 June 2018 (last accessed 10 January 2020), and Jia Tolentino, Trick Mirror: Reflections on Self-Delusion (New York: Random House, 2019), 195. [6] See especially Raymond Knapp, The American Musical and the Formation of National Identity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005) and The American Musical and the Performance of Personal Identity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006). Additionally, however, monographs and articles by Andrea Most, David Savran, Alisa Solomon, and Stacey Wolf articulate the ways in which musicals have been crucial in helping communities of Americans define themselves: from Jewish theatregoers, to middlebrow and middle-class audiences, queer viewers, and women. [7] David Savran, “The Do-Re-Mi of Musical Theatre Historiography.” In Joseph Roach, ed., Changing the Subject: Marvin Carlson and Theatre Studies, 1959 – 2009 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2009), 225. [8] Lin-Manuel Miranda, “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story,” Hamilton: An American Musical , ed. Jeremy McCarter (New York: Grand Central Publishing, 2016), 280-81. [9] Historians disagree about when this period existed and whether the term has any real validity. Some, such as John Kenrick, Raymond Knapp, and Larry Stempel, argue that the so-called “golden age” existed only for around two-and-a-half decades, from Oklahoma (1943) until the advent of rock musicals and director-driven concept musicals in the late 1960s. Mark N. Grant, the most forceful defender of the concept of a golden age, posits that this glorious period existed from the opening of Show Boat in 1927 through 1966. Many critics, however, sensibly question this perception. Kenrick argues that any musical with lasting commercial or artistic impact on the form should justifiably be considered as great as any work from the mid-twentieth century, and Stempel goes further, pointing out that philosophies such as Grant’s are grounded in artistically conservative and historically inaccurate nostalgia: “while belief in a Golden Age has been the ideological underpinning for resuscitating part of the Broadway repertoire and awakening new audiences to old excellences, it has also tended to diminish the value of newer work.” Mark N. Grant, The Rise and Fall of the Broadway Musical (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 2004); John Kenrick, Musical Theatre: A History [Second Edition] (London: Bloomsbury, 2017), 4; and Larry Stempel, Showtime: A History of the Broadway Musical Theater (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2010), 657–8. [10] Stuart Hecht, Transposing Broadway: Jews, Assimilation, and the American Musical (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 89, 4. [11] Andrea Most, Making Americans: Jews and the Broadway Musical (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2004), 6. [12] Gary Lindberg, The Confidence Man in American Literature (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 253-58. [13] David W. Maurer, The American Confidence Man (Springfield, IL: Charles C Thomas, Publisher, 1974), 3. [14] See Robert B. Ray, “The Thematic Paradigm,” in Sonia Maasik and Jack Solomon, eds., Signs of Life in the U.S.A.: Readings on Popular Culture for Writers (Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2012), 377-86. [15] Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America , trans. George Lawrence, ed. J. P. Mayer (New York: Perennial Classics, 2000), 283. [16] Susan Kuhlmann, Knave, Fool, and Genius: The Confidence Man as He Appears in Nineteenth-Century American Fiction (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1973), 6. [17] Quotations from The Music Man come from: Meredith Willson, The Music Man , unpublished typescript libretto, ©1958 Frank Music Corp. and Reinmer Corporation. 1-1-5. [18] Kimberly Faithbroker Canton argues that, in idolizing high culture, Hill’s particular scam in facts cements The Music Man as a kind of middlebrow work, itself perpetrating the same sort of scam. She writes that “ The Music Man , with its optimistic, faith-based ideology, sells a version of culture that is…lucrative in its averageness and uniquely American in its easy reconciliation of diametrically opposed notions of art and commerce, patriotism and individualism, truth and scam. The Music Man is an anti-intellectual ode to the middlebrow that cleverly sells the very premise that makes it a commercial triumph.” Kimberly Faithbroker Caton, “‘Who’s Selling Here?’: Sounds Like The Music Man Is Selling and We’re Buying,” Modern Drama 51, no. 1 (Spring 2008): 56. [19] Willson, 1-2-15. [20] Laurie A. Finke and Susan Aronstein, “Got Grail? Monty Python and the Broadway Stage,” Theatre Survey 48, no. 2 (November 2007): 290. Finke and Aronstein put Spamalot within this tradition, as opposed to more “deconstructive musicals of the 1970s such as Chicago and A Chorus Line ” and the works of Stephen Sondheim. [21] Willson, v. [22] Willson., 1-2-9. [23] Stacey Ellen Wolf, “‘Defying Gravity’: Queer Conventions in the Musical Wicked ,” Theatre Journal 60, no. 1 (March 2008): 17. [24] Willson, 2-3-18. [25] Nash, N. Richard, Harvey Schmidt, and Tom Jones, 110 in the Shade , unpublished typescript libretto © 1977 and Nash, N. Richard, The Rainmaker: A Romantic Comedy (New York: Random House, 1955), vi. The text of the stage direction is nearly identical in both versions. All quotations from the musical come from this typescript. [26] Nash Schmidt, and Jones, 110 in the Shade , 1-1-2. [27] Nash, The Rainmaker , vii. [28] Nash, Schmidt, and Jones, 110 in the Shade , 1-3-31. [29] Nash, Schmidt, and Jones 110 in the Shade ., iii and Nash, The Rainmaker , 57. Note how Nash highlights that Starbuck is “gentle,” and that, like Arlecchino, he carries a wooden stick. [30] In a longer study of con artistry and American theatre more broadly, it would be worth examining the impact of race on whether or not the scammer achieves forgiveness from the community he bamboozles. It’s worth mentioning the 2007 revival of 110 in the Shade , a color-conscious staging in which Lizzie Curry (played by Audra McDonald) was black. Steve Kazee, a white actor, played Starbuck. Thus, his character wasn’t just duping a drought-ridden town in hard times, he was a white man telling a black woman who had never seen herself as pretty that she was beautiful. Of course, the truth of this statement was obvious to the audience, but in this staging, Starbuck’s “charming” con was thus explicitly racialized. Furthermore, the role of race in The Music Man has been explored by Warren Hoffman in The Great White Way: Race and the Broadway Musical . In his third chapter, “The Racial Politics of West Side Story and The Music Man ,” Hoffman argues that racial politics have at least something to do with The Music Man ’s winning of the Tony for Best Musical over the revolutionary and genre-transforming West Side Story . Hoffman positions The Music Man as a work brimming with a nostalgia for (all-white) small-town Americana. He demonstrates how in “Ya Got Trouble,” Harold Hill uses ragtime, “code for African Americans?” as a “scare tactic.” Warren Hoffman, The Great White Way: Race and the Broadway Musical (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2014), 82-110. [31] Nash, The Rainmaker , 162. The line is identical in the musical; Nash, 110 in the Shade , 2-4-27. [32] In the original play, File is the deputy. [33] Knapp, The American Musical and the Formation of National Identity , 145. Knapp goes on to point out that both authority figures who could punish Hill and Charlie Cowell, who exposes him as a con man, never sing during the show, thus failing to earn the audience’s sympathy. [34] Steven Levenson, Benj Pasek, and Justin Paul, Dear Evan Hansen (New York: Theatre Communications Group, 2017), 23-24. [35] Levenson, Pasek, and Paul., 163. [36] Jason Zinoman, “Dear Evan Hansen, You Are a Creep,” Slate , 6 June 2017 (last accessed 10 January 2020). [37] Klosterman, 57. Footnotes About The Author(s) DAN VENNING is an Assistant Professor of Theatre and English at Union College in Schenectady, NY, where he is also a core faculty member in the Interdisciplinary Programs in American Studies and Gender, Sexuality, and Women’s Studies. He earned his Ph.D. in Theatre at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York. His articles and reviews have appeared in Asian Theatre Journal , Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism , Ecumenica , European Stages, PAJ , Performing Arts Resources , Shakespeare: A Journal , Shakespeare Bulletin , Shakespeare Quarterly , Theatre History Studies , TDR , Theatre Journal , Theatre Survey , as well as in several edited collections of essays. He was previously associate dramaturg for the California Shakespeare Theater and has previously taught at NYU, Wagner College, and Baruch and Hunter Colleges, CUNY. Journal of American Drama & Theatre JADT publishes thoughtful and innovative work by leading scholars on theatre, drama, and performance in the Americas – past and present. Provocative articles provide valuable insight and information on the heritage of American theatre, as well as its continuing contribution to world literature and the performing arts. Founded in 1989 and previously edited by Professors Vera Mowry Roberts, Jane Bowers, and David Savran, this widely acclaimed peer reviewed journal is now edited by Dr. Benjamin Gillespie and Dr. Bess Rowen. Journal of American Drama and Theatre is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents - Current Issue "Ya Got Trouble, My Friend, Right Here": Romanticizing Grifters in American Musical Theatre Troubled Collaboration: Belasco, the Fiskes, and the Society Playwright, Mrs. Burton Harrison Unhappy is the Land that Needs a Hero: The Mark of the Marketplace in Suzan-Lori Parks's Father Comes Home from the Wars, Parts 1-3 Silence, Gesture, and Deaf Identity in Deaf West Theatre's Spring Awakening Contemporary Women Stage Directors: Conversations on Craft. Paulette Marty. London; New York: Methuen Drama, Bloomsbury Collections, 2019; Pp. 292 + viii Ensemble-Made Chicago: A Guide To Devised Theater. Chloe Johnson and Coya Paz Brownrigg. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2019. Pp. 202 Twenty-First Century American Playwrights. Christopher Bigsby. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018; Pp. 228. Encounters on Contested Lands and Provocative Eloquence Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. European Stages European Stages, created in 2013 by merging Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance, serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. It explores the evolution of both Western and Eastern European theatrical scenes, offering insightful analyses, artist interviews, and comprehensive coverage of major festivals. ISSN Number: 1050-199 Entries under this journal are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license. Current Issue About & Submission Guidelines People Past Issues Contact Curren Issue Current Issue: Volume 21, 2025 Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 21 Steve Earnest Review of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa by Ópera do Castelo Timothy Koch Summer 2025 in London, England Amy Hamel Robert Wilson’s Moby Dick at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf, Summer 2025 Steve Earnest Report from Berlin Marvin Carlson International Theatre Festival of Sibiu 32nd Edition Kalina Stefanova Polyphonies of the Present: The Pulse of the Almada Festival Savas Patsalidis Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025 Steve Earnest Radu Afrim and his House Between the Blocks Călin Ciobotari The Tragic Ideal of Eternal Youth: Folk Myth on the Modern Stage Ion Tomus Dramas of Separation at Festival d’Avignon 19th Edition Philippa Wehle About & Submission Guideline About The Journal For almost a quarter of a century, from 1969 until 2013 the journal Western European Stages provided one of the most detailed and comprehensive overviews of the season-by-season activities in this major part of the theatre world available anywhere in any language. From 1981 onward, parallel coverage of Eastern Europe was provided by its sister journal, Slavic and East European Performance, edited by the late Professor Daniel Gerould. This was an extremely exciting and innovative period, marked by the work of many of the greatest directors of the twentieth century, by actors and designers of equal achievement, and by remarkable changes in theatre design and technology. At the turn of the century WES offered two special issues that gave a complete survey of the current theatrical scene in every country, down to the smallest, in that part of the world, a kind of overview unavailable anywhere else. Many of the larger countries, such as Germany and Sweden, received special issues, as did certain aspects of the contemporary stage, such as the growth of women directors in Europe. Both journals have offered interviews with leading artists and detailed reports on most of the leading European theatre festivals. The European continent has undergone radical changes during this quarter century. When WES was founded, Eastern and Western Europe were two quite distinct political and theatrical spheres. With the disappearance of the Russian control in the East, the rise of the European Union, and the rapid increase of productions combining the artists from a variety of countries, east and west, this cold war division today is largely an historical memory politically and theatrically. Thus, in 2013, these two journals combined their activities to reflect this more integrated continent, and metamorphosed into European Stages. We hope that the new, merged resource will continue to provide English-language readers with the most comprehensive source available on current theatre in this most important area of such activity. ISSN number of European Stages: 1050-199 Submission Guidelines Manuscripts should normally fall between 1500 and 5000 words, the shorter contributions normally reporting on a single production and the longer several related productions or festival reports. All submissions must concern themselves with recent or contemporary work in the Eastern and Western European theatre and performances created and presented in Europe first. In some cases also European productions at US venues without extensive reviews will be considered. Strong preferences will be given to contributions reporting from Europe. Historical studies and literary analyses are not acceptable, although some such material may of course be incorporated into reviews when relevant. The reviews should be primarily descriptive, not judgmental, although reviewers may of course include their opinions of the work. In addition to reports on current productions or groups of productions, we welcome interviews with prominent European theatre figures – actors, directors, designers, and dramatists. Photos should be 300dpi, JPEG, preferably in color, ideally 6×9 inches (six inches wide, 9 inches high; 300dpi for the full size image.) It is the responsibility of the contributor to secure the copyright and permission for the use of the images for ES (European Stages). The photo credit has to be included in the JPEG file name and needs to be listed at the end of the manuscript. The photo credit and JPEG image file should be listed in the following format: The production name as it appears in the essay, in Italics, followed by a period. Then 'Photo' (not in Italics) followed by a colon, and the photographer's credit (not in Italics) ending with a period. For eg: " HAMLET. Photo: Arno Declair." 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European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 21, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage The Tragic Ideal of Eternal Youth: Folk Myth on the Modern Stage by Ion Tomus Published: December 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF In the contemporary cultural landscape, there is an increasingly urgent need to identify artistic forms capable of resonating with new modes of aesthetic and cultural sensibility. The accelerated transformations of the social and technological environment have altered not only the ways in which audiences engage with artistic expression but also their expectations regarding the dynamics and aesthetics of representation. In this context, the recovery and reinterpretation of traditional narrative material can no longer operate as a mere exercise in reconstruction; rather, it must be understood as a process of critical re-signification. Adapting canonical narratives to contemporary performative structures entails more than a scenic transposition—it involves repositioning theatrical discourse in relation to present-day experience. Such a practice aligns with broader tendencies in postdramatic theatre, privileging hybridity, intermediality, and the performative act over narrative linearity. This creative strategy enables the exploration of new reception models, opening a dialogic space between collective cultural memory and the aesthetic sensibilities of contemporary audiences, whose references are increasingly shaped by pop culture’s fluid reinterpretation of folklore, myth, and fairy tales. A relevant example of this approach is the performance Youth Without Age and Life Without Death , produced by Lucian Blaga University of Sibiu & Radu Stanca National Theatre in Sibiu, and later included in the repertoire of Radu Stanca National Theatre in Sibiu (RSNT). Choreographed by Ștefan Lupu, the production deliberately transcends the boundaries of classical choreographic conventions, embracing a complex artistic discourse situated at the intersection of tradition and contemporaneity. The project foregrounds embodiment, rhythm, and visual dramaturgy as primary means of signification, privileging a sensorial rather than purely narrative experience. The artistic endeavor of the students and faculty involved exceeds the framework of a pedagogical exercise, becoming an act of performative research with substantial theoretical and aesthetic implications for current performance practices. The stage reinterpretation of Youth Without Old Age infuses it with tragic dimensions, reshaping the themes and emotional impact to resonate with the fears, conflicts, and sensitivities of contemporary audiences. It is via the choreographic and theatrical language that the narrative message of the fairy tale is brought into the present. The main tension is between the ideal of eternity and its unattainability. Through all these artistic means, the tragic depth of the story is revealed, resonating with contemporary reflections on the human condition. Beyond the formal partnership between the two institutions mentioned above, their relationship has allowed the best student productions to enter the theater’s regular repertoire. This has been an extraordinary opportunity for the young artists, who thus benefit from increased visibility early in their careers. Perhaps the most eloquent example is the performance Antisocial , which I previously analyzed in volume 6 of European Stages. Now, history repeats itself. Youth Without Old Age , directed and choreographed by Ștefan Lupu, premiered in the early months of 2025 and has consistently played to sold-out audiences. It was also included in the student festival affiliated with Sibiu International Theatre Festival. The students—now professional actors—were guided by Lupu in an ambitious project that reimagines a famous Romanian fairy tale through dance, emphasizing its tragic dimensions. The performance is staged in the new LBUS performance hall, which has proven to be not only a generous educational space for the performing arts in Sibiu but also an open venue for experimentation and for a young audience willing to challenge (or at least postpone) the comforts of the petite bourgeoisie . It is also necessary to highlight the research dimension of this performance. The assistant director of Ștefan Lupu, Andrada Oltean, is a PhD candidate at LBUS and is writing a dissertation on the training of the modern actor and dancer. In this regard, the Youth Without Old Age project proved to be a perfect ground for research, as the rehearsals lasted several months and provided the framework for the practical investigation carried out by the doctoral student, which will resonate in her future PhD thesis. Moreover, this mix of practice and theory is the preferred strategy of the doctoral studies in theatre and performing arts at the university in Sibiu (Romania). As we all know, the fairy tale is a traditional narrative transmitted orally within a community, reflecting its collective imagination, cultural values, and moral codes. Unlike literary works, these tales have no identifiable author; they emerge through collective creation and evolve over time through multiple reinterpretations and retransmissions. The authorial context is therefore collective and cultural rather than individual, encompassing the historical, social, and cultural background of the community that created and preserved the story. The themes of the folk tale are universal: the struggle between good and evil, justice, or transformation. Fairy tales may also transmit specific traditions, beliefs, and norms of their place of origin. In this sense, they function both as artistic forms and as cultural documents, offering a valuable perspective on the worldview and identity of the communities that produced them. The Romanian fairy tale Youth Without Old Age and Life Without Death has a powerful tragic dimension that amplifies its resonance in the Romanian cultural imaginary. The quest for the absolute ideal proves to be impossible, and the protagonist (Făt-Frumos / Prince Charming) ultimately loses everything he wished to preserve forever. The impossibility of overcoming time becomes a meditation on the human condition and the fragility of existence. This tragic vision transforms the tale into a symbol of human aspiration and confrontation with inevitable destiny. The story begins with the wish of an unborn child who refuses to enter the world unless he receives the gift of eternal life. The emperor promises this gift, and when the child reaches maturity, he sets out in search of the pledged reward. After a long journey and battles with supernatural forces, he reaches the realm of eternal youth, where he lives happily for a while. Yet his longing for home and the past drives him to break the interdiction of leaving that place. Upon returning to the world, he discovers that centuries have passed and everything has changed. Death awaits him and embraces him, thus fulfilling the tragic destiny of the hero. Folk and fairy tales contain a strong element of theatricality: initially transmitted orally, the tales were not merely told but performed : the storyteller employed gestures, vocal inflections, pauses, and repetitions to build dramatic tension and capture the audience’s attention. The typological characters—the hero, the antagonist, the magical helper—are constructed schematically precisely to be easily recognizable and representable on stage. Its fixed narrative structure, with clearly defined moments (initial situation, trial, confrontation, triumph, and return), follows an almost dramaturgical logic, allowing for a natural transposition into theatrical forms. Moreover, European folk tales consistently possess a ritualistic and symbolic dimension, which adds depth to the scenic action. Through conventions, repetitions, and fixed formulas (“Once upon a time…”), they establish a recognizable performative framework, akin to the opening of a stage performance. Thus, the folk tale is not merely a source of inspiration for theater but carries within itself the seeds of theatricality, anticipating modern dramatic forms. Ștefan Lupu is a young theater manager from Bucharest (Teatrul Mic). He graduated acting and has focused his career on choreography and stage movement. In addition to his artistic work, he is also one of the most enthusiastic and dynamic movement and stage dance instructors in Romania. In the performances he choreographs, Ștefan Lupu is particularly interested in identifying a playful vein that he later explores on stage—developing, transforming, and refining it—to reveal to the audience that beneath this surface lies something profoundly serious and weighty. He pays extraordinary attention to detail and nuance and is a particularly active figure in the Romanian performing arts scene. As part of the “new wave” of dancers and choreographers, he undoubtedly brings fresh, dynamic energy and a revitalizing perspective to the field. Ștefan Lupu surrounds himself with very young and exceptionally talented artists, a fact that is evident in all his productions: they are filled with energy, courage, and an openness that resonates with an equally dynamic audience. The role of Lupu’s choreography in constructing the scenic language was both complex and precise. Having previously transformed Romanian folk tales into dance performances, the choreographer engaged in a process of decoding the tale’s key narrative nuclei and reassembling them on stage in a language that blends elements of Romanian folk culture with pop culture. This strategy is by no means superficial or simplistic. The fairy tale is a popular story, passed down through generations and addressed to the many. So in this particular performance it is therefore entirely appropriate that, for example, the traditional Storyteller is replaced by a hip-hop artist who communicates with the audience and frames the story, functioning as a kind of prologue. This opening moment sets the theatrical convention, energizing and captivating the audience. As in the original fairy tale, the Emperor and Empress are childless, which is a source of domestic tension. This is translated on stage through a stable physical proximity between the two performers, tinged with a slight distancing as they move in sync, attempting to prove something. Both dancers embody youth and royal status, but choreographically, the weight of responsibility and the shadow of a tragic destiny hover over the stage and the characters. The ensemble of dancers functions organically, but at key moments, individual performers step forward to shape the action. Right from the beginning, things are problematic at the emperor’s court. The baby cries inconsolably; the Emperor offers many difficult-to-attain gifts, including—humorously—a star on Sibiu’s Walk of Fame. Ultimately, the supreme promise that convinces the child is youth without aging and life without death. Choreographically, this harmony is reflected in fluid movements and balanced compositions. But everything changes when the young Prince Charming demands the promised gift and sets off to find the supreme ideal. As in any fairy tale, the hero must choose his loyal horse, face trials, and meet certain conditions—each moment choreographed with sensuality, wit, and meticulous attention to detail. The horses, for example, are embodied by two female dancers, their movements combining elegance, sensuality, and impeccable technique. Arguably the highlight of the performance is the encounter with Gheonoaia (The Forest Hag)—a supernatural creature, traditionally a witch-like or forest spirit figure, an adversary who captures, tests, or torments the hero. One of her strongest symbolic functions is to herald misfortune. In the performance, however, Gheonoaia is reimagined as a drag character who challenges Prince Charming to a dance battle to Sex Bomb by Tom Jones. The decision to include a drag performance in an adaptation of a Romanian folk tale is both bold and natural: bold because drag culture remains a niche in Romania, and natural because it heightens the contrast between past and present, central to Lupu’s staging. Moreover, this hypersexualized drag battle scene can also be read as a performative manifesto directed at a more conventional segment of the audience, challenging comfort zones and expectations. Indeed, the entire performance is built upon strong contrasts that need to be analysed. Old / new: the timeless world of the Romanian fairy tale forms the foundation for a performance using the expressive tools of contemporary dance. Tradition / modernity: traditional elements of the old Romanian world intersect with pop culture—for example, embroidery motifs on costumes are juxtaposed with pop aesthetics in Gheonoaia’s costume. The musical arrangement combines traditional Romanian music with modern beats, energizing group scenes and lending fluidity to more intimate moments. Another choreographic strategy worth noting is character doubling. While the fairy tale features a single horse, the performance employs two dancers to achieve a heightened choreographic effect. The final sequence of the performance naturally presents the most spectacular group choreography: the dance of death is a moment in which all the performers are on stage, moving in a synchronization that only appears to have a low level of energy. The central figure is once again Prince Charming, positioned at the center of the stage — the point where all the group’s energies intersect. The dance movements draw, at least in part, from traditional Romanian folk dances, yet they are reinterpreted — in keeping with the music — and paired with contemporary beats that open the piece toward the universal language of pop culture within the contemporary performing arts context. The musical phrases repeat themselves, not obsessively, but with the steady rhythm of a well-established refrain that lingers in the audience’s collective memory. Gradually, Death enters the stage, moving among the dancers, touching them one by one, contaminating them, and bringing them down (with a morbid tenderness) to the ground. Death is portrayed by an actress with very long hair, which she uses to touch and bring down those around her. What can be seen as a symbol of femininity becomes the touch of death. Prince Charming is, of course, the last to fall — the final remnant of a world once full of life, but which from this moment on will be nothing but ashes. Death’s touch does not bring death in the literal sense, but a void, an absence: after Death, there is nothing left; after Death, the performance is over, the rest is silence. The performance employs tragic elements through the way it stages the confrontation between destiny and individual freedom. The figure of Prince Charming becomes emblematic for the doomed hero, unable to escape the ending dictated by the very nature of the myth. Death does not appear as a violent force but as an inevitable, slow, and implacable presence, turning the finale into a moment of collective lucidity rather than a dramatic explosion. Thus, the tragic dimension arises not from external conflict but from the awareness of the inescapable. In conclusion, the contemporary staging of Youth Without Old Age and Life Without Death reveals the profound tragic resonance embedded in the original fairy tale. By reimagining this canonical narrative through a modern choreographic and theatrical language, the performance exposes the inevitable confrontation between human aspiration and immutable destiny. Prince Charming’s quest for eternity becomes a timeless reflection of humanity’s futile struggle against the passage of time—a struggle marked not by violent opposition but by the quiet, inexorable arrival of death. The choreography heightens this tragic inevitability, allowing death to emerge not as a destructive force, but as an implacable presence that slowly absorbs all vitality, culminating in silence. This dramaturgical choice shifts the focus from external conflict to inner awareness, turning the finale into a moment of collective recognition of human fragility. The tragic dimension is amplified through contrasts—youth and decay, desire and loss, movement and stillness—each reinforcing the inescapable tension between the ideal of eternal life and the reality of mortality. In doing so, the performance does more than reinterpret a folk myth; it transforms it into a powerful meditation on the human condition, where beauty, vitality, and longing ultimately yield to the unalterable certainty of death. Through this tragic lens, the story transcends its folkloric origins and becomes a universal, deeply affecting theatrical experience. Ultimately, this also represents a deliberate wager undertaken by the production team: the young actors and dancers, under the coordination of Ștefan Lupu, have demonstrated their ability to meet the complex challenges of transitioning from the protected environment of the university’s creative laboratory in theatre and choreography to the competitive landscape of the professional performing arts sector. The university provided them with an opportunity, which they successfully materialized, and the inclusion of the performance in the repertoire of a professional theatre stands as evidence that the wider public has likewise acknowledged and validated the artistic accomplishment of the ensemble. This work was funded by the EU’s NextGenerationEU instrument through the National Recovery and Resilience Plan of Romania - Pillar III-C9-I8, managed by the Ministry of Research, Innovation and Digitalization, within the project entitled Measuring Tragedy: Geographical Diffusion, Comparative Morphology, and Computational Analysis of European Tragic Form (METRA), contract no. 760249/28.12.2023, code CF 163/31.07.2023. Lucian Blaga University of Sibiu Concept: Ștefan Lupu Assistant director: Andrada Oltean Choreography: Devised Costumes: Maria Constantin Musical illustration: Ștefan Lupu, Andrada Oltean Musical arrangement: Vlad Robaș Light designer: Dorin Părău Sound designer: Bobariu Cătălin Cast: The Emperor: Adrian Bumbeș The Empress: Maria Maftei / Andrada Oltean The Wizard: Eva Frățilă The Horse: Ada Bicflavi & Isabela Haiduc Prince Charming: David Cristian Gheonoaia: Mihai Mocanu Scorpio: Alberta Dima, Ana Ștefan, Andra Stoian Fairies: Ana Ștefan, Andra Stoian Little Fairy: Isabela Haiduc / Ada Bicfalvi Rabbit: Eva Frățilă / Fabian Toderică Death: Eva Frățilă Jokester: Ștefan Chelimândră Narrator: Fabian Toderică Image Credits: Article References References About the author(s) Dr. Ion M. Tomuș is a Professor at “Lucian Blaga” University, Sibiu, the Department of Drama and Theatre Studies, where he teaches courses in History of Romanian Theatre, History of Worldwide Theatre, Text and Stage Image and Drama Theory. He is member of the Centre for Advanced Studies in the Field of Performing Arts (Cavas). In 2013 he finished a postdoctoral study together with the Romanian Academy, focused on the topic of the modern international theatre festival, with case studies on Edinburgh International Festival, Festival d'Avignon and Sibiu International Theatre Festival. He has published studies, book reviews, theatre reviews, and essays in prestigious cultural magazines and academic journals in Romania and Europe. Since 2005, he has been co-editor of the annual Text Anthology published by Nemira Publishing House for each edition of the Sibiu International Theatre Festival. Since 2005, Mr. Tomuș is part of the staff at Sibiu International Theatre Festival (SITF is the third performing arts festival in the world, preceded by the ones in Edinburgh and Avignon). As part of SITF, Ion M. Tomuș coordinates Aplauze, the festival’s official daily journal, and oversees two editorial projects: Cultural Conversations and the annual volume of Aplauze. Ion M. Tomuș was Head of the Department of Drama and Theatre Studies, in “Lucian Blaga” University of Sibiu (2011-2019) and now he is the Chair of the PhD School in Theatre and Performing Arts at the same university. Since October 2016, Ion M. Tomuș is advising PhD students in the field of Performing Arts at “Lucian Blaga” University of Sibiu. Institutional Affiliation and Contact: “Lucian Blaga” University, Sibiu, Faculty of Letters and Arts, Department of Drama and Theatre Studies. 12 Banatului St, 550011, Sibiu. ion.tomus@ulbsibiu.ro European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025 Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 21 Robert Wilson’s Moby Dick at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf, Summer 2025 Dramas of Separation at Festival d’Avignon 19th Edition Polyphonies of the Present: The Pulse of the Almada Festival Summer 2025 in London, England The Tragic Ideal of Eternal Youth: Folk Myth on the Modern Stage International Theatre Festival of Sibiu 32nd Edition Review of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa by Ópera do Castelo Radu Afrim and his House Between the Blocks Report from Berlin Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

Home to theatre artists, scholars, students, performing arts managers, and the local and international performance communities, the Martin E. Segal Center at CUNY Graduate Center provides a supportive environment for conversation, open exchange, and the development of new ideas and new work. Upcoming Events Yousef Sweid & Isabella Sedlak's River and Sea Thu, Dec 18 Join us for an evening of live theatre with the Berlin Gorki Theater’s 60-minute performance Rivers and Seas, featuring Palestinian-Israeli actor Yousef Sweid, exploring life between different cultures and narratives. More Info + RSVP The Segal Center: Bridging the gap between the academic, local and global performing arts communities through dynamic public programs and digital initiatives that are free and open to all. Upcoming events at the Martin E. Segal Centre CUNY See Events Welcome to The Segal Center The Segal Center bridges the gap between the academic and performing arts communities through dynamic public programs and digital initiatives that are free and open to all. Home to theatre artists, scholars, students, performing arts managers, and the local and international performance communities, the Segal Center provides a supportive environment for conversation, open exchange, and the development of new ideas and new work. Year round, the Center presents a wide variety of FREE public programs which feature leading national and international artists, scholars, and arts professionals in conversation about theatre and performance. Programs include staged readings to further the development of new and classic plays, festivals celebrating New York performance (PRELUDE) and international plays (PEN World Voices), screenings of performance works on film, artists in conversation, academic lecture series, televised seminars, symposia, and arts in education programs. In addition, the Center maintains its long-standing visiting-scholars-from-abroad program, publishes a series of highly regarded academic journals, as well as single volumes of importance (including plays in translation), all written and edited by renowned scholars. We livestream many of our events with Howlround . You can find the video archive here . IN MEMORIAM Martin E. Segal (1916-2012) Daniel Gerould (1928-2012) Explore our Work Events Sharings, discussions, readings and more, join our events in-person in New York or online via Howlround. Free entry! Festivals Our festivals provide a platform for artists, educators, cultural managers and others at the forefront of contemporary theatre practice. Research We support CUNY Graduate Center's top-ranked Ph.D. Program in Theatre and Performance in a myriad of ways. Archive Explore archival material, videos, interviews, essays, events and more from across 20 years of the Segal Center's history. Publications We support books, journals and other publications focused on contemporary theatre and performing arts. Get Involved We would love to hear from you and how you'd like to contribute to our work. Digital Initiatives Segal Talks Tune in to Segal Talks, featuring conversations with artists all around the world. Watch on YouTube or listen on Spotify Read More Howlround for India Watch a 24-hour onlin e marathon of COVID talks with artists honoring the Indian theatre community. Read More Segal Film Festival Watch films on theatre and performance from over 30 countries, at the Segal Film Festival. Read More NY Theatre Artists for Ukraine Watch a 12-hour online marathon of readings and conversations with 24 New York theatre institutions and Ukrainian artists. Read More

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 20, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage Duende and Showbiz: A Theatrical Odyssey Through Spain’s Soul By Adam Pelty Published: July 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF Spain doesn’t just welcome you; it grabs you by the collar, spins you into its whirlwind of color and sound, and dares you to keep up. Madrid sprawls with boulevards and architectural flourishes so magnificent they seem to wink at you, as if to say, “Yes, we are this fabulous, and no, you can’t afford any of it.” Then there is Seville, in the South, the sultry heart of Andalusia, where history lingers like the scent of orange blossoms, and the air is thick with the strum of distant guitars and the echo of heels striking cobblestone. I made off to Spain to fling myself into Flamenco, the raw, guttural, earth-shaking duende that dominates the south—Cádiz, Granada, Jerez de la Frontera, and most potently, Seville. It isn’t just performed, it’s exorcised from the very depths of the soul, a deeply rooted cultural institution that demands a level of commitment bordering on religious devotion. You don’t just dabble in Flamenco. You either give yourself over to its unrelenting demands—its passion, its virtuosity—or you get the hell off the tablao . Madrid, though? Madrid is the glam showbiz cousin. Yes, there’s incredible Flamenco, but there’s also a staggering volume of musical theatre, opera, and contemporary dance. Now, I realize this is the kind of thing one should know—like knowing that water is wet or that Andrew Lloyd Webber is inescapable. Yet, up until six months ago, I had absolutely no idea that Madrid was the second-most prolific hub of Broadway-style musical theatre in Europe, just behind London’s West End. As my car sped from the airport to the hotel, I was blindsided by the sheer number of marquee lights blinking seductively from the streets— Book of Mormon, Phantom, Titanic, Come From Away, Aladdin —alongside original Spanish productions that are boldly redefining what theatre can be. Madrid, it turns out, is a city that breathes performance. Every street corner hums with its rhythm, every theatre pulses with an audience hungry for spectacle. It’s dazzling. The Spanish approach to musical theatre is something truly special, much like a beautifully executed Flamenco performance. It’s all about vulnerability, strength, emotional availability, and a vivid freedom to express very specific intentions with no apologies. This spirit is deeply etched into Flamenco, but it was equally palpable in the Spanish productions of The Book of Mormon and Gypsy that I caught—both of which left me giddy and a little emotional about my industry, which was frankly surprising. These Spanish performers have more than competence—they’ve got soul. The technical aspects of their craft seem effortless, leaving the crucial part—the emotion—free to roam. There is fearlessness. No slick Broadway airs here; I felt invited to experience something raw and genuine. Compared to some recent Broadway shows, Some Like It Hot and & Juliet come to mind (both excellent productions when I saw them), which can sometimes feel like they “insist upon themselves” (to steal Seth MacFarlane’s Family Guy line), these Spanish performances feel like a true invitation to connect. In shows like these, the pressure to impress takes a backseat to the vital act of sharing a story. Watching Broadway performances, I can’t help but feel there’s certain theatrical gymnastics happening back home—impressive, sure, but does it invite me in? Or am I just a spectator, watching the finalists flex their muscles for the judges? Musical theatre performers, like athletes, generate explosive and brilliant energy. Yet, inevitably, it’s about connection. When it works, the audience becomes part of the experience. So let’s talk Flamenco. Over six weeks in Andalusia, I saw lots of it, from the caves of Granada to the more slick and professional stages of Seville—it’s all utterly mesmerizing. And yet, beneath the swirling skirts and searing wails, there’s a rhythm, a structure, a sacred ritual. Flamenco is part storytelling, part catharsis, part sanctioned public outburst. It is what you would get if tap dancing and an existential crisis had a baby and raised it on Spanish wine and heartache. The commitment required is absolute. And let’s be real: only a select few are graced by the diodes del baile with the innate ability to fully embody this art. The tablao —that hallowed ground of Flamenco—follows a time-honored pattern, a method of learned and studied laws that have been passed down by the greats for the last two hundred years. The artists drift in and out of work like wandering minstrels, the finest among them tearing across Spain in a week, paid per gig, living for the moment, for the music, for the duende. One performance in Seville, an electrifying display of artistry and mastery, was notable. At its heart was a Seville-based dancer, Juan Fernandez, possessing the magnetism of a movie star and the skill of a seasoned maestro. Of all the Flamenco performances I witnessed over my time in Spain, this one stood apart—raw, precise, and transcendent. Seville based flamenco dancer, Juan Fernandez The lights came up on three singers and a guitarist, seated in a circle of chairs facing outward—one even turned upstage. Shadows and rich hues painted the stage, smoke billowing through the air. Then, the dancers emerged—two tall, striking figures in silhouette, male and female, like the Flamenco gods you see on tourist posters and souvenir magnets. As the lights rose, their feet took focus—cracking the floor with impossible speed, like rhythmic lightning. Technically masterful, magnetic, dangerous. They moved with the kind of chemistry you only see in a Fellini film—seductive, electric, larger than life. For one hour, six geniuses set the stage on fire. The lead singer—formidable, fifty-something, owned the stage with nothing but her voice and the guitarist at her side. They sparred, teased, played—like two actors improvising the scene of their lives. Passion, argument, seduction. I found myself thinking, ‘And the Tony Award goes to…’. Each performer took their turn like some divine emissary of chaos, conjuring entire universes in ten-minute bursts—erotic, combative, mournful, and laced with sharp wit, it could slice through the air itself. The tocaor (the guitarist) weaved a spell that bound them all together—first as a collective, then in electrifying solos. Watching them, you got the distinct impression that if the room were to spontaneously combust, they would simply weave the flames into the rhythm, stomping out embers in a frenzy of duende-fueled ecstasy. Now to Madrid. The Spanish Book of Mormon —an absolute joy. While the Madrid production might feel more intimate than the Broadway original, it’s more than welcome. All the desired spectacle is in place; the comedy is in crisp-top shape and the performers look to be having the time of their lives. My first thought as I took my seat: Do the Spanish even have Mormons? Will they grasp what South Park maestros Matt Stone and Trey Parker are skewering? Spain does have a notable Jehovah’s Witness presence—door-to-door evangelists, strict doctrines, globe-trotting missionaries—so, in theory, the joke should land. But will it land with the full, glorious thud of satire intended? The answer is yes, absolutely. Alexandre Ars, towering at six-foot-six, owned the role of Elder Price. His presence is magnetic, commanding the stage with grace, intent, and emotional availability. He made space for me, for the audience, and his performance had a warmth I can’t quite describe. Alejandro Mesa, playing Elder Cunningham, was a masterclass in physical comedy—nuanced, sweet, and hilariously real. Their chemistry was undeniable, even if my lousy Spanish didn’t catch every line. The African cast was spectacular—versatile and hilariously funny. Aisha Fay as Nabulungi was perfectly matched with Mesa’s antics, delivering a clear and powerful performance. Yet, there were moments where things didn’t quite land. Nil Carbonell’s Elder McKinley felt… overdone. A bit too broad, too lecherous, lacking that necessary subtlety. The male ensemble of missionaries, too, seemed to fall into the trap of generalization. They were all “gay” in the same way, and it felt like a one-size-fits-all performance rather than the more layered, repressed pseudo-theologians the characters are meant to represent. Still, these flaws didn’t dampen the fun. The production, fresh since 2023, is irreverent, joyous in it’s naughtiness, and a spectacular showcase of talent. I attended opening night of Gypsy , directed by Antonio Banderas, and sat right behind the magnetic movie star now director at Teatro Nuevo Apolo. He developed this production at the Soho Caixabank Theatre in Málaga, a venue quickly becoming a hub for creative innovation with considerable help from him. Banderas is a force, thrusting Spain further into the global musical theatre spotlight—and it’s incredibly exciting. The most important thing I can say about this Gypsy is that it pushes boundaries. Banderas takes this traditional title and introduces contemporary impulses that breathe new life into it. The show’s concept is intimate yet theatrical, blending emotional depth with spectacle. Banderas’s vision emphasizes a deep exploration of the themes of ambition, reflecting on what he describes as “the pathology of success.” His intensity permeates the production, which feels distinctly Spanish in moments—and why not? He’s speaking to a Spanish audience. His success shines brightest when his leading lady, a fiercely talented and committed Marta Ribera, shares dramatic moments with her co-stars, especially with the patiently seductive Carlos Seguí as Herbie. Their scenes, especially their final confrontation, are beautifully staged, full of subtlety and fire, given an extra kick by Banderas’ conceptual flair. Lydia Fairén and Laia Prats bring fierce energy to the roles of Louise and June, electrifying the stage. These triple threats are allowed to transcend the original era and become 2025 versions of their historic characters. It is a departure from the 1930s vaudeville style, but it worked. Banderas, however, undeniably provides the heartbeat of this production. He pushes the boundaries with quirky, contemporary touches—like the expanded “Let Me Entertain You” sequence in Act Two, which is re-imagined with Louise headlining a Liza Minnelli-like extravaganza. In this extended section, ensemble members morph into inflated Emcee-like roles. It’s funny, albeit a bit indulgent, and I assume culturally significant. However, with the costume design, I was reminded of another iconic musical with a titular emcee that shall remain nameless. Some choices left me scratching my head. The set, a massive silver veil wrapping the entire proscenium, including the orchestra on a second level, is a big choice. The projections onto this luminescent shower curtain were often dazzling, but the reason for this bold choice escaped me. The costumes, mostly veering off-period, seemed intentionally conceptual, were often dazzling, but didn’t always land. Here’s my take: Mama Rose stays rooted in the vaudeville era, costumed impeccably for that period. The world around her is a cacophony of her present and future, something she refuses to step into. The orchestra, under the direction of Maestro Arturo Díez Boscovich, played this magnificent score on opening night with sublime splendor. Lush, vibrant, and perfectly executed, the music nearly carried the whole production on its own. The overture was stunning, adding beautifully to Banderas’ vision. Yet, in an ironic twist, the overture was overshadowed by choreography that felt more suited to a modern-day show choir than this iconic musical. As much as I wanted to love the choreography, it just didn’t quite hit the mark. At times, it felt too contemporary and abstract for a piece so deeply rooted in its historical context. Aside from the strangely jejune overture, poor Tulsa, played by the talented Aarón Cobos, could’ve used more help in telling the broader story in his iconic number, “All I Need is the Girl.” This is a vital emotional crescendo for Louise as well as Tulsa, but it falls flat. There’s a lack of that delicate push and pull where one character’s brilliance enhances the narrative journey of another. It’s a missed opportunity. Despite all this, the evening reminded me of the true purpose of musical theatre. It’s not just about spectacle or skill (of which there is an abundance) or making ‘correct’ choices; it’s about emotion, vulnerability, and connection. And when it’s done right, that’s the magic we all feel in the theatre—whether we understand every word. That’s what is happening here and thriving. In short, Banderas’ Gypsy is a bold experiment that captures the essence of why we love theatre—its energy, its emotion, and its unpredictability. I had my quibbles, but there is no doubt that this is a thrilling time to be a part of Madrid’s artistic landscape, and the Spanish, recently with lots of help from Banderas, are most definitely leading the charge. Spain, in all its theatrical, passionate, unapologetically expressive glory, has left its mark on me. From the raw, soul-shaking power of Flamenco in Seville to the dazzling musical theatre of Madrid, this country doesn’t just perform—it lives, breathes, and bleeds artistry. Whether it’s a single guitarist commanding a room with aching melodies or an entire ensemble pouring their hearts into a Broadway-caliber production, Spanish performers remind me why we tell stories in the first place—to connect, to reveal, to transcend. Here, theatre isn’t just entertainment; it’s an extension of life itself. And if there’s one thing Spain has taught me, it’s that art should never just be observed—it should be felt, fought for, and flung into with reckless, wholehearted abandon. Some notes on Spain’s Acting Scene Madrid. The pulsing heart of Spanish theater, where the scent of churros and chocolate mingles with the glitz and glamour of world-class theatr e . The industry here is a passionate, unpredictable beast—brimming with opportunity, yes, but riddled with instability. Performers leap from stage to screen, juggling Shakespeare, Almodóvar-style melodrama, and the occasional detergent commercial just to keep the lights on. From what I’ve gathered through old-school research and conversations with actors, Madrid’s acting schools aren’t just institutions; they’re artistic battlegrounds where actors are sculpted, shattered, and reborn. Whether you want to master classical theatre, embody raw emotional realism, conquer the screen, or defy gravity, there’s a training ground tailored to your brand of artistry. Incidentally, if you’re interested in studying performance in Spain and you are not fluent in the language—or the many dialects—of the Iberian Peninsula, I suggest diving into those language apps posthaste. And then take a formal course. While the British may revel in the elegance of their native tongue, the Spanish-trained actor is also a virtuoso of vocal expression, wielding their language with astonishing precision and power. Formal Acting Schools & Conservatories in Madrid: A Theatrical Wonderland From hallowed conservatories to avant-garde training grounds, Madrid boasts institutions that turn hopeful performers into genuine stars—sometimes with a bit of existential suffering thrown in for good measure. The competition is fierce, but it feels less overwrought and populated, more specific and focused, filled with those who truly belong, who are ‘Initiate’— in an environment where only the committed, the obsessive, and perhaps the unhinged survive. RESAD: The Shakespearean Boot Camp of Spain https://www.resad.es/ Let’s start with the Real Escuela Superior de Arte Dramático (RESAD), Spain’s version of Juilliard or RADA, where the walls ooze history, and you can practically hear the echoes of centuries of Spanish theatre legends yelling about fate and honor. This is where actors go to be properly forged in the fires of theatrical rigor, emerging with a predilection for declaiming Lorca monologues while sipping overpriced café con leche. RESAD specializes in classical and contemporary theatre, ensuring students can handle everything from Shakespearean soliloquies to brooding avant-garde absurdism. The facilities match the intensity: multiple theaters, both indoor and outdoor, providing full-fledged performance spaces rather than just a dusty black box with a broken spotlight. The library is legendary, filled with plays, historical texts, and possibly a few haunted scripts. It is a place of discipline, tradition, and, if you make it through, prestige. While it’s best known for its rigorous classical theatre training, it also offers a specialization in Musical Theatre. This is where the academically inclined Ariana DeBose wannabe goes, where you’ll analyze the historical evolution of musical theatre in the morning and belt out a Sondheim ballad in the afternoon. Cristina Rota: The Rebel’s Playground https://escuelacristinarota.com/ If RESAD is the polished grand dame of Spanish theatre training, then the Escuela de Interpretación de Cristina Rota is the rebellious rock star in ripped jeans and a leather jacket. Known for its intensive Meisner-based training, this school pushes actors toward emotional authenticity, raw vulnerability, and the occasional existential meltdown. Forget the grandiosity of RESAD—Escuela de Interpretación de Cristina Rota is raw, intimate, and probably smells a bit like sweat and ambition. This place isn’t about fancy buildings; it’s about emotion, technique, and stripping your soul bare in front of your classmates. Minimalist black box theaters, because who needs elaborate sets when you ARE the drama? Cristina Rota’s alumni list reads like the Spanish version of an indie film festival lineup—including Paco León, who became a household name for his comedic genius, and Juan Diego Botto, who juggles theatre, film, and social activism. And then there’s Penélope Cruz who graced the halls of this institution before charming the world with her undeniable talent and Pedro Almodóvar-approved magnetism. Instituto del Cine Madrid: The Hollywood Gateway https://www.institutodelcine.es/ For those who prefer the buzz of film sets over the scent of dusty velvet curtains, the Instituto del Cine Madrid is your best bet. Specializing in screen acting, camera techniques, and making sure you don’t awkwardly blink at the wrong moment, this school prepares actors for the wild world of film and television. Who trained here? Many of the actors working in Spain’s booming Netflix and HBO España productions have passed through its doors, and while they may not yet be household names internationally, they are steadily climbing the ladder of cinematic fame. The school’s real strength is industry connections, making it a top choice for anyone on the film and television trajectory. Juan Carlos Corazza: The Mind-Bending Masterclass https://estudiodeactuacion.com/en/home/ If you’re looking for something a little more esoteric, a little more soul-searching, and potentially life-altering, welcome to the Juan Carlos Corazza Studio . This isn’t just actor training; this is an odyssey into your own psyche. It’s a Stanislavski-Meisner-movement-infused pilgrimage, and those who survive it emerge as acting titans with an almost eerie emotional depth. Javier Bardem, Spain’s finest growling, brooding, scene-stealing Oscar winner trained here. If it worked for him, maybe there’s hope for the rest of us mere mortals. Musical Theatre Training Musical Theatre is an industry that’s exploded in recent years, with Madrid establishing itself as the Broadway of the Spanish-speaking world, producing everything from Sondheim to original Spanish-language mega-musicals. But where do these triple-threats-in-the-making hone their craft? Let’s dive into the musical theatre training grounds of Madrid—places where singers become storytellers, dancers learn to act, and actors learn, well, to count to eight. Escuela de Teatro Musical Memory: The Broadway Bootcamp https://www.escolamemory.cat/ca/ If RESAD is the hallowed temple of theatre, Escuela de Teatro Musical Memory is the sweaty, fosse-walking rehearsal studio where the magic actually happens. This school is entirely devoted to musical theatre, meaning you won’t have to sit through a lecture on 17th-century Spanish drama before launching into a full-throated rendition of "Defying Gravity." Here, it’s all about technique: voice, movement, acting, and most importantly, stamina—because if you can’t belt through an eight-minute dance number, are you even a musical theatre performer? The school’s facilities are state-of-the-art, with professional dance studios, recording spaces, and performance venues that make it feel more like a working theatre than an educational institution. The training is full-throttle, preparing students for the grueling reality of eight-shows-a-week contracts. Scaena: The Contemporary Powerhouse https://scaenaartesescenicas.com/ Scaena , founded by the illustrious Carmen Roche, is another serious contender in Madrid’s musical theatre scene. With a faculty stacked with industry professionals and a curriculum that blends classical technique with contemporary performance skills, this is where you go if you want to be employable in both West Side Story and whatever avant-garde, genre-bending musical is about to take over the industry next. Scaena is known for its holistic approach—training students not just in singing, dancing, and acting, but also in the business side of theatre. Graduates have gone on to perform on Madrid’s biggest stages and, in some cases, taken their talents international. If you’re looking for a well-rounded, forward-thinking approach to musical theatre training, Scaena is a solid bet. SOM Academy: The Industry Pipeline https://somescuelademusicales.com/ The new kid on the block but already making waves, SOM Academy is the brainchild of Stage Entertainment, the production company behind Spain’s biggest commercial musical theatre hits. If you want direct access to industry professionals and a training program designed with actual casting needs in mind, this is the place to be. SOM Academy is less about academia and more about real-world training. Students work with active directors, choreographers, and vocal coaches currently employed in Madrid’s theatre scene, meaning your final showcase could literally be an audition for your first professional gig. The school’s facilities include recording studios, full-scale rehearsal spaces, and performance venues that mimic the conditions of actual commercial productions. Since it’s directly connected to Madrid’s most successful theatre productions, the alumni list is growing fast, with many graduates booking ensemble and lead roles straight out of training. It’s the ultimate fast-track for those looking to go from student to working professional with as little downtime as possible. La vida del actor para mí Let’s consider the life and times of the Spanish actor—that bohemian struggle between artistry and financial ruin, between thunderous ovations (mercifully, the Spanish don’t stand up after every performance) and standing in line for unemployment benefits. And what better way to explore it than by comparing two of the world’s great theatrical cities: Madrid and New York. The city’s musical theater scene has been the subject of some dramatic exposés—tales of grueling schedules, low pay, no vacations or sick leave, and the kind of exhaustion that turns jazz hands into trembling claws. These conditions have fueled a surge in union activism, as actors demand to be treated as professionals rather than disposable props. Sound familiar? It should—to anyone who knows the history of Actors’ Equity Association in America. Speaking of America, New York actors navigate a world just as cutthroat but armed with a powerful shield: the union. And unlike Spain, where performers are still fighting for basic protections, New York has its fortresses—Actors’ Equity Association (AEA), the Screen Actors Guild (SAG-AFTRA), and a network of contracts designed to ensure actors aren’t working themselves to death for the price of a subway swipe. Broadway performers are still flogging themselves nightly—belting, leaping, and sweating their way through eight-show weeks—but at least there are structured breaks, minimum salaries, and a health plan that doesn’t require one to barter a kidney. And since the COVID era, the old adage “the show must go on”—once a rallying cry for actors to struggle through sickness and like it—has given way to a new mantra: “Stay home and keep your coughs to yourself.” Swings and understudies now step in all the time, proving that the industry can, in fact, survive without forcing its performers to push through pneumonia for the sake of a matinee crowd. Progress? Perhaps. But whether in Madrid or New York, the hustle remains eternal, the struggle is real, and the show, as ever, must go on. Now the money—because as much as we like to pretend it’s all about the art, passion doesn’t pay the bills—Madrid actors face a salary roulette that makes the stock market look stable. One source pegs the average annual salary at a respectable €56,779 (roughly $59,500.00), while another (Glassdoor) suggests it’s closer to €15,000 ($15,730). That’s a discrepancy so vast; it’s like comparing a West End leading role to playing “weeping willow on the left” in the school play. Meanwhile, in New York, a Broadway actor under union contract starts at around $2,034 per week—if they can land a full-year contract, that’s over $100,000 annually. Just breaking poverty in New York, but still… Off-Broadway? Less predictable. Indie films, immersive theater, TV guest spots, experimental performance art in a Brooklyn warehouse? Welcome to the hustle. Let’s break it down even more. According to a report from El País in October 2024, ensemble members, replacements, and understudies in Madrid’s musical theater scene earn a base salary of €2,556 gross per month . After social security and a moderate income tax rate (~15%), the net monthly salary could be around €1,900–€2,050, or €475 - €513 per week. That’s what I made in 1992 in Chicago. I’m sure working through the economics of it, considering a lower ticket price, FREE health insurance and $3 copa de Rioja ($18 in New York), etc, might soften these horrifying stats, but still. Quaint hobby is, indeed, how one might categorize a career as a performer nowadays. For context, ensemble members in the Broadway production of “The Book of Mormon” have been reported to earn approximately $2,095 per week, the current minimum weekly salary for a member of the actors’ union (AEA). And then there’s the challenge of work itself. Madrid’s performers talk of brutal rehearsal hours, minimal breaks, and an industry that expects them to power through illness like some kind of method-acting exercise in suffering. New York, at least in the unionized world, has mandated breaks, sick leave, and some attempt at humane working conditions. But make no mistake—whether it’s Broadway, Off-Broadway, or grinding out guest spots on Law & Order, New York actors are still running a constant marathon of auditions, callbacks, side jobs, the ever-present spectre of the two-week notice, and competition that feels like Squid Games . Home life is farther away from work as well… who can afford to live in Manhattan? The 475 square foot, two-bedroom apartment I rented on 51st and 9th, a few blocks from Broadway’s theatre district from 1995 - 2010 for an average $1600.00 during that time goes for $7000 per month in 2025. I have no discernible words for that preposterous fact. And yet, despite the odds, they persist. Because for the true actor, the show really must go on—even if it means doing it for exposure, a travel stipend, or the occasional free drink at an industry mixer. Image Credits: Article References References About the author(s) Adam Pelty is a nationally recognized performer, director, and choreographer. He created the original choreography for The Scarlet Pimpernel on Broadway and received the IRNE Award for choreography for his work on Billy Elliot - the Musical at the Ogunquit Playhouse. His Broadway acting credits include Cyrano: The Musical, Steel Pier, A Christmas Carol, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, The Scarlet Pimpernel, and Titanic . As a director and choreographer, he has worked regionally at theaters such as North Shore Music Theatre, The Fulton Theatre, Argyle Theatre, Merrimack Repertory Theatre, Capital Repertory Theatre, and Porchlight Music Theatre. Pelty has served on the faculties of Interlochen Center for the Arts, Ithaca College, AMDA, and NYU. Currently, he is Professor of Musical Theatre and Dance at Coastal Carolina University in South Carolina, where he lives with his wife, Hillary Patingre Pelty. European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents The 2025 Festival International New Drama (FIND) at Berlin Schaubühne Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 20 Willem Dafoe in conversation with Theater der Zeit The Puzzle: A new musical in the Spoleto Festival, Italy presented by La MaMa Umbria Varna Summer International Theatre Festival Mary Said What She Said The 62nd Berliner Theatertreffen: Stories and Theatrical Spaces That Realize the Past, Present and Future. Interview with Walter Bart (Artistic Leader, Wunderbaum Collective & Director, Die Hundekot-Attacke) from the 2024 Berliner Theatertreffen Duende and Showbiz: A Theatrical Odyssey Through Spain’s Soul Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 21, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 21 By Steve Earnest Published: December 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF The Winter 2025 edition of European Stages features articles from England, Portugal, Germany, Poland, France and Romania. There is a fascinating mix of productions covered and an equally varied group of writers ranging from Marvin Carlson, one of America’s most respected theatre scholars to Amy Hamel, a university lecturer and former student of mine from Florida who appeared on Broadway and major regional theatres across the USA. It was amazing to publish this brilliant young woman’s first work, but Dr. Carlson had done me that favor many years ago in the 1990’s with one of my first articles, a (probably bad) review of Der Eismann Kommt at Deutsches Theater Berlin while I was completing my dissertation research on the Ernst Busch Schule. I know I tried very hard to be a good writer as Yvonne Shafer, one of my mentors and longtime contributors to Western European Stages , was instrumental in my submitting that review as well as helping me making the connections with the Ernst Busch Schule before that. Also included in the mix are long time contributors to European Stages like Kalina Stefanova and Philippa Wehle, both of whom covered important European festivals in Romania and France from Summer 2025. The Winter issue has generally included many works each year from the previous Summer, which allows readers to both reflect on past work but also to consider what possibilities the upcoming season may hold. The issue also features an article from first time European Stages contributor, Dr. Timothy Koch, a former colleague of mine at Coastal Carolina University now living in Portugal. Tim has a strong sense for European production, having taken numerous musical groups to Europe over his distinguished career. Savas Patsalidis also contributes a work on a the prestigious Almada festival in Portugal while Ion Tomus provides a glimpse into the Radu Stanca National Theatre in Romania and its collaboration with a Romanian University. The issue also looks at a few Polish productions in both Warsaw as well as Lublin, the city recently designated as the European Capital of Culture in 2029. Finally, I have included a review of Robert Wilson’s last realized work, Moby Dick at Düsseldorfer Schauspielhaus in May 2025. Bob’s death in June created a void in our world that is not likely to be soon filled, and I was happy to attend the production with his co-director Ann-Christin Rommen. I think we will all be mourning Bob’s death for many years to come, but we will hope to see new works emerge that reveal his tremendous influence on world theatre. Wilson’s Moby Dick plays at the Brooklyn Academy of Music in late April/early May 2026 and opportunities to see Wilson’s work in the USA have traditionally been scarce. Personally, I am very happy that Marvin Carlson is continuing to make strong contributions to the journal that he founded in 1969. Marvin’s current article is particularly relevant as it covers Peer Gynt , the most recent work of the controversial yet brilliant Norwegian Director Vegard Vinge and his longstanding colleague Ida Müller. As we approach the vibrant European Summer festival season, it’s likely that some of the works mentioned in this article (particularly The Summit and Peer Gynt ) could end up in the lineup of the Theatertreffen this coming May. My trip is already booked! Steve Earnest and Ann-Christin Rommen at Moby Dick , Schauspiel Düsseldorf in May 2025 Image Credits: Article References References About the author(s) Steve Earnest is a Professor of Theatre at Coastal Carolina University . He was a Fulbright Scholar in Nanjing, China during the 2019 – 2020 academic year where he taught and directed works in Shakespeare and Musical Theatre. A member of SAG-AFTRA and AEA, he has worked professionally as an actor with Performance Riverside, The Burt Reynolds Theatre, The Jupiter Theatre, Candlelight Pavilion Dinner Theatre, The Colorado Shakespeare Festival, Birmingham Summerfest and the Riverside Theatre of Vero Beach, among others. Film credits include Bloody Homecoming , Suicide Note and Miami Vice . His professional directing credits include Big River , Singin’ in the Rain and Meet Me in St. Louis at the Palm Canyon Theatre in Palm Springs, Musicale at Whitehall 06 at the Flagler Museum in Palm Beach and Much Ado About Nothing with the Mountain Brook Shakespeare Festival. Numer ous publications include a book, The State Acting Academy of East Berlin , published in 1999 by Mellen Press, a book chapter in Performer Training, published by Harwood Press, and a number of articles and reviews in academic journals and periodicals including Theatre Journal, New Theatre Quarterly, Western European Stages, The Journal of Beckett Studies and Backstage West . He has taught Acting, Movement, Dance, and Theatre History/Literature at California State University, San Bernardino, the University of West Georgia , the University of Montevallo and Palm Beach Atlantic University. He holds a Ph.D. in Theatre from the University of Colorado, Boulder and an M.F.A. in Musical Theatre from the University of Miami, FL. European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025 Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 21 Robert Wilson’s Moby Dick at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf, Summer 2025 Dramas of Separation at Festival d’Avignon 19th Edition Polyphonies of the Present: The Pulse of the Almada Festival Summer 2025 in London, England The Tragic Ideal of Eternal Youth: Folk Myth on the Modern Stage International Theatre Festival of Sibiu 32nd Edition Review of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa by Ópera do Castelo Radu Afrim and his House Between the Blocks Report from Berlin Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 21, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage Robert Wilson’s Moby Dick at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf, Summer 2025 By Steve Earnest Published: December 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF It was not known that Moby Dick would be Bob Wilson’s final realized production as his death in June 2025 happened before numerous future productions already in rehearsal were fully realized. Originally conceived in 2017 and proposed for a Norwegian production a few years later, the show was put on hold for years before finally being developed at the Watermill Summer Institute and finally presented at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf in 2024. The massive work was conceived by Wilson and Ann-Christin Rommen, with scenic design by Serge Von Arx, costumes by Julia von Leliwa, music by Anna Calvi, Dom Bouffard and Chris Wheeler, video by Tomasz Jeziorski and additional lighting by Marcello Lumaca. Moby Dick revealed an important evolution in Wilsonian production style with its heavy reliance on video sequences to enhance the work’s massive scale. Previously Faust 1 & 2 at Berliner Ensemble (2016) had included several video sequences but Moby Dick greatly surpassed that with numerous incredible background video sequences, many featuring powerful scenes from the ocean as a major part of the production. Unlike many of Wilson’s previous works, often known for their long running times, Moby Dick was presented with no intermission and a running time of only ninety minutes. Herman Melville’s novel is a staple of American Literature and considers the universal issue of mankind versus nature (represented by the whale, Moby Dick) also dealing with issues of human control, the killing of animals, the nature of those who fish the oceans, the nature of killing itself as well as mankind’s eternal fight against impending doom. The text for Moby Dick was created by Wilson, Ann-Christin Rommen, Robert Koall and Lily Mertens and was characterized by its reductive nature – the spoken text was somewhat limited, and many words and sequences were repeated throughout the work with a great deal of the works focus landing on musical numbers. Anna Calvi’s extraordinary cinematic musical score included around eight musical numbers, and, like many of Wilson’s recent works, could be considered a musical theatre work to some degree given the staging, choreography and singing in the pieces. Wilson’s characteristic repetitive movement patterns and character poses aided the story’s development as each character had their own distinctive movement and gestural language – similar to mie poses used in aragoto Kabuki performances. Christopher Nell and Jürgen Sarkiss in Moby Dick . Photo credit: Lucie Jansch The framing of the work was the telling of the story of Moby Dick by an old man (possibly representing Melville himself) to a young boy, played by the popular German actor Christopher Nell. Nell is one of Germany’s most impressive current actors. Having received his training at the Hochschlule für Musik und Theater Rostock, he has played in numerous previous Wilson productions including Faust 1 & 2 at the Berliner Ensemble in 2016 as well as the leading role in Pferd Frisst Hut at the Komische Oper Berlin in 2025. Nell’s incredible physical work as one of the leading figures in Moby Dick highlighted Wilson’s physical style of performance. Nell’s uncanny physical abilities were put on full display as the character of The Boy, moved through the scenes with reckless abandon, all the while utilizing the Wilsonian soundscape to achieve many of the previously mentioned character poses. Throughout the work this technique defined many of the characters and has been a part of Wilson’s work for quite a long time. Christopher Nell and Rosa Enskat in Moby Dick. Photo Credit: Lucie Jansch Rosa Enskat as Captain Ahab in Moby Dick. Photo Credit: Lucie Jansch Melville’s text centered around the story of Ahab, designated as “Peg Leg” in Wilson’s text, who sought, above all else, to risk the life of the entire crew to exact revenge on the whale who had taken away a part of his leg several years previously. Played by Rosa Enskat, the role of Ahab was a highly physical, yet complicated role as the characteristic poses (mies) were extremely specific to motion and involved interaction with not only the other characters but with the incredible scenes of oceanic and wind movement as well as with the ship itself. Another particular element of the design included wigs that implied a particular sense of movement that was enhanced and influenced by Wilson’s staging. Perhaps the greatest examples were seen in the role of Ahab played to perfection by Rosa Enskat. The characteristic limp and leg disorder (symbolized in the Wilson production by a long black leather boot) keyed the audience into the story of the legless captain intent on revenge against the mammoth whale. Additionally, Ahab’s hair style included the directional movement that became a large part of the character’s movement repertoire. Wilson’s specificity with character placement and body alignment became even more specific in his later years with hair pieces and other elements like props (Ahab’s walking cane for example) aligned in extremely particular and exact positions. This accuracy of precise positioning has challenged many actors involved in Wilson’s works over the years but many – such as Willem Dafoe and Mikhail Baryishnikov in The Old Woman (2013 ) - found this type of specificity extremely liberating and actually gave them less to think about within the context of the work. Several of the major musical scenes of the work were extremely compelling. The gathering of the sailors for the conquest scene included an extended choral sequence as the church blessed the hunters as well as the evil hunted whale. Video sequences established the seaport while the actors engaged in a complicated musical work that blessed the ship on its important journey to destroy the monstrous creature. The inclusion of religion into the equation (also present in the Melville novel) added yet another element into the “human versus nature” them by adding the element of God on the side of humanity. The mounting of the ship was characterized by an extended and visually repetitive scene beautifully realized and involving numerous, often violent images of a seaport city. Some of the images seemed reminiscent of Hitchcock’s The Birds as angry birds seemed to be arriving to the scene as a potential angry chorus of supporters for the important killing mission that would be achieved by Ahab and his group of sailors. Clearly embracing a non-chronological narrative, the work often shifted back to scenes between The Boy and the Old Man as they discussed the evolving story. In a curious Wilson turn, The Boy began to take on the role of a conductor and waved a conductor’s baton in numerous scenes while talking to the Old Man as well as his strong presence in numerous scenes. Several scenes featured The Boy conducting musical sequences that were a part of the works precise soundscape. Without superior internal knowledge it is impossible to know the motivation for these scenes as one of the most compelling and interesting aspects of Wilson’s works throughout his career has been the use of arbitrary and unexplained elements. In fact, that is one of the truly beautiful elements of his work and even delving into those moments are a waste of time. The main consideration should always be: “Did they work and did they make the work more interesting?” In the case of The Boy’s evolution into the world of musical conducting the answer was a resounding “yes,” and the scenes somehow recognized his maturation as well as adding numerous possibilities for comic physical action. Nell’s work was incredibly similar to the famous American comedy star Danny Kaye. Their physical resemblance was unmistakable, but Nell’s physical and vocal abilities placed him in a category equal to that great American movie actor. One of the most memorable scenes in the work occurred in the latter half as the crew was preparing to harpoon the whale. Set to Calvi’s powerful music, the musical number “We’re Gonna Reel Him In” would certainly qualify to be the pieces “Eleven O’clock Number” (in the sense of musical theatre works) and was a powerful and stirring piece that both vocally and physically embraced Wilson’s powerful aesthetic. Numerous powerful images from the scene shifted from the imaginary vessel to imaginary landscapes that displayed numerous relationships among the crew members that suggested a variety of activities and interpersonal connections. Many of the tableau created were open to individual interpretation but all were beautifully realized in classic Wilson style. The company of Moby Dick by Robert Wilson. Photo Credit: Lucie Jansch The absence of Bob Wilson in the world’s performance landscape is one of the biggest losses imaginable. The fact that Wilson brought this production of Moby Dick to the stage and realized it as a very audience friendly, time friendly and visually stunning as well as technically advanced work (to the highest levels of contemporary technology) cemented his role as one of the most important innovators (certainly as an American) in the history of theatre. Wilson was a singular artist, whose style is still just being discovered, realized and copied by artists in theatre, musical theatre, film, dance, opera and other areas like installation art where he also had a strong presence as a creator and presenter. At the time of this writing Moby Dick will be shown in Brooklyn, New York at BAM in April 2026, which will give American audiences an opportunity to see his final work by the (mostly) original Dusseldorf cast. However, Wilson’s work will not cease, as his numerous associates, such as Ann-Christin Rommen and Daryl Pinckney among others will likely work to keep the Wilson performance tradition alive to whatever degree is possible. Image Credits: Article References References About the author(s) Steve Earnest is a Professor of Theatre at Coastal Carolina University . He was a Fulbright Scholar in Nanjing, China during the 2019 – 2020 academic year where he taught and directed works in Shakespeare and Musical Theatre. A member of SAG-AFTRA and AEA, he has worked professionally as an actor with Performance Riverside, The Burt Reynolds Theatre, The Jupiter Theatre, Candlelight Pavilion Dinner Theatre, The Colorado Shakespeare Festival, Birmingham Summerfest and the Riverside Theatre of Vero Beach, among others. Film credits include Bloody Homecoming , Suicide Note and Miami Vice . His professional directing credits include Big River , Singin’ in the Rain and Meet Me in St. Louis at the Palm Canyon Theatre in Palm Springs, Musicale at Whitehall 06 at the Flagler Museum in Palm Beach and Much Ado About Nothing with the Mountain Brook Shakespeare Festival. Numer ous publications include a book, The State Acting Academy of East Berlin , published in 1999 by Mellen Press, a book chapter in Performer Training, published by Harwood Press, and a number of articles and reviews in academic journals and periodicals including Theatre Journal, New Theatre Quarterly, Western European Stages, The Journal of Beckett Studies and Backstage West . He has taught Acting, Movement, Dance, and Theatre History/Literature at California State University, San Bernardino, the University of West Georgia , the University of Montevallo and Palm Beach Atlantic University. He holds a Ph.D. in Theatre from the University of Colorado, Boulder and an M.F.A. in Musical Theatre from the University of Miami, FL. European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025 Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 21 Robert Wilson’s Moby Dick at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf, Summer 2025 Dramas of Separation at Festival d’Avignon 19th Edition Polyphonies of the Present: The Pulse of the Almada Festival Summer 2025 in London, England The Tragic Ideal of Eternal Youth: Folk Myth on the Modern Stage International Theatre Festival of Sibiu 32nd Edition Review of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa by Ópera do Castelo Radu Afrim and his House Between the Blocks Report from Berlin Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 21, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage Dramas of Separation at Festival d’Avignon 19th Edition By Philippa Wehle Published: December 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF From Tunisia, Syria, Egypt, Lebanon, Iraq and beyond, artists from some fifteen Arabic speaking countries offered visions of their world in keeping with Avignon artistic director Tiago Rodrigues’ decision to invite Arabic as this year’s guest language: Arabic, the fifth most spoken language in the world and second most in France. Accordingly, the 79 th edition of the festival offered examples of Arabic and Arab culture in many different forms and expressions from Islamic poetry to rai , from original maqams and chaabi and from Sufi music to Arab-Andalusian melodies. The Arab world was present in many of this year’s offerings, both musical, visual, and spoken. The works ranged from a superb 3- hour concert featuring some 24 celebrated Arab-speaking artists performed for just one evening to a short piece held indoors, in a meeting room, for only an hour. Radouan Mriziga: Magec/The Desert . Photo: Christophe Raynaud de Lage. In general, this year’s festival tended to feature dance, poetry and song more than written word theater. In fact, one third of the festival’s official shows were dedicated to dance and music. Radouan Mriziga (from Morocco and Belgium), for example, offered Magec/the Desert, a glorious evening of dance exploring the desert’s relationship with time, nature, and the cultures that inhabit it using rhythms, gestures, masks and stories. Evoking wild spaces that cannot be tamed, the show’s outstanding dancers led the audience through encounters with our relationship with nature. La Voix des femmes ( Women’s Voices ) on the Honor Court stage in the Pope’s Palace and Nour , was a poetic celebration of the Arab language at the Cour du Lycée Saint-Joseph. Although each was given only one performance each, they provided outstanding examples of concerts of music, song, poetry and movement from the Arab world. On the evening of July 14 th , fifty years after the passing of Oum Kalthoum, the legendary Egyptian singer and songwriter known as the Star of the East, La Voix des femmes , under the musical direction of Lebanese producer Zeid Hamdan, presented a monumental two-hour concert composed of a variety of love songs delivered by seven artists invited to pay tribute to this great singer. They were accompanied by six superb musicians (among them Zeid Hamdan in the percussion section) and a violinist as well as more traditional instruments such as a qanun (a sort of oriental harp or lute). La Voix des femmes: Photo: Christophe Raynaud de Lage Nour : Artistic Director: Julien Colardelle, Photo: Christophe Raynaud de Lage Nour ( “light”in Arabic) , a much larger piece, involved numerous artists from the Arab world in an evening of concerts, performances, readings, and screenings at the Cour du Lycée St Joseph. Twenty-four major personalities, musicians, actors, poets, and dancers performed ancestral texts along with contemporary poets. The evening’s offerings were structured around foundational themes such as love, spirituality, nature, and resistance. Hala Mohammad, Syrian Protest Poet in exile. Maryam Saleh, Egyptian singer and songwriter, Mohammed Al-Qudza, a Palestinian poet writer from Gaza City, were just a few of the artists featured in this event. Nour : Artistic Director: Julien Colardelle, Photo: Christophe Raynaud de Lage One’s own Room Inside Kabul : Directed by Sumaia Sediqi, Caroline Gillet & Kubra Khademi. Photo by Christophe Raynaud de Lage Held inside in one of the meeting rooms in the Cloître St. Louis, home of the Festival offices, the play One’s own room Inside Kabul by Caroline Gillet, Kubra Khademi and Sumaia Sedi was presented. Spoken in both English and French, the work was a fascinating introduction to the life of Raha, a 21-year-old Afghan woman isolated from the outside world after the Taliban had taken over her country. Entering a makeshift living room, the audience takes their seats on red velvet cushions lined up against the walls facing each other. Between them, a white tablecloth set with 40 carefully arranged ceramic plates, beautiful teapots and vases of flowers. On each plate there are a few words telling the stories of other Afghan women who, like Raha, were forced to lead a confined existence. Raha spoke to us of her secluded life by way of an immersive video/audio installation. The audience was able to follow her thoughts through voice messages and spatialized sound design. Clearly her determination to remain “in her own room” inside Kabul was a brave act of resistance, but a stirring testimony to her and others like her. La Distance : Directed by Tiago Rodrigues, Photo: Christophe Raynaud de Lage There were numerous more traditional works of theatre. La Distance , a fascinating new play by Festival director Tiago Rodrigues, was a futuristic drama in which a father living on earth and his daughter who had left earth to live on the planet Mars in the year 2077 attempted to communicate. With over 139,805,518 miles between them, they play posed the question “how could they”? The father, powerfully portrayed by Adama Diop, tried desperately to stay connected to his daughter through voice messages and long-distance calls. But these took at least five months to be deliv ered. The daughter (lovely Alison Dechamps) now a member of a newly formed colony on Mars, had been given the gift of forgetting thanks to programmed amnesia. As a result, her memory of earth and her father was being erased. Time became of the essence for her father to communicate with her one last time. This drama of separation took place on a unique stage design composed of two platforms in rotation that came close together at times and then drifted apart at others. Accompanied by music, light and color designs, they move around each other in perpetual motion, accelerating, decelerating and rare moments of standing still. On the stage, father and daughter were visually separated from each other by a barren landscape composed of an imposing rock formation next to a surrealistic display of a tree trunk with imposing bare branches reaching out into the void. Father and daughter never really saw each other although at times she seemed to be right next to or behind him. Other times, she was hanging over him from the top of the rock, even though they are miles apart. La Distance : Written and directed by Tiago Rodrigues, Photo: Christophe Raynaud de Lage The distance between father and daughter was both generational as well as real; the daughter had chosen to leave earth to invent a new life, and she was happy to be free from the past. Still living in the past, the father was unable to let go of her. The Distance concluded with the father’s final moments with his daughter, moments that only the audience could hear and appreciate. As the play neared its end, the father sent his daughter birthday greetings. He put on a record to wish her a “happy birthday” as he placed family photos on the ground. Though on separate planets, they shared a laugh together. “You left because you wanted to have hope,” he told her, “hope and forgetfulness.” She had achieved her goal of inventing a new life on Mars as the father, on earth, was left with the tragic loss of his daughter and unable to accept it. The powerful ending was devastating. Israel & Mohamed : Created by Israel Galván & Mohamed El Khatib, Photo by: Christophe Raynaud de Lage Israel & Mohamed was a documentary dance performance created and performed by two well-known contemporary artists, noted Spanish contemporary flamenco dancer and choreographer Israel Galván and well-known author and documentary theater maker Mohamed El Khatib. Inspired by both their similarities and differences, they created a captivating biographical piece inspired by their family histories and their choices to pursue their own careers beyond what their fathers expected of them. Early in the show, Mohamed and Israel sat in the orange chairs and watched videos of their fathers talking about what they had hoped for their sons and their disappointment that their sons had chosen careers in theater and dance, Evidently, both artists came from deeply traditional families with high expectations; Israel’s father had hoped that his son would continue the family tradition of classical flamenco dance while Mohamed’s cannot understand why his son did not pursue a path as a professional academic. Israel & Mohamed played out across the full length of the Cloître des Carmes stage. At either end Mohamed and Israel had make-shift tables facing across the stage from each other. These movable tables became “altars” set with mementoes and reminders from their past. In the middle of the stage, sat two bright orange chairs on which they watched videos of their fathers. On Mohamed’s table, were the “babouches” (Moroccan slippers) his father used to teach him a lesson whenever he would forget a line from the Koran. Above him was the head of a stag and beneath him was a portrait of his father. Israel’s altar featured a mechanical parrot that sang along with a large pile of medals and prizes he had won. throughout his career. Among these archives of his life was also a portrait of his father. Israel & Mohamed : Created and directed by Israel Galvân & Mohamed El Khatib, Photo by: Christophe Raynaud de Lage Seated on the uncomfortable chairs, their backs to the audience, they silently watched videos of their fathers talking about their expectations their sons lives and careers and their ultimate disappointment. Israel, celebrated for his avant-garde flamenco performances ( La Curva , in particular) had been raised in traditional flamenco, Mohamed chose theater despite his academic background. While Israel’s father voiced his disappointment that his son did not follow in his family’s traditional flamenco style. Mohamed’s father who left Morocco to work in a factory in France to support his family, had hoped that his son’s educational degrees would lead to professional success rather a career making documentary theater. In the evening’s memorable finale, the two artists, collaborators and friends created an original dance number. Their pas de deux represented their happy yet emotional response to their fathers’ collective disappointment. BREL, Conceived and directed by Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker & Solal Mariotte, Photo by Christophe Raynaud de Lage BREL , was another collaboration, this time between legendary Belgian choreographer Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker and Solal Mariotte, a young French breakdancer and a member of De Keersmaeker’s Rosas dance company. A new creation set to the iconic songs of the great Belgian singer and songwriter, Jacques Brel and was presented in the Carrière Boulbon, an immense quarry outside of Avignon. Conceived, choreographed and danced by the two, their work was inspired by a selection of 26 Brel songs. Just to listen to these glorious songs in such a magical space would have been enough but watching De Keersmaeker and Mariotte respond to them was an enchantment. BREL was performed on a simple bare platform set up against the quarry walls on which larger than life projections accompanied a number of scenes. The special play of shadow and light against the walls added to the mystery of the evening during which the dancers often played in silhouette. A gigantic image of Brel hung over the early scenes, and his aura became an important part of the performance. The opening number was a solo by Anne Teresa, ( Le Diable ça va or The Devil, everything’s okay ) dramatized the devil’s visit to the earth where he is delighted to find that men are still having fun playing the dangerous game of war and putting bombs on railroad tracks. Each line of the song ends with “ça va.” “All’s well!” In case the audience missed the irony of Brel’s words, CA VA was projected in giant letters on the quarry wall some 130 feet above the playing space. Appearing alone out of the shadows and wearing a grey tailored pants suit, De Keersmaeker with her back turned to the audience. As she turns around, she smiled as if to suggest that BREL was going to be something quite different from what we might have expected. She waltzed with great twisting and turning movements, clearly enjoying Brel’s social commentary. As she finished the opening, Mariotte joined her and became her partner for the evening. Together they explored 26 of Brel’s classic songs, not so much interpreting them as testing out possible contemporary responses to Brel’s world as compared to our own with waltzes and love songs and tangos, duets and solos. There were a number of Brel’s love songs “ Quand on n’a que l’amour ” (“ When Love is All we have ”) and “ Ne me Quitte pas ” (“ Don’t Leave me ”), but especially “ Marieke ,” about a lost love from long ago, performed by Mariotte, whose choreography brought out not just the sadness of Brel’s plea to the young woman he once loved, but more importantly, perhaps, he seemed to emphasize Brel’s longing for his Flemish homeland, the Flemish sky that wept with him, the flat land that was his and the endless mist. Solal’s familiarity with the back spins, freezes and footwork of the breakdance tradition added a note of urgency to Brel’s song. Toward the end of his solo, De Keersmaeker joined him lying on the floor, reaching out to him as if to comfort him, they rolled across the stage together. Solal’s breakdance background was even more visible in his solo interpretation of “ Une valse à mille tem ps” (“ A Thousandth-time waltz ). He clearly welcomed this song which began with a slow waltz ( Une valse à trois temps) and built to dizzying moments of twirling, spinning and frenzy. BREL: Conceived and Directed by Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker & Solal Mariotte, Photo by Christophe Raynaud de Lage Their very different styles, their backgrounds, their difference in age, (Solal is 26, De Keersmaeker in her 60s) and their very different choreographic approaches, allowed numerous possibilities for movement: playful at times, mocking at others, all displayed by somewhat tongue-in-cheek choreography. Their collaboration melded together very different styles into a unified collaborative work. MAMI: Directed by Banushi, Photo by Christophe Raynaud de Lag With MAMI , Mario Banushi, Albanian born artist, 26 years old, offered audiences an exciting new voice. His stunning “visual poem,” dedicated to different women, different “maternal” figures from his life, was a wordless landscape of memories that paid tribute to his early years and featured many women, young, sweet, angry, and old from different moments in his lifetime. I mages ranging from mothers giving their breasts to their babies to a son feeding his elderly mother are just a few of the fascinating moments in MAMI. A wordless mixture of theater and dance, the work presented the mysterious relationship between mother and child. Banush noted “My work mixes theater and dance, my shows are a mixture of sensations, feelings, colors, odors… there is no text per se but they are telling a story. It’s like an epiphany.” His pieces are landscapes composed of shapes, sensations, colors and fragrances and filled with performers of all ages. Young and old, actors, actresses, dancers and singers, many of whom were non-professionals were involved and many cultures were mixed and juxtaposed. Le Procès Pelicot : Directed by Milo Rau, Photo by Christophe Raynaud de Lage A large sign hung outside of the Théâtre des Carm that read Le Procès Pelicot ( The Pelicot Trial ) representing the words spoken by Gisèle Pelicot at the trial “Pour que la honte change de camp! “Shame must change sides.” Le Procès Pelicot , written by Servane Dècle and directed by Milo Rau, was advertised as a night of readings inspired by the landmark trial that took place in a court in Avignon, from September 2 to December 4, 2024. On trial were Dominique Pelicot, Gisèle Pelicot’s husband, who over a period of nine years, had repeatedly drugged and raped her and recruited dozens of men contacted through an on-line website, to join him. Fifty men in all, from ages 27 to 74, responded to the invitation. All of these men were found guilty and were convicted. To create what Rau called “le théâtre du réel,” (reality theater or theater of the real), the authors used real testimony from the case as well as interrogations, pleas, lawyers’ summations and other commentaries to create a reenactment of the trial, a distillation into four hours accentuating and condensing the most powerful moments. Gisèle Pelicot’s words from the actual trial were delivered by three different actresses. The evening was divided into 40 segments with a prologue and an epilogue. On the stage, a minimal version of the courtroom, two women sat behind a desk in the center, the judges. On either side, rows of wooden benches, filled by French actors and actresses with transcripts in hand. As the play proceeded, the presenters took turns reading at the two lecterns located stage front. Three different actresses delivered the words that Gisèle Pelicot had spoken in court. One of the case’s expert psychiatrist’s Laurent Layet, read the diagnoses of the defendants that he had delivered in court. For four hours, the fifty some readers watch, listened and remained present. It was a stunning achievement and a devastating performance. Le Sommet : Directed by Christophe Marthaler, Photo by Cristophe Raynaud de Lage Le Sommet, a comedy by Swiss theater director and musician Christophe Marthaler, was one of the great moments in this year’s festival. Six characters from different nationalities, three men and three women, were gathered in a chalet atop a mountain for a high-level summit. The actions of the political world leaders verged on the burlesque and absurd. To complicate matters, they did not even speak the same language. The early scenes take place in the interior of the chalet - a small, uncomfortable room where they wait for the important meeting to begin. Their surroundings are anything but luxurious. A small table in a corner, uncomfortable chairs, and one double decker bed. A strange rock formation in the room created a challenging obstacle course and, with no doors, the only access to the space was via a dumb waiter. Since they do not understand each other’s languages, they invent a number of activities to keep busy or to entertain themselves. Fortunately, one of them plays the accordion. They dance, they sing, they hum, they even yodel. And they all seem to know the words to “Edelweiss,” the famous song from The Sound of Music. They also chime in on “En haut de la Montagne … un beau chalet,” a traditional French mountain song. To top it off, they improvise a dance number using ski poles. Before long, numerous seemingly important documents arrive via the dumb waiter, that require their review and signatures. The group hastily signs them – unread. As the work progresses an impended battle seems imminent and they are delivered some forty plastic fire extinguishers for safety by a helicopter. A separate battle about what to do with the extinguishers begin to take place Where can they hide if indeed there is a war? Behind their clothes hanging over the bench? With no windows to the outside world and little ventilation, they soon complain of suffocating in their small, enclosed space. Their panic leads them to remove their clothes and improvise a hilarious sauna scene. Le Sommet : Directed by Christophe Marthaler, Photo by Christophe Raynaud de Lage Le Sommet : Directed by Christophe Marthaler, Photo by Christophe Raynaud de Lage Later in the work they begin to get dressed an elegant dinner; the women change into fancy evening gowns while the men put on tuxedoes. While they admire themselves in their new attire, we hear sounds of bombs bursting somewhere and helicopters flying overhead, hints of an attack of some kind outside of their safe haven. They listen in vain to the walls and the floors and climb up to the top bed, trying to escape what might be an attack, but there is no way out of their confined quarters. Now the news comes that the roads are blocked and they clearly are stuck in their chalet for an indefinite period of time – perhaps as long as 15-18 years. The work ends with their future in complete disarray with no clarity as to how they might survive in the tiny confined environment. Le Soulier de Satin : La Comédie-Française. Directed by Eric Ruf, Photo by Christophe Raynaud de Lage Eric Ruf’s magnificent staging of Paul Claudel’s Le Soulier de Satin ( The Satin Slipper ) in the Honor Court, with opulent costumes by Christian LaCroix and masterful performances by twenty Comédie-Française actors playing some sixty different roles, was a glorious moment of theater. Claudel’s epic masterpiece (1919-1934) has rarely been performed. Antoine Vitez ‘s memorable version in the Cour d’honneur in 1987 has been the reference until now. Claudel’s verse drama is a love story that takes place over a period of twenty years. Set in the Spanish Empire during the 16 th century at the time of the Conquistadors. The central couple Don Rodrigue, a Conquistador and Doña Prouhèze, wife of Governor Don Pélage, struggle not to give into their passion. They believe that there’s a divine mission to achieve the Grace of God. The work was divided into four days that covered over fifty years. The major event, over eight hours long was performed on an unadorned stage with props, costumes, lighting, and music, all of which served to suggest the many locations and jumps in time. The on stage orchestra played throughout the entire evening. Eric Ruf’s Soulier de Satin is a glorious adventure story, filled with suspense and unforgettable images . Le Soulier de Satin , La Comédie-Française, Photo by Christophe Raynaud de Lage The Comédie-Française Soulier de Satin was truly a major festival event. A marathon welcomed by an enthusiastic audience who mostly stayed until the end. Director Ruf’s had chosen to include the audience in on the story telling, which was especially refreshing given the length and the seriousness of Claudel’s epic verse drama. The work was expansive and utilized every available space including the aisles of the theater, the windows as well as the stage itself. It is rare to see shows in the Honor Court taking advantage of the entire house. The 2000 member Cour d’honneur audience became an integral part of Le Soulier de Satin as the actors moved among and interacted with the audience. Image Credits: Article References References About the author(s) Philippa Wehle is Professor Emerita of French Language and Culture and Drama Studies at Purchase College, State University of New York. She writes widely on contemporary theater and performance and is the author of Le Théâtre populaire selon Jean Vilar, Actes Sud,1981(revised editions in 1991 and 2016), Drama Contemporary: France and Act French:Contemporary Plays from France (PAJ Publications). She is a well-known translator of contemporary French and American plays. Her book Eclairer la Cour d’honneur , interviews with a selection of lighting designers who created the lighting for important shows in the Honor Court of the Pope’s Palace in Avignon, from 1969 to 2025, due to be published in May 2026 by Actes-Sud Papiers. Dr. Wehle is a Chevalier in the French Order of Arts and Letters. European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025 Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 21 Robert Wilson’s Moby Dick at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf, Summer 2025 Dramas of Separation at Festival d’Avignon 19th Edition Polyphonies of the Present: The Pulse of the Almada Festival Summer 2025 in London, England The Tragic Ideal of Eternal Youth: Folk Myth on the Modern Stage International Theatre Festival of Sibiu 32nd Edition Review of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa by Ópera do Castelo Radu Afrim and his House Between the Blocks Report from Berlin Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 21, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025 By Steve Earnest Published: December 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025: Konfrontacje Festival 2025, The Cyrkulacje Festival of Circus Arts and If I Had A Gun I’d Take Them All Down in Lublin and AlphaGo_Lee. Theory of Sacrifice at Studio Theatre and Waiting for Godot at the National Theatre Warsaw. AlphaGo_Lee at Studio Theater, Warsaw. Photo by Natalia Korczakowska Located in eastern Poland, just 100 KM or so from the Ukrainian border is the city of Lublin. The city has a strong legacy of support for people of the Jewish faith as well as being a regional leader in artistic production. The Konfrontacje Festival began as a film/theatre/arts festival in the 1970’s and has now risen to the point of being a major arts festival that attracts numerous art forms, but primarily live performance. Held in Lublin every October, the festival features the work of Polish and international artists and presents the best new trends in European theatre. The Aerial sculpture “The Grodzka Street Man” in Lublin, Poland 2025 Festival centered on Janusz Oprynski, a celebrated Polish director, writer and theatre artist whose work has been featured at the Provisorium Theatre in Lublin for 50 years. Like Grotowski, Oprynski’s production style focused on experimental and “poor” theatre with radical confrontations of political systems. Eventually known for his staging of novels, Oprynski’s best known works include Ferdydurke (from Witold Gombrowicz), The Brothers Karamazov and The Idiot (Dostoyevsky), The Kindly Ones (Jonathan Little) and Ice by Jacek Dukaj. Co-founder and artistic director of the Konfrontacje Festival, Oprynski has received numerous European awards for his work including the Konrad Swinarski Award as well as a special award for artistic merit by the City of Lublin in 2025. The Lublin Centre for Culture presented the Theatr Provisorium production of Oprynski’s Ward 6 on the festival’s opening night. Like many of his previous works, Ward 6 featured something of a library setting. Oprynski’s work has been characterized by an “addiction to books” as the post show discussion revealed, but the work itself considered the nature of mental hospitals and the nature of rights and freedoms that had been taken away from (historically) Polish citizens who found themselves imprisoned by Russians into these confined situations. The performance was based on Chekhov's famous short story, "Room No. 6" which was very important for Polish people fighting for freedom for many years and showed how the "abnormal society" locked normal people in hospital. Set in the land of Ulro, (borrowed from Blake) or the land of spiritual suffering, the characters of Ward 6, named only as Mr. G and Dr. R were inhabitants of the land of Ulro, where they suffer for their individuality. They were guarded by Mr. N and spent their whole lives in passionate reading; making their world is a great theater of imagination, a theater of reading books. "By eating books," they swallow the "bitter wisdom" that makes them poignantly lonely. It was Oprynski’s belief that the abnormal society fears such people and locks them up in hospitals and prisons. The performance featured extremely minimalist or “poor” theatre techniques, but the nature of the space allowed for numerous possibilities. The use of projections created a huge library of books on the white paper strips that dangled from the ceiling. Physical books were also included in piles all around the stage as the actors made reference to them throughout. Oprynski noted in the post show discussion that his was a “theatre of books” and that there were both good and bad books in the world. He noted how the works of Dostoyevsky had both been an inspiration for him but also had haunted him for his entire adult life. Janusz Oprynski on the set of Ward 6 post-performance. Photo: Steve Earnest If I Had a Gun I Would Take Them All Down was presented in a smaller studio space at the Lublin Centre for culture and relied only on a video background for its scenic elements. The one-man show was directed by Paul Bargetto and performed and co-conceived by Michael Rubenfeld. Rubenfeld offered the following summary of the plot: “ The play follows the character Time, a Kyiv-based narrator who guides the audience through the city’s streets, weaving together contemporary wartime reality with a century of political violence, memory, and resistance. As spectators walk alongside him, Kyiv becomes both stage and character—a living archive where fences, boulevards, and monuments summon stories of empire, occupation, and the city’s continual fight for self-determination. The frame is intimate and conversational, collapsing the distance between past and present: every location contains a hidden rupture, every building holds the echo of a struggle. At the center of the historical thread is Dmitry Bogrov, a young Jewish Ukrainian anarchist who, in 1911, assassinated Russian Prime Minister Pyotr Stolypin at the Kyiv Opera House. The play reconstructs Bogrov’s world—his radicalization, his ideological turmoil, his entanglement with the Okhrana secret police, and his profound loneliness. As the narrator retraces Bogrov’s final movements through the city, the story reveals a man pulled between ideals of justice and the brutal realities of revolutionary violence, culminating in the chaotic moment of the assassination and his swift execution. Running parallel to Bogrov’s story is the narrator’s own life, marked by activism, disillusionment, flight, and return. He recounts encounters with political art movements, the Euromaidan revolution, the Russian invasion of Eastern Ukraine, and the personal cost of resistance—including the loss, exile, and moral ambiguity that accompany armed struggle. Contemporary Kyiv appears simultaneously ordinary and surreal: a place with street musicians and gardens, yet also a place where journalists are assassinated, dissidents are hunted, and air-raid sirens punctuate daily life. Throughout, the play interrogates the ethics of violence, the meaning of freedom, and the weight of memory. It juxtaposes Bogrov’s anarchist dreams with modern Ukraine’s ongoing fight against Russian aggression, questioning what—if anything—political murder can achieve. The piece ends not with resolution but with solidarity: a collective gesture of singing, looking into one another’s eyes, and recognizing shared vulnerability. In this final moment, the audience stands in the city as it is now—scarred, defiant, and alive—asked to consider their own place in history’s ever-tightening circles.” (Michael Rubenfeld) Michael Rubenfeld in If I Had a Gun I Would Take Them All Down. Photo: Paul Bargetto. The production was inspired by the true story of Dmitry Bogrov (1887–1911) – a Ukrainian-Jewish lawyer, double agent, and revolutionary who, in 1911, assassinated Russian Prime Minister Pyotr Stolypin (1862–1911) at the Kyiv Opera House. Bogrov was arrested, tried, and executed shortly thereafter. Michael Rubenfeld in If I Had a Gun I Would Take Them All Down. Photo: Paul Bargetto. Through innovative use of video and sound design, the performance immersed the audience in both historical and contemporary Kyiv; retracing the path that led the young Bogrov to his final act, while at the same time reflecting the author’s personal experiences of the ongoing conflict in Ukraine. Rubenfeld’s epic nearly two-hour monologue performance was extraordinary. As he led the audience on the journey through space and time of the play’s story his delivery was both informative from a reporter’s standpoint, but also highly personal as one who was invested in the story as an actual participant. Given the nature of the works travel (primarily a walking tour) through the streets of Kyiv, the camera work and Rubenfeld’s careful stage placement blended incredibly well. The resultant cinematic journey allowed the audience to experience the story in real time. Rubenfeld’s personal connection to the material was dynamic, personal and highly moving. If I Had a Gun I Would Take Them All Down was a relevant and compelling performance, especially considering the nature of world events in 2025 when it was presented. Michael Rubenfeld in If I Had a Gun I Would Take Them All Down. Photo: Paul Bargetto. Sponsored by the European Capital of Culture Lublin 2029 and the Adam Mickiewicz Foundation of Poland, our group consisted of numerous theatre scholars, producers and other artistic personnel from New York, Chicago, South Carolina and California and engaged in many events related to the history of Lublin but especially of the historically Jewish nature of the city. Many of the areas that we toured and the sites that were visited are featured in the 2024 movie A Real Pain . The study tour was arranged and coordinated by Tomek Smolarski on behalf of the European Capital of Culture Lublin 2029 and included the numerous performances but also visits to various sites in Lublin as well as neighboring cities like Kazimierz Dolny a medieval settlement with an important Jewish History. The event also included access to several additional performance events. One of these was the Cyrkulacje Festival presented at the Centre for the Meeting of Cultures in Lublin from October 4-10, 2025. Two works were available to be seen by our group – a work by Common Ground and Diaries in Motion, a physical theatre work by a group of young women from numerous European countries. The Cyrkulacje Festival brought together artists living in or originating from Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Finland, Belarus, the Czech Republic, Hungary, Ukraine, and Slovakia. The festival is defined by diversity — of styles, aesthetics, and creative voices. The festival is built on exchange and dialogue, creating space for discovery, curiosity, and artistic circulation (yes, that’s where the name comes from!). The festival also hosts discussions, artist talks, and meetings with the jury. These encounters allow audiences to better understand the creative process and offer artists a chance to hear from their audience — and from each other. The program features both full-length productions and short-form pieces. From intimate solos to large-scale ensemble works, the festival showcases the depth and variety of the region’s circus voices. Since its beginnings in 2013, Cyrkulacje has helped contemporary circus artists grow, connect, and take the next steps in their careers. It’s a platform for experimentation, development, and recognition — a space that encourages originality, celebrates craftsmanship, and supports ambitious work. As part of the festival certain participants receive main prizes and special awards, including Best Trick, Audience Award, Media Award, Youth Award, and Partner Engagement Prizes. In 2019, Cyrkulacje was awarded the EFFE Label – a mark of excellence granted by the European Festivals Association. This recognition places Cyrkulacje among Europe’s most innovative and artistically significant cultural festivals. Stunt work with wooden blocks by the members of Common Ground. Photo: Steve Earnest Common Ground is a physical theatre artist collective based in Belgium with members from across Europe, North America and Asia. Performers include Andreas Bartl, Lisa Rinne, Emma Laule, Marius Pohlmann, Evertian Mercier and Zinzi Oegema. The group features immensely skilled physical artists in the areas of trapeze, human stunt work, devised work with physical objects, gymnastics and other related activities. Their hour-long exhibition (not given a specific title for the festival) included the use of numerous hollow wooden squares of various sizes that were carefully designed to create immense stage pictures while supporting (at times) a sizeable amount of weight. The artists manipulated the stage area with long poles, ropes and pulleys to form trapeze areas, climbing areas and shapes and carefully configured areas for the achievement of human stunts. Stunt work with poles and wooden shapes by Common Ground performer. Photo: Steve Earnest Diaries in Motion was produced by Daniel Burow with direction and artistic coaching by Christine Dissmann and Stacy Clark . Four artists from circus schools in Berlin, Montpellier, and Kyiv ( Lera Kutsenko, Daniela Levina, Alina Scharbl, Daria Ilnytska) attempt to answer these questions through the language of contemporary circus . The ninety-minute performance really had no story but certainly aimed toward meaning as the performers took the audience on a moving journey through “dreams and struggle, led by the desire for freedom,” as stated in the program. According to the production team the work aimed to tell the story of a generation forced to stand up for its most essential values - a performance that tells a tale of transformation from isolation and constraints to rebellion and collective strength. The four female artists were all highly trained acrobatic artists capable in the areas of floor work including German wheels and other rolling devices, flying work with a lyra, silks and other aerial devices in addition to any other related physical performance related elements including general stage movement and delivery of occasional lines of text. The nature of the work was based in strong athleticism and skill and the main goal, in addition to the potential story aimed at by the tone and nature of the background music, was the pure display of learned skill in the various disciplines. The performers measured up to the highest of world standards with their abilities in these areas and the sold-out audience witnessed breathtaking feats of physical work that can be achieved by only a small percentage of the world population and the highly athletic nature of the event appealed to both lovers of performance works as well as those more interested in sports and the display of highly skilled athletes. The blending of these two worlds was what characterized Diaries in Motion . Diaries in Motion Performers. Photo: Steve Earnest Diaries in Motion performers on a lyra. Photo: Steve Earnest The city of Warsaw is something to behold for all lovers of European travel and the National Theatre firmly represents the Polish nation’s desire to present theatrical art at the highest world level. The Royal Palace of Science and Culture include numerous theatre spaces with one company named, the Studio Theater. However, some confusion exists at times because the National Theatre of Poland, about fifteen minutes away by car or train, also has a Studio Theater. Both companies are included in the following section. AlphaGo_Lee at Studio Theater, Warsaw. Photo by Natalia Korczakowska Located in the beautiful Palace of Culture and Science in the city center of Warsaw AlphaGo_Lee : Theory of Sacrifice was presented at the Studio Theater. Directed by the company’s Artistic Director Natalia Korczakowska, the work considered a popular Korean board game – AlphaGo and dealt with the actual historical story of the 2016 match between Korean Go master Lee Sodal and the computer program itself in an AI format. The event, which took place at the Four Seasons Hotel in Seoul, represented the fight between humanity (represented by Lee) and Artificial Intelligence, as represented by the AlphaGo game. The stage production detailed the events of the actual historical occurrence of the event, which was organized by Google and streamed live to the very large Chinese market who wanted to witness the ultimate battle between humanity and AI. The work is based on research by Natalia Korczakowska, who visited Seoul, Tokyo, and London, meeting with Go experts such as Prof. Chihyung Jeon (KAIST), Prof. Chihyung Nam (Myongji University), and members of the Korean Baduk Association. Their insights inform the production’s symbolic texture, embedding the Korean perspective at its core. Lee Sedol’s philosophical reflections—his belief that Go is an art form created from nothing by two human minds—resonate as the emotional heart of the piece. Korczakowska’s incredible conceptual approach was supplemented by lighting and live video by Rafal Paradowski, animation by Marcin Kitty Kosakowski, choreography by Sung Im Her, spacial arrangement and costumes by Marek Adamski and music by Marcin Lenarczyk and Dominik Ossowski. The production featured the use of an onstage camera crew that captured the scenes using 2 – 4 onstage cameras from various angles with the camera feed then projected onto numerous screens in live time. The lighting, sound and staging all contributed to an extremely well realized visual mise en scene that very capably revealed both very intimate scenes in addition to very high energy dance and public scenes that really stretched the nature of the performance. The stage itself became a monumental gaming space where the characters’ lives became the source of the game. Behind the scenes power plays by the leaders of Google DeepMind (based in London) were contrasted with bursts of dance, technological imagery and humans grappling with the depth and power of artificial intelligence. Intense dance scenes in AlphaGo_Lee . Photo by Natalia Korczakowska Presented at the Studio Theatre of the National Theatre of Warsaw, Waiting for Godot was presented in the Studio Space of the National Theatre Warsaw. The production played to sold out audiences for nearly three years and featured numerous well renowned Polish actors, many known for their numerous film and television credits, in addition to their stage credits in major Polish theatre companies. The work was directed by Piotr Cieplak with scenic, lighting and costume design by Andrzej Witkowski . The Studio Theatre of the National Theatre has a specific (and quite unusual) physical layout. Consisting of a 300-seat frontal view theatre that seemed to be designed with the Elizabethan theatre in mind, it had doors on either side of the backstage wall and a rather large discovery space in the middle. The discovery space was quite large in both size and depth, and several scenes were realized in that area, though the effect was not always successful as the concept of place was not clearly designated in the work. In addition, a stage left door, just past the entry area for audience members, was a part of the physical space but was used at numerous times in the production. This spacial arrangement was curious as it blurred the concept of place, awkwardly blending the practical nature of the exit with the world of the play. Mariusz Benoit (Estragon), Jerzy Radziwiłowicz (Vladimir), Bartłomiej Bobrowski (Lucky), Cezary Kosiński (Pozzo). Phot. Marta Ankiersztejn So many elements of this performance were surprising, and the work took on an usually serious tone with very little comic action. From the outset Estragon’s struggle to take off the boot seem a bit disingenuous and unrealized. The actors seemed to stand outside of their roles and comment on them in quasi-Brechtian fashion, which given the background of director Cieplak, would offer some explanation for the stylistic choices made. Mariusz Benoit and Jerzy Radziwilowicz seemed oddly cast in the roles as the as their performances were very dry and highly understated. Pozzo and Lucky (Cezary Kosinski and Bartlomiej Bobrowski, respectively) did little to rescue the dryness of the production’s tone. Anytime I see Waiting for Godot , it is with the intent that I am seeing an amazing universal work that, at its center, speaks so clearly to so many areas of the human experience and condition. I was incredibly hopeful but not completely satisfied in the overall achievement of this production. Sadly, I feel that much of the difficulty of the production came from the unusual and rigidly defined nature of the Studio Theatre space. Mariusz Benoit (Estragon), Jerzy Radziwiłowicz (Vladimir), Bartłomiej Bobrowski (Lucky), Cezary Kosiński (Pozzo). Phot. Marta Ankiersztejn The study tour curated by Smolarski was incredibly stimulating and included numerous theatrical and historical events worthy of a much longer and more detailed report. This rather short overview just manages to offer a partial view of the highly invigorating and varied nature of the arts scene in just two of Poland’s important centers for the arts and the brief nature of the trip (only 6 days) only allowed for a short glimpse into the incredibly diverse and highly supported work that happens in Poland. The country clearly prioritizes the arts and that spirit permeates all work that is both produced or presented there. Image Credits: Article References References About the author(s) Steve Earnest is a Professor of Theatre at Coastal Carolina University . He was a Fulbright Scholar in Nanjing, China during the 2019 – 2020 academic year where he taught and directed works in Shakespeare and Musical Theatre. A member of SAG-AFTRA and AEA, he has worked professionally as an actor with Performance Riverside, The Burt Reynolds Theatre, The Jupiter Theatre, Candlelight Pavilion Dinner Theatre, The Colorado Shakespeare Festival, Birmingham Summerfest and the Riverside Theatre of Vero Beach, among others. Film credits include Bloody Homecoming , Suicide Note and Miami Vice . His professional directing credits include Big River , Singin’ in the Rain and Meet Me in St. Louis at the Palm Canyon Theatre in Palm Springs, Musicale at Whitehall 06 at the Flagler Museum in Palm Beach and Much Ado About Nothing with the Mountain Brook Shakespeare Festival. Numer ous publications include a book, The State Acting Academy of East Berlin , published in 1999 by Mellen Press, a book chapter in Performer Training, published by Harwood Press, and a number of articles and reviews in academic journals and periodicals including Theatre Journal, New Theatre Quarterly, Western European Stages, The Journal of Beckett Studies and Backstage West . He has taught Acting, Movement, Dance, and Theatre History/Literature at California State University, San Bernardino, the University of West Georgia , the University of Montevallo and Palm Beach Atlantic University. He holds a Ph.D. in Theatre from the University of Colorado, Boulder and an M.F.A. in Musical Theatre from the University of Miami, FL. European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025 Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 21 Robert Wilson’s Moby Dick at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf, Summer 2025 Dramas of Separation at Festival d’Avignon 19th Edition Polyphonies of the Present: The Pulse of the Almada Festival Summer 2025 in London, England The Tragic Ideal of Eternal Youth: Folk Myth on the Modern Stage International Theatre Festival of Sibiu 32nd Edition Review of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa by Ópera do Castelo Radu Afrim and his House Between the Blocks Report from Berlin Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 21, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage Review of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa by Ópera do Castelo By Timothy Koch Published: December 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF Photo by Irmin Kerck Ópera do Castelo of Lisbon brought a thrilling national première of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa to Portugal October 31 through November 2, nearly sixty-eight years after the Metropolitan Opera debut of the Pulitzer Prize-winning work. The production was a collaboration with the host São Luiz Teatro Municipal and featured stage direction, scenography, and lighting design by Daniela Kerck, costumes by Hannah König, and musical direction by Diogo Coasta, leading the Orquestra Filarmónica Portuguesa. Barber chose Italian-American Gian Carlo Menotti, Barber’s life partner, to serve as the librettist for Vanessa . Menotti himself was a composer of twenty-five operas, written mostly to his own libretti. Together, the duo chose the influence of the Seven Gothic Tales by Isak Dinesen to construct an opera with a fully original plot. After its première in January 1958, as a commission of the Metropolitan Opera, Howard Taubman wrote in The New York Times that Vanessa was “ the best American opera ever presented ” at the Met. Barber and Menotti set the work in a remote mansion in a northern European country in 1905, perhaps not unlike the mansion Barber and Menotti owned called Capricorn, in the woods near the Hudson River in Mount Kisco, New York. This was the home they bought in 1943 and shared for over 40 years. In the opera, Vanessa awaits the imminent return of her lover, Anatol, whom she has not seen in twenty years. She has waited secluded in her estate, where her niece, Erika, and her mother, the Baroness, have been subjected to her steadfast fantasy of a future life with Anatol. A man does come, but he reveals himself to be the namesake son of the now-deceased Anatol. The younger man avails himself to Erika and to Vanessa, and the ensuing consequences set the stage for a complicated psychodrama worthy of the great neo-romantic music of one of America’s greatest composers of the twentieth century. Photo by Irmin Kerck Vanessa is a complicated figure, craving happiness that has eluded her for a lifetime, especially in the protracted period since she last saw her lover. When the younger Anatol appears unexpectedly in his father’s place, a wild cache of psychological contingencies floods to the surface. Everyone is affected by Vanessa’s actions and choices, which portend anything but harmonious consequences. Soprano Catarina Molder, the founding artistic director of Ópera do Castelo, presented the title role with power, pathos, and vulnerability. A seasoned artist with a long and diverse history as performer and impresario, Molder triumphed on at least two levels, masterfully rendering one of the great roles in the American oeuvre, while introducing a primarily Portuguese audience to an American classic for the first time. As Vanessa, Molder shared her character’s complexity and Barber’s dramatic mastery with commanding strength that soared in hope and insecurity In the Act I aria, “Do not utter a word,” and floated in susceptibility later in Act I, “ Oh, how happy I feel this morning, how happy!“ Beatriz Volante, as Vanessa’s niece, Erika, and Ermin Asceric, as the younger Anatol, shone brightly in this production. Both sang exquisitely, serving the American libretto with stellar English diction. While Barber and Menotti conceived Vanessa in the title role, their story appears more attuned to Erika’s plight in her aunt’s shadow, forced to live in Vanessa’s once splendored hermitage and then to endure the betrayal of losing the young Anatol to Vanessa while carrying and losing his baby in secret. Volante, a Portuguese soprano who has trained in London, captured the audience’s attention with clear and ravishing lyricism in the opera’s first aria, the iconic “Must the Winter Come so Soon,” and she displayed strength, range, and virtuosity throughout, until the opera’s final, resigned utterance, “ Now it is my turn to wait!” Asceric brought artistry and elan to the junior Anatol, whose surprise arrival injects a dark twist early in the plot. Asceric’s Anatol showed equal parts transparent and duplicitous, passionate and cavalier, brash and sophisticated. His singing was promisingly glorious, as displayed in the arias, “ Outside this House the World has Changed” and “Love Has a Bitter Core” . A young Bosnian tenor who trained and achieved early professional successes in Serbia, Asceric marks a significant milestone in his young career as Anatol, rising to a challenging lead in a Portuguese production of a tour-de-force American work. Contralto, Alexandra Calado, an equally credentialed actress and singer, brought steely resolve to the Baroness, casting a palpable shroud of disapproval over the misguided life choices of her family at the heart of Vanessa ’s plot. The Baroness’ daughter Vanessa, who waits decades in seclusion for the return of a temporal lover, and her granddaughter, Erika, who forces the consequences of an unwanted pregnancy from a solitary night alone with Anatol, disregard the dismayed matriarch’s experiential wisdom. Calado’s Baroness, in an uncomfortably silent response, spoke more devastatingly than words. Photo by Irmin Kerck The acting of Luís Rodrigues as the dubious Doctor, and Tiago Amado Gomes as Nicholas, the indispensable Major-Domo, brought welcomed levity to Menotti’s otherwise brooding, traumatic drama. Rodrigues’ polished stage presence and graceful dance skills (“Under the Willow Tree” and “I Should Never Have Been a Doctor”) and Gomes’ glimpses into behind-the-scenes quirks of the regimented Major-Domo (“ Ah, these lovely furs so soft, so sweetly scented”) , elicit laughter just when the story needs it the most. The stage direction of the German director, Daniela Kerck was straight-forward and loyal to the score. She enabled the drama with realistic sets and an atmosphere of wintery isolation, established by the snow that made the arrival of the long-lost lover seem precarious, and the disappearance of a distraught Erika feel life-threatening. Kerck’s blocking of ensemble scenes brought clarity and function, such as in the Act II dance sequence, in which Barber fused two tunes in a dramatically unsettling fashion. Vanessa is a large musical structure, which Samuel Barber would not undertake until his late forties. In his own words, he had finally mastered, “how to write for orchestra, how to write for chorus and ballet, how to write for solo voice and orchestra. When I had learned that, I was ready.” The music draws on influences of Puccini, Strauss, and even Webern, and the musical demands on singers and orchestra alike are significant. Not only were the singers equal to the challenge, but Diogo Costa led a fiery Portuguese Philharmonic Orchestra that would hold its own in any of the great European cultural centers. Ensemble artistry, phrasing, colours, and precision provided a dramatic and reliable foundation for great music-making throughout the opera. The opening instrumental passages of each act, including a charming Intermezzo , displayed especially virtuosic woodwind playing. Maestro Costa is clearly at home in the opera pit, with singers and orchestra alike, and his forces performed as a well-honed, dramatic unit from start to finish. Pianist Isa Antunes, assumed the role of onstage orchestra as a solo pianist during the engagement party scene. She played flawlessly. Catarina Molder, Ópera do Castelo, Teatro São Luiz Municipal, and the cast, orchestra, staff and crew deserve gratitude and praise for the Portuguese première of Vanessa by Samuel Barber and Gian Carlo Menotti. Vanessa holds a central position in the lexicon of twentieth-century American opera, and it was treated with reverence and passion in its Lisbon debut. Image Credits: Article References References About the author(s) Timothy Koch, D.M.A., is a retired American conductor living in Lisbon, Portugal. European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025 Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 21 Robert Wilson’s Moby Dick at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf, Summer 2025 Dramas of Separation at Festival d’Avignon 19th Edition Polyphonies of the Present: The Pulse of the Almada Festival Summer 2025 in London, England The Tragic Ideal of Eternal Youth: Folk Myth on the Modern Stage International Theatre Festival of Sibiu 32nd Edition Review of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa by Ópera do Castelo Radu Afrim and his House Between the Blocks Report from Berlin Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 21, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage Summer 2025 in London, England By Amy Hamel Published: December 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF While the primary goal of being in London this past summer was professional development - participating in quality acting classes for both stage and screen and taking a plethora of dance classes of various styles and levels – another goal was to pack in as much live theatre as possible. The shows on the agenda before arrival were Hamlet and Hail to the Thief (a mash-up with Radiohead), and whatever was playing in the West End theatres or at the Globe Theatre. Anything that could be seen in the United States was not on the list of desired theatre attendance. The programs, exquisite theatres, and their fascinating architecture, as well as the impeccable service and ushering, were just some of the notable differences that made the experience unique. Within three weeks, we saw 11 plays and one Mod Ballet. The following is a reflection on a few of the productions witnessed, with the first two being featured for their amazing stories, soundtracks, choreography, and technical specialties. Photo Credit: Johann Persson Hamlet Hail to the Thief, by the Royal Shakespeare Company in co-production with Factory International, was adapted by Christine Jones with Steve Hoggett, music by Radiohead, and additional orchestrations by Thom Yorke (lead singer of Radiohead). When I was in Stratford-upon-Avon in 2006, I saw Romeo and Juliet by this company with tap dancing as the fight scenes, and it was evident that the actors were uncomfortable and not as skilled in that style of movement as they were with the spoken text. Nearly twenty years later, this current production completely redeemed my skepticism in movement or choreography in Shakespeare, and I will never be able to see any other production of this iconic play without thinking of this one! Oddly enough, it was just about that time, twenty years ago, when this particular Hamlet project began. The music, lights, imagery, projections, fight choreography, and ensemble performance blended Shakespeare’s text with Yorke’s orchestrations of Radiohead’s album Hail to the Thief to near perfection. The stage environment included amplifiers and speakers used as scenic elements along with blocks and pedestals, all synced together to create this epic, rock concert-infused, one-of-a-kind interpretation of the tale of the Danish prince. Photo: Johann Persson When first walking in, the dimly lit, fog-covered stage was filled with long trench coats hanging suspended all over the stage, floating as though you could see old ghosts in a cemetery. King Hamlet’s ghost appeared in the projections on the upstage wall, and then the coats disappeared into the fly space. The set of the thrust stage was primarily bare, featuring a two-story platform along the upstage wall where people could climb one of two ladders to sit or stand above. Additionally, two singers appeared in bookending doorways on the top floor space when it was time for them to sing. There were three separate plexiglass booths on the bottom floor for the band, with the drummer in the center booth. The choreography, by Jess Williams, featured several unique dances, physical gesture work, and distinct movement vocabularies, like the dance where the players portray the royals, upon Hamlet’s insistence, told through a contemporary style ballet. In Act Two, Scene Two, when Hamlet and his school buddies Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are in dialogue, they are also in a series of leaning movement sequences, showing that just when they think Hamlet’s thoughts are moving one way or another, then they will lean in opposition or lean towards him to gain his trust. Then the childlike, adventurous dancing to some of Yorke’s music established a deeper relationship between Hamlet and Ophelia than is seen or heard in the text, representing the length and depth of their friendship, consequently making Hamlet’s rejection of Ophelia all the more heartbreakingly powerful. Examples of clever fight choreography and staging by fight director Kev McCurdy were seen when Hamlet confronts Gertrude in her own bedroom, and Hamlet kills Polonius in the supposed wardrobe; there was no furniture, but through movement, it provided clarity to the storytelling. The final fight between Hamlet and Laertes was also well-choreographed and contained a variety of fighting styles, including wrestling, which required perfectly timed dance-like partnering. There were moments when it was somewhat unclear as to what was happening due to the addition of strobe lights, but one moment of clarity in the fight was Gertrude’s grotesque reaction to the poison she drinks as she violently spewed blood everywhere, especially onto the combatants, making for an extremely gory stage picture. As the fight concludes, death falls upon most of the stage. Horatio, touchingly portrayed by Alby Baldwin, cradles Hamlet’s body on the floor and delivers his final speech. The long trench coats from the top of the play, as the cemetery, began to lower down into their original suspended state, and as the final word was spoken, an audible latch was released, and all of the coats dropped to the floor. Blackout, followed by an audience-wide gasp. A moment that is now forever connected in my memory to this play. Samuel Blenkin’s embodiment and delivery of the young prince, Hamlet, contained just the right balance of fire and finesse, teen angst and grief-driven, dutiful son seeking vengeance. It is a role that can easily be portrayed as very whiny, snobby, or the actor “milks the cow” for sympathy and becomes annoying. That was not the case here. His engagement with the audience made it feel as though we were the only ones whom he could trust, and even though most knew the ending of the story, he made us have hope that it would end differently. His singing of Yorke’s music and text was effortless, and his voice floated as though his thoughts were flowing through the space. It helped that actors Paul Hilton as Claudius and Claudia Harrison as Gertrude did their jobs exceedingly well, being so disgustingly evil, giving us more reasons to root for and like Hamlet. What made this production even more memorable was the treatment and portrayal of the role of Ophelia, hauntingly performed by Ami Tredrea. Before reading more of the director’s insight regarding this tortured character, it was evident that she was receiving some extra attention. Through her movement, physical gestures (her arms were almost always lifted as if she was always in a state of surrender), her singing in her madness, and her repetition of Hamlet’s “to be or not to be” speech, connecting their grief with the same conflict of life, the performance was stunning. Lights for Ophelia have four clear lines creating a box around her, with the box sizes differing depending on who she is speaking to, or who is verbally putting her in a box. The projections on the back wall during her descent into madness showed flowing water, and the sound of rain and water, and as she finished repeating Hamlet’s speech, the box of light became a rectangle and established an opening in the stage with water appearing to cascade into it. Ophelia lay down beside it and simply rolled into the space and disappeared. This is one of the only productions that I have experienced where Ophelia’s death is shown on stage, and it has left another lasting impression. Romaya Weaver as Player Queen and James Cooney as Player King in Hamlet Hail to the Thief . Photo: Johann Persson Pete Townshend’s Quadrophenia, A Mod Ballet with orchestral score, based on the album and movie of the same name, was presented by Sadler’s Wells, Extended Play, and Universal Music UK. Written by Pete Townshend. Directed by Rob Ashford. Choreographed by Paul Roberts. Music Direction and Orchestration by Rachel Fuller, with Orchestrator Martin Batchelar. Set Designer, Christopher Oram. Costume Designer, Paul Smith. Video Designer, Yeastculture.org . All of the above are important to mention, as each of those components coming together so spectacularly is what made this piece special. I was familiar with the story due to personal connections with one of the actors in the 1979 film, and I had heard that Pete Townshend was talking about this potential project, where the story would be brought to life again through dance. So, when I saw the poster for this show around London, that the show had come to fruition, and that it was with Sadler’s Wells (another artistic viewing bucket list), it went straight to the top of the must-see list. It did not disappoint! The company of Quadrophenia in Act One’s closing scene in a London Basement Club . Photo: Johann Persson Set in 1960s London and Brighton, Quadrophenia follows Jimmy, a young man navigating life and love, unhappy in his factory line job and determined to become more. In his search for his identity, he finds release in music, dancing, going to clubs, and doing drugs. He becomes a Mod, a subculture of the time and place characterized by tailored suits, their love for modern jazz music, and riding scooters, specifically Lambrettas. The rivalry with another subculture called the Rockers, known for their love of rock music and motorcycles, serves as the backdrop for his story. The super short version of the plot is that a childhood friend of Jimmy’s becomes a Rocker, some Rockers hurt one of Jimmy’s Mod friends, and the childhood friend becomes the target of the Mod’s retaliation. All while Jimmy chases after his dream girl who belongs to another Mod with no clear chance of having her. This sends Jimmy further into a personality crisis, and the rival groups into historic riots on the beaches of Brighton. Lead dancer, Paris Fitzpatrick as Jimmy, is joined by four other male dancers who represent different facets of Jimmy’s personality: the TOUGH GUY, the ROMANTIC, the LUNATIC, and the HYPOCRITE. At the top of the show, we see all 5 men standing on the Brighton Beach rock, doing a series of lifts, and actually showing the portrayal of the end of the show, where a vital decision is about to be made. Then the set transitions to a psychiatrist’s office, and the audience is transported to a week earlier in the story, when the character first learns of the multiple facets. Stuart Neal as the FATHER and Kate Tydman as the MOTHER/Dance Captain in Quadrophenia . Photo: Johann Persson As Jimmy’s journey progressed, many characters would dance with him, depending on the environment or the situation. For example, in scenes at the club when he was infatuated with the main Mod Girl that everyone wanted to be with, then the ROMANTIC would be incorporated into the dance, or at the end, when Jimmy sees one of the top Mods working as a bellhop, then the HYPOCRITE danced with them. There were times at the beginning when the other facets dancing along were confusing. It took a couple of scenes to realize this theatrical convention and understand the distinction of when Jimmy was dancing with another character, one of his fantasies, one of his facets, or all of those. It was a pioneering and dynamic approach with a compelling and lasting effect, especially once it became clearer, and the stellar performances of Fitzpatrick and this ENSEMBLE cast contributed to Jimmy’s story being so effectively told. Along with Rachel Fuller’s amazing orchestration, with select instruments used to interpret the original rock score, and captivating choreography, this production relies on intricate technical aspects to enhance the storytelling. From projections and fly work that transport Jimmy on a drug-induced train ride that leaves the audience feeling like they too are tripping, to sets with trap doors where dancers can disappear into a booth in a diner, and Jimmy can dance with his reflection outside of the diner. From a large rotating rock that represents Brighton Beach, to a bed that looks like only one person is in it when magically two more emerge, all the sets provided unique dance canvases, heightened the movement theatrically, and provided insight into Jimmy’s thoughts. Glimpses of Jimmy’s home life are shown through dances between his MOTHER and FATHER that express their marriage and working-class struggles, and one imposing militaristic style of movement and formations of men in a memory dance of his father’s time in WWII. The same rock used for Brighton is also used in the Father’s War memory dance, and some of the men are depicted fighting up a hill or marching off the edge. Company of Quadrophenia . Photo: Johann Persson Jimmy and his childhood friend (turned Rocker) and their friendly bench dance in Act One, stood in stark contrast to the later Brighton Beach Riot where the teen angst driven choreography, much like the similar rivalry of the Shark and Jets, was reminiscent of West Side Story , and included vivid stage pictures to exhibit the violence of the fight. The father’s war memory, the diner dance with escape booth where Jimmy fantasizes about the Mod girl and her dreams and dances with the ROMANTIC too, the 5 guys on rock at top of show representing Jimmy and his personalities, the train ride while tripping, 2 couples dancing on the beach in time period swimwear with partnering that closely resembled the movement of classical ballet, and the club scenes with its specifically stylized, 1960s dance vocabulary, complete with the most fabulous time appropriate costumes and LaDuca shoes! As Townshend’s notable, and the production’s final song “Love Reign O’er Me” is played, the final scene too is played out with Jimmy on the giant rock where the show began. The continued use of projections filled the stage with images of the moving sea and waves crashing on the rock. Jimmy is left alone in his emotional turmoil and faced with the final decision as to which facet he will let have control, determining his next movements. He jumps and the audience is led to believe that he has taken his life, but as the score triumphantly crescendos, Jimmy triumphantly climbs back up atop the rock, choosing to not allow his story to end in tragedy, and leaving the audience with a glimmer of hope for the young character and with an awesome soundtrack replaying in our heads. The following three plays were selected for their topics, themes, and messages that linger and continue to raise questions, as quality theatre can do. Themes of these plays demonstrated cultural and societal relevance to today’s situations, addressing race, gender, social, and economic issues, and the numerous perspectives they hold. The standouts featured next were the Playwrights, Directors, and Actors' performances Retrograde was written by Ryan Calais Cameron, directed by Amit Sharma, and played at the astonishingly gorgeous Apollo Theatre. Closing performance, June 14, 2025. This production was so thoroughly enjoyed that I purchased the script afterward, conducted further research on acting legend Sidney Poitier and the topics of the Red Scare and the House Un-American Activities Committee, and I rewatched his 2002 Honorary Oscar acceptance speech, which brought another level of appreciation for the man and his part in history in the arts, especially in America. The set was that of a 1950s office of a New York City NBC network television lawyer. The small cast of three includes Sydney Poitier, a screenwriter, Bobby, and the network lawyer, Mr. Parks. Ivanno Jeremiah as Sidney Poitier in Retrograde . Photo Credit Johann Persson This ninety-minute play encompasses some personal history of Poitier, his humble beginnings, how he got his break on Broadway, and covers information on his (then) current life, wife, and family for which he was responsible for feeding and providing. Bobby had brought Poitier to the lawyer’s office under the pretext that Poitier would be signing a contract for a new television show he was writing and just needed him to meet with the lawyer for proper protocol. Both Bobby and Poitier were shocked to discover his true intentions as he began to ask the rising star about his American allegiance and his political affiliations, bearing in mind that this was a time of communist threat to the American way of life and the rise of the civil rights movement to which Poitier was known to have had connections. The lawyer’s objective was to get Poitier to sign not just a loyalty oath, but a document that would disavow his political associations and specifically denounce his friend and hero, Paul Robeson, creating a moral and ethical dilemma that could hold great consequences with either final decision. All three actors gave compelling performances and easily held the audience captive for the duration of the production. Ivanno Jeremiah’s embodiment of Poitier was breathtaking. Playwright Ryan Calais Cameron is quoted to say of his performance, “People who knew Poitier told me that Ivanno Jeremiah was almost possessed by his spirit”, and with this play, Cameron tackled the topic of race and politics in the 1950s with the same grace and respectful manner as Poitier himself. Oliver Johnstone as Bobby and Stanley Townsend as Mr. Parks in Retrograde. Photo Credit: Johann Persson. Giant , was written by Mark Rosenblatt and directed by Nicholas Hytner. The cover of the program has a picture of the lead actor, John Lithgow, and displays the one-word title, with a tear or rift in the letter “a” in the graphics, along with the name of the theatre, Harold Pinter Theatre, previously known as the Royal Comedy Theatre. We attended an invitation-only, full-dress rehearsal featuring the understudies of the six-character cast. Instead of being taken in by the celebrity of the immensely talented Lithgow, this experience allowed me to truly see the play for what it is and the message it brings. It also allowed a glimpse into the life of an understudy in the West End. As one who began her career and Broadway experience as a swing, I have the utmost respect for those who are waiting in the wings or the dressing rooms, staying ready for the unknown, hanging on to every possibility. Much was learned about understudy life as a working actor on the West End and how it differs from that of Broadway and American Actors' Equity rules. The play left me seeking more information about Roald Dahl, his “complex legacy” (Rosenblatt), and pondering the question the play asks: “at what point does one stop being the victim and start becoming the aggressor?” It demonstrates how one’s life experiences can shape one’s opinions, beliefs, and perspectives on another’s culture, and it even had me questioning some of my own beliefs concerning this topic. John Lithgow in Giant. Photo Credit: Johann Persson. Giant is set in the summer of 1983, in Roald Dahl’s family home, which is under construction. Dahl’s UK publisher, along with his mistress of eleven years, now fiancée, is discussing an upcoming book release, illustrations, and anticipating the arrival of his NY publisher. The NY publisher has sent a young female assistant, Jessica Stone, to try and connect with the writer in hopes of persuading him to make a public apology for what some believed to be an antisemitic book review he had recently written. Dahl and Stone bond over their own children and the fact that both of their young ones suffered from debilitating illnesses (Dahl losing his child to that illness); however, it does not take long for Dahl to pick up on the clues that Miss Stone’s original name was Stein and that she herself is Jewish. Ultimately, the arguments are built with powerful monologues revealing their own truths and bringing up convincing points that one can’t help but weigh both sides and sympathize with them, and yet also be offended by both as well. John Lithgow as Roald Dahl and Aya Cash as Jessica Stone in Giant. Photo Credit: Johann Persson After the main blow-up at the end of Act One, Act Two consisted of Dahl talking to his houseworkers: a male groundskeeper and a female cook. It appears at first as though he is trying to get others’ views, but in reality, he is trying to get them to back him up. In the conversation with the cook, the audience discovers that she, too, is Jewish. Dahl stubbornly continues his soapbox rant, he offends her, she exits the stage, and at the end of the play, when he calls for the cook again, she does not return; it is discovered that she has left the house. After which Dahl is alone and sneaks to his phone to make a call. The audience is led to think that maybe he has seen the others’ side and felt the non-verbal statement of the cook’s departure; instead, he doubles down on his original statement, leaving us in thoughtful shock in this final moment of the play. Mrs. Warren’s Profession, was written by George Bernard Shaw, directed by Dominic Cooke, and played at the Garrick Theatre , s tarring Imelda Staunton and her real-life daughter Bessie Carter. This ninety-minute, no intermission, controversial “problem play” and its history have much to offer in the way of discussion on the topic alone. The commentary is mostly on the artistic choices in the casting, the set, the visual imagery, and how those creative decisions impact the message of the play. In this case , celebrity was important in contributing to the dramatic impact of this show. As Bessie Carter herself puts it in an interview in the program, “Our relationship is adding a subconscious kinetic level”, and indeed it did, as they brought this dramatic classic to life. Vivie, the daughter and recent Honors Mathematics graduate of the University of Cambridge, first appears barefoot, free, and fun. The estranged mother, Mrs. Kitty Warren, arrives well-dressed and classy, and the tension is immediately felt. The four male characters are Rev. Samuel Gardner, his son Frank, who is involved romantically with Vivie but also flirts with her mother, Mrs. Warren’s business partner Sir George Croft, who is also attracted to Vivie, and Mr. Praed, an architect, friend of Mrs. Warren, and potential suitor for Vivie. There is an ensemble of silent women, of different sizes and ethnicities, all dressed in white undergarments, who, through their physicality in acting, appear to age or grow with the daughter character. They do not engage with Vivie, but rather observe, and it is not quite clear who these women are or their significance at the top of the play. The ethereal set had a low-hanging ceiling, over a circular rotating platform with a grassy knoll, garden flowers, and a white bench. The silent ensemble shows up in between scenes and changes the set by first moving the flower arrangements and bench while the stage rotates to become another garden, then changing after the next scene to take away all flowers to create an open field between the characters’ homes. Eventually, the ensemble of women even rolls up the grass to create a blank, open, bare stage, making room for the final scene’s staging, where a back wall, shaped in a semi-circle with a solo door, was lowered down onto the stage, two desks and chairs, and a waste basket were added to create Vivie’s office. Bessie Carter and Imelda Staunton in Mrs. Warren’s Profession . Photo Credit: Johann Persson As the play’s physical environment gradually wasted away, it exposed more and more truths of Mrs. Warren’s past, the decisions she made that were vital to her survival (which also provided funds for her daughter’s education), scandals like the discovery that Frank may have been Vivie’s half-brother, and other situations that reveal the relational dilemma Vivie is faced with in the decision to embrace her mother and her profession. At one point, it seemed as though Vivie understood her mother’s reasons for her life decisions and even praises her resilience, but in the end, once she learns that her mother is still running the “business” even though she doesn’t need to, Vivie not only rejects her mother but also disowns her. The final scene, which took place in Vivie’s office, offered Mrs. Warren’s last desperate plea to be in each other’s lives. Mrs. Warren was closer to “her girls” and has been more of a mother figure to them than to her own daughter. This, coupled with the casting of real-life mother/daughter dynamics, made the scene even more poignant. Vive’s education came from the work of the girls, and although she has been proposed to by her mother’s much older business partner, she is resolute in her determination to do her own work in an office and not take the easy or privileged route. This was made more obvious with the director’s decision to have the silent ensemble of women enter the office and stand on the other side of the desk after Mrs. Warren’s dramatic departure, reminiscent of Ibsen’s “door slam heard round the world”, and with that final powerful image, it is abundantly clear who these women were and that they had been supporting Mrs. Warren by providing for Vivie throughout the play and their collective lives. That imagery gives life to the unseen yet crucial characters in this story, adding another level of depth to the play’s significance. The brilliance that is Ismelda Staunton and Bessie Carter and their gripping, heart-wrenching performances, especially in the final scene, is a master class in listening and being truly present. This, partnered with Dominic Cooke’s direction of the literary classic, easily qualified this as one of the strongest shows of the summer. In conclusion, the range of theatrical experiences I encountered over the summer in London—comprising physically based pieces, new plays, and contemporary adaptations of classics—was truly extraordinary. From the innovative reimagining of Hamlet Hail to the Thief to the diverse performances across venues like the Royal Shakespeare Company and Sadler’s Wells, each production offered a unique perspective on storytelling and artistry. The combination of compelling narratives, powerful soundtracks, and mesmerizing choreography demonstrated the richness of live theatre and its power to connect with audiences on multiple levels. Whether through classic adaptations, fresh interpretations, or pioneering biographical pieces, the brilliant performances in every production highlighted London’s vibrant theatre scene, emphasized the importance of live art in fostering creativity and inspiration, and provided audiences much to talk about. This journey through England's theatrical landscape undoubtedly enriched my experience, offering invaluable insights and lasting memories that will continue to influence my personal and professional growth in the performing arts. Image Credits: Article References References About the author(s) Amy Hamel, (AEA, MFA Acting from University of North Carolina Greensboro, BA Theatre Arts from Palm Beach Atlantic University) is a performing artist, director, choreographer, and educator, currently serving as Visiting Lecturer of Theatre at Palm Beach Atlantic University, in West Palm Beach, Florida, teaching courses in both the Theatre and Dance departments. Her performance credits extend from regional theatres across the United States, and cruise ships around the world, to the lights of Broadway as a member of the historic closing company of the original production of CATS, at the Winter Garden Theatre in New York City. European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025 Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 21 Robert Wilson’s Moby Dick at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf, Summer 2025 Dramas of Separation at Festival d’Avignon 19th Edition Polyphonies of the Present: The Pulse of the Almada Festival Summer 2025 in London, England The Tragic Ideal of Eternal Youth: Folk Myth on the Modern Stage International Theatre Festival of Sibiu 32nd Edition Review of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa by Ópera do Castelo Radu Afrim and his House Between the Blocks Report from Berlin Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 21, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage Report from Berlin By Marvin Carlson Published: December 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF The company of Vegard Vinge and Ida Müller is widely regarded in Europe today, especially in Germany, as the most radical and boundary challenging company in contemporary Europe. Since 2006, they have been engaged in a monumental postmodern exploration of the works of Ibsen, most notably in their extended elaborations of The Wild Duck and John Gabriel Borkman, presented as part of the Berlin Theatertreffen in 2011 and 2012. Despite their continual challenge to traditional structures and regulations, so formidable is their reputation in Germany that in 2024, when René Pollesch, the director of the leading Berlin theatre, the Volksbühne, unexpectedly died, they were considered as an interim replacement. Such an appointment was hardly thinkable given the company’s long history of activities, which included physical damage to their venues and outraging critics, audiences, and authorities alike. In the event the Ministry of Culture appointed as the new director Matthias Lilienthal, a less revolutionary choice than Vinge and Müller, but an artist strongly associated with experimental work, having served as dramaturg at the Volksbühne under the legendary Frank Castorf and subsequently as director of Berlin’s HAU theatre, an important home for international experimental work. It was thus in many ways appropriate that the first major production of the new administration was the most recent offering in Vinge and Müller’s ongoing Ibsen-Saga, taking on one of Ibsen’s most challenging works, the monumental Peer Gynt . Given my long-time love of Ibsen and my more recent interest in these ground-breaking artists, I booked a trip to Berlin for one of the six performances. As usual in Berlin, I had little difficulty finding other attractive offerings to fill out a five-day trip. To begin with, Peer Gynt , however, for the first time in the Saga, the performance was announced for a specific period of time, beginning at four in the afternoon and ending at midnight. One of the most significant features of this company’s performance has always been its disregard for a set structure or time. Now for the first time, although the contents and their arrangement differed each night, the production stopped, as advertised, promptly at twelve. The plastic curtain often used during the evening was drawn closed, and Vinge (Peer) made a final appearance to write on it with a white marker the defiant “Eight hours is still not theatre.” Peer Gynt , by Henrik Ibsen, directed by Vegard Vinge, Ida Müller, Trond Reinholdtsen at Volksbühne am Rosa-Luxemburg-Platz, 2025. Photo© Julian Röder In the past, the Company has often pushed back against attempts to limit its excesses by incorporating references to these attempts into the production, and this terminating gesture is in that tradition, but in my opinion, this was a significant capitulation, removing one of the most critical and distinctive elements of the company aesthetic. Each audience member must decide for themselves whether, given its aesthetic, a VM production willing to compromise on central issues is better than no VM production at all. It seemed to me that the production I attended, third in the series, carried this compromise throughout the evening. It was, on the whole, the safest, least challenging, and most conventional of any VM production I have seen. No excrements on stage or destruction in the house (the single modest invasion of the audience space would have been perfectly acceptable at Lincoln Center), and I feared that the capitulation on the running time was emblematic of a general softening of the company’s essential rough edges. Friends who saw the closing performance reported that a certain amount of more disturbing material was then included, but the evening still ended promptly on time. Peer Gynt , by Henrik Ibsen, directed by Vegard Vinge, Ida Müller, Trond Reinholdtsen at Volksbühne am Rosa-Luxemburg-Platz, 2025. Photo© Julian Röder Comparatively tame as it was, the production I saw was unmistakably a VM creation. The interior public spaces of the Volksbühne, like those of the Prater, the space used by the company in previous years, were covered with giant graffiti-style posters featuring now primarily American action heroes and images of military aggression and destruction. These themes were repeated in the production, since although the Ibsen Saga imagery has been extremely wide ranging, geographically, culturally and historically, their Peer Gynt has a distinctly urban American feel with particular attention to guns, marching soldiers and military machinery (a constantly recurring motif is a squad of mindlessly marching soldiers moving lockstep across the upstage, an area also frequently crossed by large carboard cutouts of military vehicles, tanks, and jet fighters). It may be that this interest in connecting Peer Gynt to a particular cultural background may owe something to the memory of the last great monumental staging of this play in Berlin, that of Peter Stein in 1971 at the old Schaubühne on the Halleschen Ufer. Stein subtitled his interpretation “a play of the nineteenth century” and stressed the close ties of the work to the industrialization, colonialism, and capitalism of that era. It seemed to me, though, that Stein’s orientation was much better fitted to the play than a focus on militarism, but then much of the VM interpretation still remains to be seen. Peer Gynt , by Henrik Ibsen, directed by Vegard Vinge, Ida Müller, Trond Reinholdtsen at Volksbühne am Rosa-Luxemburg-Platz, 2025. Photo© Julian Röder Perhaps the single scene in Ibsen’s play most directly tied to the military is that (often omitted) in which Peer oversees (with disapproval) a young man cutting off his finger to avoid the draft. The VM version of this scene is a film clip, showing a close-up downward view of a fist with the “fingers” extending from the knuckles replaced by frankfurters. These were slowly cut away from the tips backward into small rings of meat, which from time to time were splashed with spurts of ketchup, suggesting both blood and a culinary preparation. This was one of my favorite images in the production, and very typical in its imagination and shock of a VM presentation. The other sequence I found most memorable was an extended pursuit of Peer by a large cardboard cutout of a New York City police car, which, in its pursuit, created mayhem in the surrounding artificial urban setting, crushing a telephone booth and crashing through a display window to enter a military recruiting office where Peer had taken temporary refuge. Generally speaking, except for the set length the production contained the now familiar elements of the Ibsen Saga—the cartoonish costumes and settings, the grotesque rubber masks, the amplified sound tracks emphasizing the sounds of walking, marching and physical contact, the grotesquely distorted voices, the alternation of live and filmed action, and the general freewheeling style in which the unexpected, and often the shocking and outrageous, is regularly evoked. As in the earlier elements of the Saga, an Ibsen play provides the essential but completely negotiable framework. Although each evening offered different variations, all essentially covered Ibsen’s first act, from Peer’s opening story about the encounter with the stag until his departure from the village into the mountains, although hints of later events, scenes and even characters (like the malevolent bureaucrat/director Stockmann) from previous VW productions, and a huge variety of cultural refences, contemporary and historical, find their ways into the assemblage. Even though I found this one of the weaker VM productions, it was, like all of them, a memorable and thought-provoking theatre experience. One final note should be included. Vinge and Müller have now become an essential element of the German theatre scene, and to a lesser extent, the international one—the night I went, I encountered colleagues from the U.S., England, France, and Sweden. Combined with a limited run, this guaranteed that the 800-seat theatre would be completely sold out with record-breaking waiting lists. Ironically, however, this passion does not stimulate many to, in fact, undergo the actual ordeal of sitting through an eight-hour VM production. Indeed, the evening I attended, nearly half of the seats were empty after the first two hours. These can hardly have been people unaware of what was being offered, so I must conclude that VM have found or created an audience that applies to the process of spectatorship the same flexibility that Vinge and Müller apply to the process of artistic production. This being Berlin, I was able to attend a different Ibsen production at a major theatre the following evening, this time Hedda Gabler at the Berliner Ensemble. When it celebrated its 125th anniversary in 2017, the neo-baroque Theatre am Schiffbauerndamm, intimately associated with the work of Bertolt Brecht, still performed in its same elegant, neo-baroque and distinctly un-Brechtian traditional home. Two years later, however, it opened two smaller and more contemporary spaces, the Neues Theatre (180 seats) and the Werkraum (99 seats) at the rear of the courtyard behind the original house. I first attended the Neues Theater in 1922 to see Wagdi Mouawad’s powerful exploration of Middle Eastern tension, Vöge l, and to see Hedda Gabler (in an adaptation by Merelv called Hedda ). I visited for the first time the more intimate Werkraum. Hedda, directed by the young Norwegian Heiki Riipinen, who is also a professional drag queen, follows Ibsen’s original far more closely than the WM Peer Gynt , yet it is still a far more unconventional reworking of Ibsen than might be found on any major professional stage in the Anglosaxon world. Each year, the new Werkraum invites two young directors to work as Artists in Residence there for a year, during which they create two new productions each. This year’s artists are Norwegian Riipinen, whose first offering was a six-hour overnight piece called Insomnia, and Iranian Alireza Daryanavard. Hedda offers a decidedly queer reading of the Ibsen text, in which Pauline Knof’s center position as Hedda is seriously challenged by the cross-dressed dominatrix of Judge Brack, flamboyantly played by Nina Burns, and my particular favorite—Max Gindorff, as a charmingly winsome Thea and amusingly dotty Aunt Julia. Marc Oliver Schulze, though playing the gender appropriate role of Tesman, enters effectively into the campy cartoonish spirit of the whole. Paul Zichner as Ejlert does not seem to fit into the ensemble, though his lacey bouffant blue costume (one of the exaggerated and generally successful sartorial creations of Louise-Fee Nitschke) is one of the evening’s most extreme. The tone of the whole is set when the audience enters to witness the Tesman living room, its furniture still covered, but with Hedda already lying face up and dead downstage, the pistol by her outstretched arm, and a pool of plastic fake blood under her head. We will, of course, return to this image at the end, but here Hedda is ignored by the others until she enters the scene by simply getting up, putting away the gun, and entering the conversation while Gildorff, temporarily playing the maid, tidies up by carrying off the obviously fake pool of blood. A central moment in any production of the play is the burning of the manuscript, and Riipinen gives this special attention. Alone among the characters, Hedda interacts several times with spectators, asking them to provide or hold items (such as a bullet for the gun, for example). Here she pantomimes striking a match and was offered a lighter the night I attended. She then left the stage and the auditorium, and an onstage video followed her through the lobby and out into the Berliner Ensemble courtyard, where she burned the papers in front of a crowd of curious onlookers on the way to or from the theatre Kanteen. Returning to the stage, she tossed the lighter back to the spectator and continued with the play. Another striking addition to the role Knof provides is several extended pantomime sequences, a kind of silent soliloquy, such as the moment before she shoots herself. Facing the audience, she carefully considers and rejects a series of possibilities, first shooting herself in the breast, then the heart, then the womb, then (like Ejlert) the genitals, then the mouth and the temple, before finally deciding on the side of the head, thus recapitulating the arc of the play in this single sequence. After her death, the other characters gather upstage to observe her, the living to the left (the Judge now in an incongruous judicial wig, and the dead Ejlert to the left on a raised platform, but now with clearly fraudulent angelic wings and (at last) vine leaves in his hair. I was able to add one final classic work, Moliere’s The Misanthrope, at the Deutsches Theater. This is not a new piece, having entered the repertoire in 2019, but it remains an attractive one, due in part to the excellent translation in rhymed verse by Jurger Gosch, in part to a crisp and intelligent direction by Anne Lenk, and primarily to the formidable acting skills of two leading figures of the contemporary German stage, Ulrich Matthias in the title role and Franziska Machens as Célimène, his elusive object of desire. Despite Matthias’ strength, Lenk’s production keeps the dramatic focus well balanced between the two, and the others, excellent performers all, are rather eclipsed, even Manuel Harder, as Alceste’s long-suffering and remarkably tolerant friend Philinte. Ultich Matthes and Franziska Machens in The Misanthrope, directed by Anne Lenk at Deutsches Theater, 2019. Photo© Arno Declair The highly stylized neo-baroque costumes by Sibylle Wallum provide the main visual variety to the production, which is mounted in a setting that aroused much discussion when the work opened. The design, by Florian Lösche, was formally very simple, a three-sided box the walls of which were entirely composed of densely hung silver and black elastic ropes, pushed aside for entrances or exits, and occasionally wrapped around a body for a particular effect. Early reviews spent much time complaining that this set had been copied from various earlier productions of other works in Frankfurt and elsewhere, but the idea is a basically simple one and could easily have occurred to a number of designers. I remember seeing a Japanese production of a Mishima play with almost exactly the same configuration, and used, I might say, with vastly more variety on the part of the company. In any case, original or not, it did not seem to me particularly well suited to this play or this interpretation, other than providing a striking and essentially neutral background against which a company of extremely skilled actors could display their abilities. Manuel Harder, Ulrich Matthew and Lisa Hrdina in The Misanthrope, directed by Anne Lenk at Deutsches Theater, 2019. Photo© Arno Declair I had expected that one of these long-time favorite pieces would provide my most memorable theatre experience of this trip, but was surprised that this turned out to be a new work , K , based partly upon Kafka’s The Trial and partly on the author’s biography. The production was presented in the elegant neo-baroque main stage of the Berliner Ensemble and was the creation of one of Berlin’s most imaginative directors, Barrie Kosky. Kosky has recently returned to freelance directing after a decade as Intendant at the Komische Oper, where his productions were regularly among the most praised and discussed in the city. His interest in Jewish culture has always been strong (he is both Jewish and gay), and he was, in fact, the first Jewish director to create a production for Bayreuth. K is thus a work of particular importance to him, and his unconventional approach is clearly indicated by the subtitle, “A Talmudic Vaudeville.” Indeed, the production derives its material equally from conventional autobiographical and biographical sources and from the surrealistic slapstick of the Jewish vaudeville of Eastern Europe, which Kafka loved. It is this tradition that provides much of the staging detail—the costumes, makeup, wigs, scenery, and general acting style. In the vaudeville tradition, cross-dressing is essential, and Kathrin Wehlisch perfectly incorporates the Chaplinesque little man caught up in a world beyond his control or comprehension. Her bravura performance begins with carefree 1920s tap dancing abandon and moves seamlessly through a carnival of mixed farce and horror, typified by the marvelous Constanze Becker, who appears as the grotesque landlady Frau Grubach, wielding a formidable extermination apparatus, with a Kafkaesque cockroach displayed prominently on its side. After K’s arrest, the stage is transformed into an expressionistic forbidding synagogue, with candelabras, giant Hebrew letters, and an enormous Talmud ark dominating all. Oppressive Bach chorales echo in profoundly incongruous jazz rhythms in the background for the benefit of Christian observers (the ingenious musical direction is by Adam Benzwi), but the imagery is overwhelmingly orthodox. The deep voice of K’s never seen lawyer Huld (Gabriel Schneider) resounds from behind the Ark, like the voice of Jehovah himself, uttering gnomic observations in Hebrew, but the Ark emits other figures of clear secularity, and most memorably, a chorus of three vaudevillian Rabbis, whose mixture of Yiddish comic patter and songs and spirit folk dances is a guaranteed show stopper. The production does not end with a sentencing but continues with K’s punishment, presented by a half-naked K cringing downstage as he suffers the torment of Kafka’s here unseen writing machine, while the rich voice of Constanze Becker comes over the loudspeaker reading “In the Penal Colony.” Projected behind K are the characters presumably being etched into his body—a seemingly endless unrolling of Hebrew letters. The play ends with scenes from the final year of the terminally ill Kafka and continues to combine moments of joy with profound suffering. They are seen through the eyes of Kafka’s last love, Dora Diamant, beautifully played by the Komische Opera leading soprano Alma Sadé. She reads passages of Kafka’s final diary, and at last, as his suffering ends, moves into a warm and deeply moving singing (in Yiddish) of Robert Schumann's " Dichterliebe," a most appropriate conclusion to this fascinating and complex theatrical and musical evening. For my final evening in Berlin, I attended one of the city’s biggest (in every sense of the word) theatre attractions, a production of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Jesus Christ Superstar , presented by the Komische Oper in a hangar of the abandoned Tempelhof airport. In 2023, this theatre, one of Berlin’s most honored, closed for extensive renovations, its 1882 neo-baroque building having miraculously survived the bombing of World War II, but now much in need of updating. While this work continues, the theatre is housed at the Schiller Theater in Western Berlin, with occasional special spectacles in Hangar 4 of Tempelhof. A trip to Hanger 4 is an experience in itself, reminding me of other remote performance locations like Mnouchkine’s in Paris. Walking from the nearest subway to the rather remote and very large former airfield, one passes by the monument to the Berlin airlift, which was once a central symbol of resistance to a divided Berlin, with Tempelhof at the center of its lifeline. Arriving at the grounds, one follows a torturous path through the structures, first passing a small group of Christian protesters bearing signs denouncing this “blasphemy” while a few tonsured figures in monkish robes and rope belts worked their rosaries and provided a distinctly theatrical ambiance. The lobby was itself a gigantic hangar, open to a beautiful autumnal sky and well provided with comfortable sofas and concession stands for pre-theatre drinks. Between this area and the open runways, a large set of pink neon three-dimensional letters appropriately spelled out #allesaußergewöhnlich (everything extraordinary). The bell sounded, and the lobby crowd emptied into a neighboring hangar, a huge cube with metal grandstands rising up on three sides, an elevated runway stage thrust out into the empty center space, and leading to a huge illuminated cross composed of metal poles and struts. Along a higher platform on the fourth was the Komische Oper orchestra, fronted by three guitarists, a keyboardist, and a percussionist. The wildly idiosyncratic costumes of Frank Wilde ranged from billowing to form-fitting, and from the cartoonish capes and hats of the Jewish authorities, like the most bizarre at Oberammergau, to virtually authentic Roman armor or acid-based punk rock. The huge crowd, more of them later, wore various forms of simple earth colored, vaguely Biblical garments, allowing them to easily merge effectively into a seemingly homogeneous mass. Jesus (John Arthur Greene) was simply gowned in a white plaited robe, with the traditional beard and long hair, a strongly muscular build. Bal Arslan as Mary Magdalene combined sanctity and seduction in a scarlet red evening gown and shaved head. Both offered powerful voices and strong presences, but the crowd favorite was clearly the mercurial Judas of Sasha Di Capri, equally effective in a sardonic falsetto and a vibrant full-throated expression of both affection and rage. Another clear favorite was Jörn-Felix Alt as a camp Herod, the gyrations of whose multicolored billowing costume are a show in themselves. Despite the considerable talents of the soloists and the orchestra, and in spite of the occasional and perhaps inevitable eruption of high kitsch in the music, the score and the scenic design with its huge glittering cross, what made the evening truly memorable was the nearly 400 extras who formed a constantly moving mass surrounding and at times engulfing the main action. Director Andreas Homoki and choreographer David Cavelius have woven these hundreds of voices and gesticulating bodies into a visual fabric I will long remember. As a theatre historian in Berlin, I found myself almost inevitably recalling the legendary mass spectacles staged here over a century ago by Max Reinhardt at his Grosses Schauspielhaus. For the first time, I felt I understood the incredible performative power of such displays. Image Credits: Article References References About the author(s) Marvin Carlson is Sidney E. Cohn Distinguished Professor of Theatre, Comparative Literature, and Middle Eastern Studies at the Graduate Centre, CUNY. He earned a PhD in Drama and Theatre from Cornell University (1961), where he also taught for a number of years. Marvin has received an honorary doctorate from the University of Athens, Greece, the ATHE Career Achievement Award, the ASTR Distinguished Scholarship Award, the Bernard Hewitt prize, the George Jean Nathan Award, the Calloway Prize, the George Freedley Award, and a Guggenheim Fellowship. He is the founding editor of the journal Western European Stages and the author of over two hundred scholarly articles and fifteen books that have been translated into fourteen languages. His most recent books are Ten Thousand Nights: Highlights from 50 Years of Theatre-Going (2017) and Hamlet's Shattered Mirror: Theatre and the Real (2016). European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025 Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 21 Robert Wilson’s Moby Dick at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf, Summer 2025 Dramas of Separation at Festival d’Avignon 19th Edition Polyphonies of the Present: The Pulse of the Almada Festival Summer 2025 in London, England The Tragic Ideal of Eternal Youth: Folk Myth on the Modern Stage International Theatre Festival of Sibiu 32nd Edition Review of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa by Ópera do Castelo Radu Afrim and his House Between the Blocks Report from Berlin Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 21, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage Polyphonies of the Present: The Pulse of the Almada Festival By Savas Patsalidis Published: December 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF Returning to Almada As I have done in recent years, this July (2025) I returned once again to Almada, drawn not only by the calibre of its annual festival, one of Portugal’s most significant theatrical events, but also by the atmosphere it cultivates: warm, relaxed, and almost familial in its sense of coexistence. In contrast to larger, often impersonal festivals with their endless parallel events and hurried transitions from venue to venue, the Almada Festival offers a markedly different experience. Here, one feels at home. The experience is more embodied, more communal, and, in a subtle yet clear sense, quietly anti-systemic. There is no imperative to engage in relentless networking, business cards at the ready, pressure to "see everything." Instead, there is time, time to watch, to listen, to feel, to reflect, to write, to encounter the city and its people. For me, this constitutes a form of cultural resistance: an alternative to the dominant festival logic of overproduction and consumption, what we might describe as the “festival-as-supermarket” model. Under the artistic direction of the energetic Rodrigo Francisco, the Almada Festival has organically embraced a philosophy of community , not merely as a thematic or managerial motif, but as the core of its artistic practice. Its programming does not cater to any particular aesthetic ideology or social elite, nor does it play into the dichotomy of "experts" versus "the masses." Instead, through its inclusive framework, it opens aesthetic proposals to a wide-ranging public, aiming not simply to disseminate the art of Dionysus, but to cultivate spectatorship itself, exposing audiences to a plurality of theatrical quality languages and stylistic vocabularies. One particularly emblematic gesture is the festival’s annual invitation to audiences to vote for the performance they would most like to see return the following year. This is not merely symbolic; it re-enacts a genuine form of co-curation, an authentic dialogue rather than a token gesture of “participation.” Staged in Restraint, Anchored in Emotion : Marius (Directed by Joël Pommerat) The first performance I attended was Marius , drawn from Marcel Pagnol’s emblematic Marseille Trilogy , directed by Joël Pommerat and staged on the main stage of the Teatro Municipal Joaquim Benite. The plot is relatively straightforward, some might even call it predictable: a young man (Marius) is torn between the dream of escape and the pull of romantic love. Life unfolds in a small café owned by his father, César, near the Marseille harbour, a place of routine, familiar encounters, philosophical banter, quarrels, and laughter. It serves as a communal hub, a kind of agora or informal tribunal, where everyday lives are continuously staged and restaged. For Marius, who longs to become a sailor and flee toward the unknown, the tightly composed and almost claustrophobic stage design by Éric Soyer becomes a metaphor for entrapment. Marius (Michel Galera). the dreamer of Marcel Pagnol’s Marius. Compagnie Louis Brouillar. Stage design: Éric Soyer. Cast: Damien Baudry, Élise Douyere, Michel Galera, Ange Melenyk, Redwane Rajel, Jean Ruimi, Bernard Traversa, Ludovic Velon. Photo: Agathe Pommerat. Courtesy of Almada Festival Into this enclosed world enters Fanny (Elise Douyere), Marius’ great love. Yet, as is often the case in narratives of departure, it is the dream, rather than the love, that ultimately prevails. Marius departs secretly at night, chasing the freedom promised by the sea, forsaking the stability and emotional security his relationship offers. Pommerat’s direction adopts an everyday, almost anti-theatrical rhythm, one that allows silences, hesitations, and tentative confessions to generate atmosphere. The staging resists melodrama; emotional charge emerges organically through dialogue, through the cadence of the local dialect, through understated humour tinged with melancholy, and through small, restrained gestures: a glance, a touch withheld, two bodies falling in love without ever fully closing the physical distance between them. Particularly in the scenes with Fanny, the physical detachment intensifies the spoken word, as the absence of bodily expression lends weight and space to language itself to perform its acoustic “physicality.” Fanny (Elise Douyere), thoughtful and troubled, at César’s café where her beloved Marius works. Photo: Agathe Pommerat. Courtesy of Almada Festival A striking aspect of this production is its origin in carceral space. Marius was first developed and staged in a high-security prison (2014–2017), with most of the current cast composed of formerly incarcerated individuals. Only the actress playing Fanny is a trained professional. This choice lends the production not only a profound social resonance but also a form of raw authenticity. Even the occasional performative imperfections or technical inconsistencies do not weaken the work’s power; on the contrary, they enhance its credibility and emotional depth. As noted earlier, thematically, Marius does not tread new ground: the sea as desire, love as dilemma, the conflict between duty and longing, father and son, these are familiar tropes. One might even be reminded of Eugene O’Neill’s sea plays, written during roughly the same period as Pagnol’s trilogy. Nor is the portrayal of Fanny, patient, compassionate, self-sacrificing, foreign within the representational codes of early 20th-century patriarchy. And yet, Pommerat’s direction holds the viewer’s attention through emotional restraint and formal discipline. The intensity is not on the surface, but it is there, quiet, unmistakable. In a world driven by acceleration and spectacle, Marius reminds us of the power of waiting, of deliberation, of the understated. Behind the Curtain, Beyond the Gaze: Teatro Delusio (Familie Flöz) At the open-air theatre of Escola António da Costa, we watched Teatro Delusio by the internationally acclaimed German ensemble Familie Flöz, a wordless performance imbued with the atmosphere of silent cinema and the precision of corporeal theatre. Its narrative centre is not the stage, but rather its backstage, that liminal zone where the dream of theatricality collides with the muted, repetitive routines of its unseen labourers, electricians, stagehands, ushers. Teatro Delusio . Opening scene with the three puppeteers presenting the star of the show to the audience. Cast: Andre Angulo, Johannes Stubenvoll, and Thomas Van Ouwerkerk . Direction & Scenography: Michael Vogel. Masks: Hajo Schüler. Costumes: Eliseu R. Weide. Lighting: Reinhard Hubert. Sound Design / Music: Dirk Schröder. Photo: Eckard Jonalik. Courtesy of Almada Festival At the heart of the piece are three theatre technicians, Bob, Bernd, and Ivan (played by Andre Angulo, Johannes Stubenvoll, Thomas Van Ouwerkerk), who emerge as emblematic figures of a world both invisible and essential. Through a sequence of slapstick-inflected episodes, we follow their backstage frictions, aspirations, vanities, and unspoken dreams. While the "front stage" dazzles with lights, applause, and spectacle, the backstage unfolds as a silent tragedy, the tragedy of waiting, invisibility, and failure, the tragedy of an unacknowledged life. Movement and mask convey the energy of Teatro Delusio . Photo: Eckard Jonalik. Courtesy of Almada Festival The three performers portray a total of 29 characters, ranging from conductors and dancers to eccentric directors and narcissistic stars. Their performance displays remarkable technical precision, choreographic clarity, and performative dexterity in their seamless transitions between roles, bodies, and tasks. This is physical acting par excellence, where the mask, intricately designed by Hajo Schüler, becomes a living surface, capable of transmitting fear, joy, awkwardness, and despair. Rather than concealing, the mask reveals. Backstage, a crew member longs for the spotlight of the star’s attention, while she prepares to dazzle her adoring audience. Teatro Delusio . Photo: Eckard Jonalik. Courtesy of Almada Festival Using purely visual means, without a single line of spoken dialogue, Teatro Delusio manages to explore themes of human solitude, the yearning for recognition, jealousy, love, and fulfillment. It is a dramaturgy of silence, where laughter and poignancy coexist in a fragile equilibrium. One does not laugh at the characters, but rather through them, recognising in their gestures the viewer’s own minor failures, deferred desires, and the barely perceptible weight of obscurity. Love of fame and recognition won’t take long to lead the members of the backstage crew into conflicts, confrontations, and absurd quarrels that spark laughter with their gags, but also evoke a deep sense of sympathy. Teatro Delusio. Photo: Eckard Jonalik. Courtesy of Almada Festival The absence of linguistic barriers explains why Teatro Delusio has toured in 34 countries to this day. Though meticulously structured, the performance might have benefited from a slightly tighter dramaturgy, particularly in the final twenty or so minutes, where the repetition of certain motifs risked narrative dilution. The birth scene, for instance, felt inventive but dramaturgically unanchored, an idea left unexplored. Nevertheless, this is a profoundly hybrid and meta-theatrical work where puppet theatre, mime, physical comedy, slapstick, tragedy, and farce are woven into a fluid structure that dialogues with the tradition of theatre within theatre . It is, in many ways, a reflexive homage to theatre itself, and especially to the mask, both as material object and as metaphor for identity, secrecy, duplicity, and existential disappointment Familie Flöz turns our attention to the invisible processes of stage-making, evoking resonances with productions like Ellie Dubois’ No Show (the Herald Award recipient at Edinburgh Fringe, 2017) in which the audience watches what does not happen when a performance collapses before their eyes, or Constanza Macras/Dorky Park’s Open for Everything (2012) , which centres on marginalised performers (from Roma communities), giving voice to those who remain in the shadows. Most notably, it echoes Michael Frayn’s ageless Noises Off (1982), an ingenious meta-farce that reveals the chaos behind the scenes of a matinee performance. In all these cases, gaze shifts from centre to margin, from performance to infrastructure, from protagonist to technician or outsider. What emerges is a commentary on theatrical visibility and the politics of spectatorship: Who is seen and thus rendered a subject of the gaze? And who remains unseen? What does it mean, literally and metaphorically, to be offstage, in theatre and in life? The closing moments offer no catharsis, only a bittersweet image of a world perpetually left behind. The characters remain there, in a space with no curtain, no lighting, no applause, only their breath, and their gaze, fixed upon an audience that does not see them. The performance does not speak.But it is loudly heard. A Classroom Against Oblivion: El mar. Visión de unos niños que no lo han visto nunca (Concept Xavier Bobés & Alberto Conejero) This Spanish documentary-style performance, El mar. Visión de unos niños que no lo han visto nunca (“The Sea: As Seen by Children Who Have Never Seen It”), performed by Xavier Bobés and Sergi Torrecilla, is based on the true story of Antoni Benaiges, a teacher in a remote village school in Bañuelos de Bureba (Burgos) in 1936. It is rooted in an act of historical remembrance and poetic reconstruction, a gesture of tender resistance through memory and education. Xavier Bobés and Sergi Torrecilla (in red shirt) on stage. Of the two, Torrecilla is the one who performs and narrates excerpts from the children’s writings, Conejero’s text, and Benaiges’ own words and Bobés the one who activates memory through the use of objects. Photo: Alberto Conejero. Courtesy of Almada Festival The story begins in 1934, when Benaiges, using his own savings, purchased a gramophone and a printing press for his rural classroom, encouraging the children to express themselves creatively. Two years later, his students produced a small booklet titled El mar. Visión de unos niños que no lo han visto nunca , in which they described how they imagined the sea, though none of them had ever seen it. Benaiges promised to take them to the coast that summer. However, the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War and his execution (July 25, 1936) at its onset rendered this promise tragically unfulfilled. Jou Serra and Mario Andrés Gómez’s lighting score, combined with Albert Coma’s projections and Julià Carboneras’s soundscape, creates an immersive and suggestive atmosphere that brings the audience closer to the space and time of the story enacted by the two actors. Photo: Alberto Conejero. Courtesy of Almada Festival The performance treats this historical episode with emotional delicacy, ethical clarity, and narrative restraint. Built around the aesthetics of documentary theatre and object theatre, the piece deploys minimal theatrical resources. Objects do not simply support the storytelling; they act as catalysts of emotion, charged relics that summon the affective memory of a vanished world. Through the use of live cameras, the children's perspective is expanded and brought into the visual field, layering the adult narration with the imaginary gaze of childhood. There is nothing ostentatiously innovative about the staging. On the contrary, the production is deliberately unassuming, almost “non-theatre” in its visual economy. It pivots around empathy, emotional presence, and the quiet beauty of relationality. Though it occasionally borders on melodrama, the performance maintains its composure, evoking emotion for the right reasons. It creates a subtle oscillation in which the spectator feels at times like the teacher, and at others, like the child. On stage, the two performers, Xavier Bobés and Sergi Torrecilla (wearing the red shirt), engage in a complementary enactment of memory: Bobés through the material activation of objects, and Torrecilla through the performative narration of texts drawn from the children’s writings, Alberto Conejero’s script, and Antoni Benaiges’ own words. Together, they articulate the dialectic between the “here-and-now” of theatrical presence and the “there-and-then” of historical absence, thereby bridging past and present with nuanced subtlety. With humility and clarity, they share the story and the memories it holds, honoring the legacy of Benaiges while elevating the values of hope, education, and human dignity, all conveyed through the fragile yet enduring voices of children. It is unsurprising that the piece has been presented widely across Latin American countries. Originally premiered at the Teatre Nacional de Catalunya in February 2022, it has since been nominated for several Max Awards, including Best Play, Best Direction, and Best Actor (Bobés) for its performance at Teatro Corral de Comedias. To Move Is to Survive : Zugzwang (Concept and Performance Le Galactik Ensemble) Presented in the outdoor space of Escola D. António, Zugzwang (2021) marks the second collective creation of the French company Le Galactik Ensemble, following their earlier piece Optraken (seen at the same venue the previous year). Borrowing its title from the chess term zugzwang , a situation where any move leads inevitably to disadvantage or loss, the performance transforms this concept into an explosive physical allegory of human precarity and imbalance in a world of constant destabilisation. The set of Zugzwang (by Mathilde Bourgon) at the end of the performance : a bombed-out landscape, a pile of construction materials that would regain their shape and “threatening” role in the very next show Photo: Martin Argyroglo. Courtesy of Almada Festival Five acrobats encounter one another in a volatile scenographic landscape, somewhere between workshop, construction site, and laboratory. For sixty minutes, they compose a narrative of survival, not through language or plot, but through somatic confrontation with risk. The body becomes a storytelling device, contending with gravity, collision, imbalance, and fear. Each movement appears to be dictated by an environment that resists trust. The performers live, quite literally, in a constant state of zugzwang. Le Galactik Ensemle in action. Mathieu Bleton, Mosi Espinoza, Jonas Julliard, Karim Messaoudi, and Cyril Pernotrelo engage in a continuous struggle for survival in a world of unexpected obstacles and difficulties. Reacting and moving quickly is not a matter of choice but of necessity. Photo: Martin Argyroglo. Courtesy of Almada Festival The set design by Mathilde Bourgon, a kinetic, fragile mechanical architecture, populated by rails, pulleys, ropes, collapsing doors, and unpredictable surfaces, plays a pivotal role. It is not a passive backdrop but an active opponent, reactive, obstructive, sometimes deceptive. Visually, the piece evokes the mechanical traps of silent cinema, yet it resonates with a distinctly contemporary anxiety: the instability of material systems and environments. The performers do not merely move upon it, they survive within it. Struggling with the collapsing set. Photo: Galactik Ensemble. Courtesy of Almada Festival Everything falls apart. They have to do something to get out of the mess. Photo: Galactik Ensemle. Courtesy of Almada Festival For those unfamiliar with Le Galactik Ensemble, it is worth noting that their work specializes in what they call “situational acrobatics,” a form of real-time physical risk-taking, in which safety is never entirely guaranteed and failure is always a possibility. Nothing is wholly predetermined. The tension derives from this very volatility: perpetual edge, where everything could go wrong, and often nearly does. It s precisely at this threshold that theatricality emerges. Humour plays a crucial role, not as comic relief, but as a mechanism of resistance. It is the humour of despair and survival. The figures on stage are not superhumans but clowns, fragile, fallible, exposed. The grotesque, the comedic, and the existential coexist in a performative poetics of insecurity. As in the work of Aurélien Bory’s Compagnie 111 [i] or Cirque Inextremiste, [ii] physicality here is not for spectacle, but a necessary language for articulating the inexpressible. The ensemble performs with remarkable collective precision. There are no individual protagonists; the group functions as a single, interdependent organism navigating a hostile world. Acrobatics, choreographic tension, and acting discipline converge, not to showcase virtuosity, but to reveal necessity. This is a dramaturgy of survival rather than display. Zugzwang offers no resolution. There is no comfort, no catharsis. It presents a world that remains unstable, where every move carries the risk of collapse, and yet... stillness is not an option. One must keep moving, because to stop is simply to cease to exist. Listening to Absence: A Sorrow Beyond Dreams (Directed by Teresa Gafeira) Staged in the experimental venue of Teatro Joaquim Benite, this production by Companhia de Teatro de Almada is based on Peter Handke’s deeply personal novella A Sorrow Beyond Dreams , written in the aftermath of his mother’s suicide. The work resists conventional, plot-driven dramaturgy, opting instead to trace the inner rhythms of grief, and the writer’s struggle to render them communicable through language. Scene with the two protagonists (Duarte Guimarães and Pedro Walter) in Handke dramatized novella. Photo: Rui Mateus. Courtesy of Almada Festival Set in rural Austria between the two World Wars, the narrative unfolds against the backdrop of Handke’s mother’s life, her marriage, her disillusionment, her psychological collapse, and eventual death by overdose. Handke offers no sentimental embellishments. His narration oscillates between clinical observation and introspective inquiry, not aiming to provoke emotion, but to understand: How does one do justice to a life that disappeared in silence? The actors Duarte Guimarães and Pedro Walte share the text on stage, seamlessly voicing passages from Handke's novella. They embody the narrator’s internal monologue rather than portraying discrete, fully developed individual entities. Photo: Rui Mateus. Courtesy of Almada Festival This very question forms the basis of Teresa Gafeira’s directorial approach. The piece is delivered as a dual vocal monologue, wherein two performers do not “act” but testify, functioning as emissaries of an internal elegy. Their delivery is austere emotionally contained, eschewing outbursts of sentimentalism in favour of restraint. However, the absence of surtitles made the work significantly less accessible for non-Portuguese speakers. Despite prior familiarity with the source text, the live experience lacked linguistic and emotional immersion. It became difficult to apprehend how the words carried their weight, how silences sculpted their resonance, or how the performers physically processed the inner landscape of grief. While the vocal interpretation remained faithful to Handke’s style, the visual and spatial potential of the stage was left largely underutilized. The projected images functioned more as atmospheric backdrop than dramaturgical interlocutors. As a result, the possibility of a multimodal dialogue with memory remained underdeveloped. The performance lingered in a liminal space, powerful in speech, but theatrically rather undercharged. And yet, the ethical core of the work remained intact. The performance did not “display” grief, it remembered it. It whispered sorrow through language. That act alone carried immense weight. Mourning was not an emotional identification but a form of justice through articulation. Handke does not ask the audience to empathise but to reflect: How can theatre represent a life shaped by silence? How does theatre speak when the other no longer can? In this regard, the production aligns with other theatrical meditations on mourning, not as pathos, but as remembrance of absence. From Samuel Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape , where the voice of a cassette becomes the medium of grief, to Theodoros Terzopoulos’ Antigone , where loss is rendered as somatic burden and vocal repetition, theatre becomes not a mirror of life, but a ritual of memory. Such performances do not scream. They do not shock. They demand attention, silence, and time. They ask us to listen to what is never fully said. And the very fact that they continue to exist, and to insist, in an age of speed and information saturation, is itself a political gesture of interiority. A quiet monument to theatrical dignity in the face of erasure. A Language of Gesture, A Geometry of Motion: Quatro Cantos num Soneto and The Look (Choreography Fernando Duarte and Sharon Eyal) Fernando Duarte’s Quatro Cantos num Soneto undertakes an ambitious project: to translate Luís de Camões’ sonnets into the language of dance, capturing not only their semantic content but also their rhythm, texture, and contemplative depth through bodily gesture. Rather than illustrating the poetic text, the choreography treats it as a score for corporeal expression. The dancers of the Portuguese National Ballet (Ana Lacerda, Inês Amaral, Isabel Galriça, and Paulina Santos) do not narrate; they transcribe. Their movements become elliptical stanzas, undulations, and gestures that evoke musical interpretation more than dramaturgical action. Quatro Cantos num Soneto premiered at the Teatro Municipal Joaquim Benite, July 17, 2025. Music: Selections from John Dowland and Diego Pisador, curated by Ricardo Leitão Pedro. Costume Design: Ana Lacerda. Lighting Design: Fernando Duarte. Photo: Hugo David. Courtesy of Almada Festival The sonic landscape, enriched by precise vocal recitations of the sonnets, intensifies the performances’ multisensory atmosphere. The result is less a conventional dance narrative and more a case of "poetry in motion." However, this multilayered approach risks fragmenting the spectator’s experience. The continual interplay of speech, sound, and movement situates the piece in an intermediate space, neither pure dance theatre nor lyrical portraiture, demanding sustained attention, openness and patience from the viewer. Absent is a dramaturgical climax. The work foregoes linear progression and emotional crescendo. Instead, it offers introspection, poetic silence, and an invitation to contemplative observation of the body as a vessel of language. This is a piece that resists facile visual consumption. It does not seek to move the audience emotionally but to attune it. It is an “anti-spectacle,” an embodied reminder that silence, too, possesses rhythm. The Look Immediately following was The Look , choreographed by Sharon Eyal and originally created in 2019 for the Batsheva Dance Company. Inspired by Mahatma Gandhi’s quote, “Nobody can hurt me without my permission” ( Time Out/ Israel, Feb. 24, 2019), this masterful work delicately balances group movement with individual expression, and mechanical synchronization with organic flow, maintaining an exquisite tension throughout. The dancers, dressed identically, move en masse , as if forming a single body, yet never surrender their individuality to the anonymity of the collective. Each body retains its uniqueness. The Look . Costume Design: Alon Cohen. Lighting Design: Daniel Nørgren-Jensen. Music: Ori Lichti. Photo: Hugo David. Courtesy of Almada Festival Whether moving as solitary units or as coordinated formations, their ceaseless motion and repositioning releases an atmosphere that is hypnotic, mesmerizing, and almost trance-like, an effect intensified by the cold, geometrically regulated lighting. Movement patterns unfold in relentless cycles: mechanical repetitions that mirror the steady pulse of the human body. These motions are intricately shaped and sometimes provoked by Ori Lichtik’s precise and nuanced musical score. Together, they create a physical rhythm where the dancers’ bodies transcend their materiality, taking on the quality of fleeting shapes or abstract concepts rather than solid forms. The Look . Photo: Hugo David. Courtesy of Almada Festival Compared to Eyal’s other works, such as the emotionally charged Love Chapter II (2017) or the hybrid 2 Chapters Love (2022), The Look adopts a rather more formalist and abstract choreographic language. While Love Chapter II and 2 Chapters Love emphasize raw emotion and narrative complexity, The Look strips movement down to its essential elements. Here, the dancers function more as vessels of energy and repetition, articulating phrases in an algorithmic dance vocabulary of movement . The Look stands as a significant addition to Sharon Eyal’s artistic corpus. Structurally rigorous and aesthetically entrancing, it probes the very essence of “looking,” of perceiving movement as meaning. The gaze of the dancer becomes inseparable from the gaze of the spectator. This very sense of disciplined sensitivity was realized by the dancers of Companhia Nacional de Bailado. They did not “perform” the choreography; they embodied it. Without exaggeration or unnecessary embellishment, they delivered a performance of unity and aesthetic discipline. Their aim was not to impress, but to articulate, as a single organism, the expressive potential of the work. Broken Images, Breathing Bodies: Extra Moenia (Conception and Direction Emma Dante) My recent visit to the Almada Festival concluded with Emma Dante’s polyphonic performance Extra Moenia (Latin for Outside the Walls ) , which once again confirmed her unique theatrical method: a choral mosaic of bodies and voices, in which the traditional notion of plot gives way to the dramaturgy of coexistence. The opening scene of Extra Moenia . Photo: Roselina Garbo. Courtesy of Almada Festival Extra Moenia is not a conventional performance. It is a living body in motion, a collective choreography of everyday gestures and fractured social realities. Fourteen performers from Dante’s company Sud Costa Occidentale awaken within a set resembling a makeshift shelter. As they dress and begin to move through the performance space, they confront a world beyond the safety of its walls, a world marked by crisis, war, destitution, and displacement. Extra Moenia, premiered in March 2025 at Teatro Bellini in Naples.The production is a collaboration between Teatro Biondo Palermo, Atto Unico – Carnezzeria, and Sud Costa Occidentale. Photo: Roselina Garbo. Courtesy of Almada Festival The rhythm of the performance constantly shifts. Scenes alternate like snapshots: a railway station, a marketplace, a congregation in prayer, a beach turned into a site of shipwreck. Dante composes a palimpsest of contemporary wounds, embodied by emblematic figures: a refugee from Ukraine, a migrant from Congo, an Iranian woman removing her veil, a conservative family, a group of football players from Palermo. Each character carries trauma, but each also contains a sliver of hope. Extra Moenia. Costume Design: Mariella Gerbino. Movement Assistant: Davide Celona. Production Assistant: Daniela Gusmano. Sound Department Head: Giuseppe Alterno. Artistic Coordination: Giuseppe Baiamont. Photo: Roselina Garbo. Courtesy of Almada Festival Aesthetically, the narrative evokes the logic of social media: brief, rapidly shifting images that allow no time for sustained reflection. Thematically, war, displacement, patriarchy, and ecological collapse are introduced more as reference points than as subjects of in-depth exploration. This fragmentation risks aesthetic overload but simultaneously reflects with accuracy the disorienting experience of contemporary social disintegration. Dante’s primary tool is the body, not the idealized, but the socially worn body that bears tension, fear, and desire. A body that does not enact roles but reveals its political weight as a record of violent coexistence, a container of memory, and a site of survival. The tone oscillates between the satirical and the tragic, from the noisy market scenes and station announcements to monologues about rape, war, and displacements. The finale, featuring a "sea of plastic," is visually and emotionally powerful. It symbolizes a collective shipwreck, a space where the body becomes an archive of trauma. At times, the multiplicity of themes results in aesthetic saturation. The accumulation of images and messages leaves little room for reflective engagement; nothing fully settles. The rapid pace of the performance allows little space for depth or contemplation. In a way, the direction seems primarily concerned with creating a kaleidoscope of impressions, with inclusivity as its dominant image. Despite the fragmentation and underdeveloped elements, the performance as a whole manages to transcend the limitations of its elliptical narrative. It draws the audience into a theatrical experiment that breathes with History, a collective ritual devoid of heroics or final applause, yet filled with bodies that persist. And in an era marked by aesthetic fatigue, that very persistence becomes a vital necessity. Epilogue: Listening to the Present This year’s festival, with its 20 productions, local and foreign, each with its own style, managed as a whole to shape a diverse ensemble that powerfully highlighted urgent issues concerning contemporary theatre: how can human experience be conveyed in an age of acceleration, instability, and global rupture, where the world seems to collapse under the weight of its own contradictions? How can contemporary theatre speak again in a voice that is neither obsolete nor overloaded, but capable of listening to the present and articulating possibilities for the future? From the sparse, introspective study of the body as a medium of language in Quatro Cantos num Soneto and The Look , to the fragmented, overwhelming polyphony of Extra Moenia , the precarious balancing act of Zugzwang , and the sharp-witted comedy Les Gros Patinent Bien—Cabaret de Carton by the French company Compagnie Le Fils du Grand Réseau , created by Pierre Guillois and Olivier Martin-Salvan, where the only stage props were dozens of cardboard boxes, the performances did not merely depict reality; they sought to reconstruct it, interrogate it, and resist it. They offered no easy answers, no closure and no comfort. Instead, they acted as mirrors and warnings. They invited vigilance, critical attention, and an openness to complexity. Perhaps this is the essential quest: to sustain our relationship with theatre not as an escape, but as a confrontation, a space of reflection, conflict, and creation. A space where light and darkness, past and present, art and life breathe together. A space that still believes in the necessity of meaning. Image Credits: Article References [i] This is a Toulouse-based performance company founded in 2000 by director and scenographer Aurélien Bory. The environment plays a significant role in storytelling. It is an active force. See Plan B (2003), Plus ou moins l'infini (2005), Sans objet (2009), and Plexus (2012), among other works. [ii] Cirque Inextremiste is a French contemporary circus company founded in 1998 by director and performer Yann Ecauvre. It blends physical theatre, circus arts, street performance, and often risk-taking acrobatics. Extrêmités (2012), Extension (2014), Exit (2017), Warning (2022) are among their most notable productions. References About the author(s) Savas Patsalidis is Professor Emeritus in Theatre Studies at Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, where he has taught at the School of English for close to 35 years. He has also taught at the Drama School of the National Theatre of Northern Greece, the Hellenic Open University and the graduate program of the Theatre Department of Aristotle University. He is the author of fourteen books on theatre and performance criticism/theory and co-editor of another thirteen. His two-volume study, Theatre, Society, Nation (2010), was awarded first prize for best theatre study of the year. In 2019 his book Theatre & Theory II: About Topoi, Utopias and Heterotopias was published by University Studio Press. In 2022 his book-length study Comedy’s Encomium: The Seriousness of Laughter , was also published by University Studio Press. In addition to his academic activities, he writes theatre reviews for various journals. He is on the Executive Committee of the Hellenic Association of Theatre and Performing Arts Critics, a member of the curators’ team of Forest International Festival (organized by the National Theatre of Northern Greece), and the editor-in-chief of Critical Stages/Scènes critiques , the journal of the International Association of Theatre Critics. European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025 Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 21 Robert Wilson’s Moby Dick at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf, Summer 2025 Dramas of Separation at Festival d’Avignon 19th Edition Polyphonies of the Present: The Pulse of the Almada Festival Summer 2025 in London, England The Tragic Ideal of Eternal Youth: Folk Myth on the Modern Stage International Theatre Festival of Sibiu 32nd Edition Review of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa by Ópera do Castelo Radu Afrim and his House Between the Blocks Report from Berlin Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 20, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage The 62nd Berliner Theatertreffen: Stories and Theatrical Spaces That Realize the Past, Present and Future. By Steve Earnest Published: July 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF Cover Photo provided by DARUM Ranging from restagings of historical dance pieces to AI driven work as well as completely new works and interpretations of classical works by top level world directors, the 62nd Annual Berliner Theatertreffen presented productions that displayed the incredible variety of the contemporary German stage. The “Ten Remarkable Productions” considered several levels of reality; three productions considered artificial intelligence, many could have been considered musical works, several others were driven by language, and all were defined by strong, clear directorial styles. As has been the case during the recent history of the festival, top level world directors and highly developed, company-driven works contribute to the success of the Theatertreffen; the 2025 version provided exceptional insight into the solid artistic environment that dominates the landscape of the current German and especially Berlin stage. Despite the numerous cuts to funding and occasional pessimism expressed, the German Stage has once again responded with historically significant work and the future of the Theatertreffen only looks to be more positive. Unfortunately, given the nature of production scheduling in 2025 it was nearly impossible to see all ten productions live. Thankfully, at least three were available to watch on German Television (3SAT) for much of the Summer, and the number of performances and availability of theatre spaces had diminished somewhat. Most of the productions featured in the 2025 Theatertreffen have been considered in this review, however it may be that one or more will be featured in a later article due to viewing difficulties. Sancta Susanna was banned at its 1921 planned premiere at Stuttgart Opera due to its insinuation of lewd subject matter according to historical archives. Paul Hindemith’s 1920 opera considers the sexual awakening of a nun; the original libretto includes a scene that calls for the nun to take off her habit and stand naked in front of the collective in order to display her need and desire for sexual engagement. Fast forward 100 years to Mecklenburg, Germany, where Sancta had its 21st Century premiere. Directed by Florentina Holzinger, an artist known for her productions displaying naked female bodies, the work featured an entire stage full of naked women for the bulk of the performance and provided incredible commentary on the historical issues dealt with in the text as well as the state of the contemporary church, religion and the world in general for that matter. Sancta , staging by Florentina Holzinger. Photo by Nicole Marianna Wytyczak. Holzinger’s work was incredibly well conceived and executed; it served as an incredible landmark for the German stage in the boldness of the creation of an original aesthetic – the reverence of the naked female form. While it was conceived at the Mecklenburgish’s Straatstheater, the legacy of Holzinger, an Austrian dancer/choreographer, has been at the Berliner Volksbühne and her work, better than any other contemporary director at the festival, seemed to embody that tradition of Frank Castorf and the incredible aesthetic and unparalleled “edginess” that was characteristic of Castorf at the Volksbühne. Because the work played in the theatre, there was an amazing fit between the challenges of the SANCTA, the elements of production previously realized on the Volksbühne stage, the nature of the way that the material was presented and the use of onstage as well as offstage and pre-taped video sequences. The single set included numerous challenging areas; basically, a stage “obstacle course,” because, in addition to the multimedia elements such as a multiple screens as well as actors holding cameras and recording onstage action, the elements of both a climbing wall as well as a competitive ramped skating velodrome were included into the stage design. All of those elements were complemented by a singularly unique device that is currently apparently unnamed. I have reached out to numerous sources and no one can provide a name to the amazing piece of machinery that consisted of an approximately twelve foot high solid base obelisk shaped figure that had a single working arm capable of lifting and displaying both very heavy as well as very light objects with incredible clarity and dexterity. Something of a robot-figure, the device was used throughout the production, lifting humans, small objects and numerous elements required by Holzinger’s telling of this miraculous story. The video elements were outstanding and included live time, onstage taping of numerous elements in addition to pretaped and historical video sequences. Characteristic of many previous Castorf works, the element of an arriving figure into the theatre via a video stream was utilized; however in this case the character of Jesus was realized as arriving late to the performance. Captured in a live time video sequence the scene was played by the incredible German actress Annina Machaz and after her arrival onstage she engaged in an elaborate onstage discussion with the audience, driven by the delivery of a comical sequence of events that resulted in a number of hilarious, comic scenes that also involved many of the naked women already onstage. The work also directed its attention to numerous actual stories of physical abuse and sexual activity (rape, physical groping, adultery) within the church. These were presented as “confessionals” utilizing the multimedia environment and several previously taped scenes were also included. Sancta , staging by Florentina Holzinger. Photo by Nicole Marianna Wytyczak. The work included so many incredible scenes it would be a difficult task to list them all. However, during one sequence an actress “stood in” for the role of Jesus each evening of the three TT performances and an actual small scale operation took place. Apparently, during each performance a surgical procedure took place with each of the three actresses having a very small portion of their skin surgically removed and the entire process revealed on camera. The small, circular portion of skin was then actually fried live on stage in a small pan with the same video process recounting that as well. Later, the small fried piece of flesh was used to demonstrate the biblical phrase “this is my flesh..” More than any work I have seen at the Volksbühne in over 20 years, the work managed to forward the amazing aesthetic developed by Castorf and to really push the limits of theatrical production. The result was an amazing work that, in the spirit of Artaud, shook audience members to the very core of their being. Sancta established Holzinger as one of Europe’s most sought after directors. Unser Deutschlandmärchen was a Theatertreffen selection to celebrate the substantial Turkish community and the story of their long history in Germany. Based on the novel by Dinçer Güçyeter with dramaturgy and direction by Hakan Savas Mican the work had been produced by Gorki Theater as part of the 2023-2024 season. The setting of the piece was in Cologne, and involved the lifetime of a family from Turkey that had relocated to Germany and it involved a period of time through the 1980s and 1990s that involved the family’s life in Germany. Their view of Germany came from the standpoint of being immigrants to the country, and was central to the story yet the style of the work, somewhat Brechtian in form. Several musical numbers, most of which did not really advance the plot, were included in the show and the onstage band of five musicians played an important part in the production. The flow of the action and the telling of the story of the Turkish immigrants was the key element of the production and the goal was quite obviously to utilize a very audience friendly manner in which to make it happen. Many musical numbers in a somewhat concert style were included. The work utilized a Brechtian/concert style format and slides emphasized key chronological times during the family’s life in Germany. At the point when the story landed in 1999, having begun in the early 1980s, a musical number entitled “I Want More Hard Rock” was sung by the the work really highlighted the family struggles of immigrants and the difficulties that so many Turkish migrants to Germany had endured. The work should be considered a musical, and utilized many original as well as popular interpolated Turkish songs into the story. The work was a rock music revue and featured numerous individual performers and musical scenes that developed the story of the Turkish family and their struggles while living in Germany. The work begins and ends with letters from Dinçer to his mother and ends in the same format. The supporting elements of the Gorki Theatre made sure that the performance was given the strongest theatrical system. The production was extremely well realized and easily figured into the “Ten Remarkable Productions” as a representative production. Sesede Terziyan in Unser Deutschlandmärchen . Photo by Ute Langkafel Another nominated work that came from the Deutsches Schauspielhaus Hamburg (an incredibly rare occurrence) included Bernarda Alba’s Haus directed by Katie Mitchell. The Lorca original included numerous scenes of tension and implied violence as the dominating matriarch of the established Spanish family was intent on preserving the “honor” of her deceased father and the legacy that he had established. Mitchell’s world for the play recounted the 2002 case of the Tuchol family in Riverside, California, where the father and mother managed to quarantine a family of four girls until many were in their mid-late 30’s and had never had any meaningful contact with the outside world. Mitchell’s world as created for Bernarda Alba was unrelenting; the four daughters were allowed no contact with the outside world; groceries were delivered to the house to prevent them from leaving the house and the girls spent much of their time in a group sewing room where they made all of their own clothing. The guider of the oppression, played by Julia Wieninger was unrelenting in her portrayal of the controlling and incredibly violent matriarch that held her daughters captive for many of their formative years. Mitchell’s directorial style naturally pushed the world to its extreme and the world became a complete prison. The stage design, beautifully realized by Alex Eales allowed both the stage (and eventual) film audience to realize the individual scenes of distress and horror that were part of the house that had been created by Bernarda Alba. Mitchell’s reimagination of the text included a world of several male characters who lurked outside attempting to interact with the four beautiful daughters of Alba. This element was made possible due to the Eale’s “doll house” design that allowed the audience to see characters in multiple spaces simultaneously. It was particularly effective near the end when numerous violent actions took place in separate rooms; as Adele, Linn Reuse’s spectacular suicide scene was then countered by a group mass suicide as all of the daughters, with the exception of Amanda who managed to escape, were forced to take a deadly dosage of Fentanyl. The horrific ending to the story was “classic Katie Mitchell” and, as is typical of her work, managed to clearly define the Lorca classic into the contemporary world. Simultaneous scenes in Bernarda Alba’s Haus , as staged by Katie Mitchell. Photos by Thomas Aurin. Double Serpent is Sam Max’s fantasy play that presents a male dominated world devoid of any female influence and explores the reality of that oppressive environment in something of a video game style. Directed by established German director Ersan Mondtag and commissioned by the Hessisches Stadtsheater Wiesbaden who realized the work of the newly emerged New York based artist, the staging was guided by a movement style driven by a specific soundtrack so that many of the character’s movements were underscored by carefully timed sound or musical details, such as a walking steps or other repeated movements. The storyline centered around Connor, a young man and Felix, an established movie producer. However, so many other issues emerge as time is fractured in the work and Felix returns to his past where a game called “Double Serpent” was played for a short time on computers prior to it’s being banned. It was there that he played the game with his imaginary friend “Eric,” but a much larger issue emerged later in the work as it was revealed that at some point Felix drugged him and harvested his organs for use for some undisclosed reason. Clearly the work was realized in a highly surreal manner and seemed to come from the standpoint of a dream where many events occurred but often the events were unrelated and did not often make sense in a concrete manner. There was one scene where Felix asked Connor to stand mid stage and a chorus of four naked men facing upstage stood in front of him around a “hot tub” – the intent was a group sex act directed toward Connor to be watched by Felix but the scene was not played out to fruition. Double Serpent dealt with numerous issues related to nightclub and party culture. The use of K (short for Ketamin, a popular party drug) was referenced throughout the play. According to the writer Max the story is based in the world of teens who consistently engage in the world of online gaming and interaction. Also the ideas of masculinity were explored - Max correctly noted that typically male driven stories leaned into the world of thriller or even horror stories. This work explored a highly controlled world where the politics and ruling authority was gauged in another manner. The staging of Max’s imaginary world presented the many combined elements of a (perhaps) toxic male driven society, and the results were an emotionless, physically driven world that exhibited pure male power and control. Sam Max’s Double Serpent . Photo by Thomas Aurin. End of Life was a performance installation created by DARUM (Vienna, Austria) and written, conceived and directed by Victoria Halper and Kai Kröschoe. Engagement with this virtual production was both a difficult and emotionally demanding challenge. Given a specific time by the Festspielhaus staff, audience members were instructed to arrive early and to prepare for a virtual experience of approximately two hours. Once taken into space, each audience member was given a headset that basically removed them from their physical world and placed them into an environment that engaged them visually with a virtual world where they would occasionally be required to move, bend down and occasionally lean, but mostly just required to be present in a standing position. The nature of the story that developed led into a discussion about many elements: the future of humanity, our concern for the sanctity of life, and the nature of how we view the prolonging of life. Audience engagement in End of Life . Photo taken (with permission) by author. Central to that discussion was the case of a young woman named Lisa with whom each audience member was taken on a journey with. There were many stops along the way and choices were given to each audience participant in order to craft an individualized journey. The virtual world created by the production team was incredibly well realized, thus the nomination as one of the best performance experiences in the German world for 2024-2025. Produced in Vienna the work provided those who were able to experience the work with a once in a lifetime experience. As an audience member you were engaged with some difficult situations, encountered some scary characters and were taken on an amazing journey that is very unique and, in the end, quite beautiful. One’s journey with Lisa was genuinely personal, and the conversations seemed uniquely authentic. On many occasions the participant was alone with Lisa and her conversations and reactions were stunningly realistic. The production truly revealed the both wonderful but also horrifying realities afforded by the virtual world. Participants were forewarned about the physical demands of the production and there were drinks and food items available as participants finished the performance due to the potential physical reactions involved. End of Life, by Vienna-based DARUM. Audience members engaged. Photo provided by DARUM. Frau Carrar’s Rifles , produced by Residenztheater München was presented in the Probebühne, the smaller, more intimate space of the Berliner Festspielehaus. Directed by Luise Voight, Brecht’s play deals with a group of immigrants living in a war zone during the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939). The work is generally considered to be an adaptation of John Millington Synge’s Riders to the Sea and in Brecht’s script focuses on Teresa Carrar who is seeking to protect her children during the difficult war times. The production aesthetic emulated a black and white 1930s movie, as the characters utilized dark costumes and white face makeup and the setting consisted of a single whitewashed room that included black and white furniture. The overall sense of the work was that of old cinema; however, the work primarily focused on the delivery of the text. In the case of this work it suffered from a reliance on the Brecht text to speak to a contemporary audience. The work was played in a very direct and filmic style and fell extremely flat on the night I saw it. Sadly, the work did not reveal a great deal of action so the static nature of the dialogue along with the lack of consistent movement and action made the work feel tedious. The visual style was an impressive element and the performers of the Residenztheater are always among the best of the German speaking stage. Deutsches Schauspielhaus Hamburg’s Die Machine Oder: Über Allen Gipfeln ist Ruh (sometimes translated as Time Machine) was conceived by French playwright/novelist George Perec and utilized Goethe’s famous poem “Wanderers Nachtlied” as the central focus of an AI driven experiment that revealed on the stage the working process behind a computer’s interpretation of a classic literary work and the many processes that differentiate the human analysis of words and semantic sequences to the analysis of those same sequences by a non-human AI based group of sources. Featuring five actors who emulated the nature of computer-like reactions and analysis of the poem, the performers, led by a supreme guiding force, were all involved in the consistent analysis, interpretation and (sometimes) negotiation of the meaning and relevance of particular words. The staging of the work, brilliantly arranged by director Anita Vulesica ultimately realized an incredible “machine-like” work and the actors movement’s, delivery and focus were all driven by their place in the machine. Discussions consisted of the analysis of grammar, the usage of certain words as well as an even further analysis of the usage of the number of vowels in a sequence of words. The main purpose was comedic but did reveal some very pertinent ideas about inconsistencies in written language (the work was directed towards both German and English) but the real comedic moments were revealed in both the spoken German text and the projected English subtitles. It was clear that the comedy was actually present in both languages, which is not always true. The real strength of this work lay in the precise timing and physical movement of the actors who truly engaged with the machine-like concept of the work, which looked back to the world of Expressionism and works like From Morn to Midnight and Machinal . Expressionist staging in Die Machine . Photo by Eike Walkenhorst Sadly, Ja, Nichts ist OK would be the final work of director Rene Pollesche at the Volksbühne Am Rosa Luxembourg Platz. Pollesche had just taken over at Berlin’s great public stage as Indendant following the turbulent years after the ousting of Frank Castorf, the longtime leader of one of Berlin and Germany’s great historic theatre companies. Pollesche died just after the mounting of the work, which was apparently somewhat autobiographical and revealed some of the many issues the theatre director, devisor, and writer had been dealing with during his many decades career on the German stage. The work was primarily a one man show that featured long-time collaborator Fabian Henrich’s, in a work that featured discussions and arguments among a number non present flatmates – questions that defined human existence such as Hamlet’s “To Be or Not to Be” speech that was quoted. The text was a stream of consciousness work that was often directed at the audience with the assistance of a hand-held microphone. As the sole performer, Henrich often took moments to speak directly to the audience about his personal and life issues and to engage in live comic banter with the audience; a few smaller and supernumerary characters eventually appeared as the performance concluded with numerous figures from his past joining him on stage. In the spirit of the Volksbühne it was clear that these individuals were not trained performers but random individuals brought onstage for the work’s short ending each evening. The most striking element of the production was the setting. A classic Volksbühne setting with a revolve, the onstage house included a small swimming pool and could be rotated in 360 degree format to reveal the home interior as well. With the addition of a rock band (typical at the Volksbühne) the underscoring of the physical action of the piece, which was much more prominent than the use of language in the work, was a unifying element of production of this primarily movement based work. The work included an onstage pool (common in Volksbühne productions) and in several scenes Henrich took very violent falls into the pool to indicate various moments in his life and story. Photo provided by the author. One of the most anticipated and best received works was Pina Bausch’s masterpiece Kontakthof: Reflections of 1978 , restaged by her longtime assistant Meryl Tankard and utilizing numerous company members from her many decades career as a choreographer. Numerous individuals stood outside with signs requesting an opportunity to witness the work live as all three Theatertreffen performances were totally sold out. However, it was possible to see the work in an upstairs overflow environment at the Festspielhaus. Having seen it the night before, I was so hypnotized and attracted by the work that I was willing to pay for an overflow ticket to see it a second time. There was not a comparable work that I have seen at the Theatertreffen to match the incredible aesthetic and nostalgic feel that this work was able to produce. The work was performed in a classic Bausch setting – an open space that looked like a cross between a classroom dance space and a space where people who lived in a retirement community might meet and gather. It was an open space with a number of chairs lined up around the walls of the space but it also had a small, curtained stage directly upstage center, which made it appear to be something of a community performance space. Utilizing both frontal and rear screens for projection of video and images, the performers, incredibly seasoned European and American professional dancers aged from 62 – 80, physically recreated the scenes staged by Bausch in 1978, Thankfully, the staging was not unusually technically challenging from a professional dancer’s standpoint, and the scenes all took place in a community setting among young people attending a general social gathering. Simplicity, pedestrian style and repetition were defining elements of the work, and numerous key repeated gestures really drove the style; in a singular sequence these consisted of a smile to the audience, rotation of the hands in the front of the body, and then hands placed on either side of the head. This was done in a repeated fashion for at least 15 minutes during one sequence and the nature of repetition and the matching of the live performers with video sequences was mesmerizing. The real beauty of the work was the story told of the past experience and the incredible nostalgia of the moments shared among the individuals who lived the experiences of the time. The time was portrayed as one of a beautiful world when people were happy and life was grand; however, it was a clearly male dominated world and Bausch’s original staging reveals many of the unpleasant elements like the incredible loneliness of the female characters and times when they were treated with disrespect or even groped by the male figures. The music was unparalleled; classic music from the 1920’s in Germany revealed a time of great hope and prosperity, and featured traditional songs from Berlin swing era composers like Ralph Bernatzky and Leo Monossen whose “Im Rosengarten von der Plata” and other classic Berlin tango-like musical numbers were used. The connection between the younger characters in black and white video on the numerous screens contrasted with the much older live dancers who matched or complemented the visual dance scenes and the result was a high degree of artistry. The fact that these seasoned dance individuals revisited this world and presented it to a contemporary audience made the work something of a masterpiece to be seen once in a lifetime, and, amazingly, it met that challenge. Just before the intermission of each production, the actors came and sat before the audience, each delivering a short speech about themselves and their career, focusing on some trivial aspect of life such as Lutz Förster who stated “each day my wife gets up and makes me breakfast and I wash the dishes.” Kontakthof: Echoes of 1978 was a defining work of the 2025 Theatertreffen as it sought to explore multiple times and places utilizing a variety of means to transport audiences into both past and future spaces of reality. Cast of Kontakthof: Echoes of 1978 . Photo by Ursula Kaufmann. The 2025 Theatertreffen was both a festival of the exploration of new means of production as well as one that included and reimagined the past. Diverse and innovative voices were realized throughout the festival, and the work of numerous directors, performers, designers, other artistic figures, and theatre companies once again brought forth many ideas and theatrical forms that expanded the possibilities of the world stage. Numerous individuals were recognized at the Festival’s completion: Carmen Steinart was given the Alfred-Kerr-Acting-Award for her performance in BLUTBUCH (not reviewed here), Christopher Rüping received the Theatre-Award-Berlin and the 3sat Award was given to Anita Vulesica. Consistently, the German stage drives world theatre in terms of content/ literary material as well as its display of technical innovation through many mediated sources. The Theatertreffen remains a treasure that presents the most prolific theatre production that the German speaking world has to offer. Image Credits: Article References References About the author(s) Steve Earnest is a Professor of Theatre at Coastal Carolina University . He was a Fulbright Scholar in Nanjing, China during the 2019 – 2020 academic year where he taught and directed works in Shakespeare and Musical Theatre. A member of SAG-AFTRA and AEA, he has worked professionally as an actor with Performance Riverside, The Burt Reynolds Theatre, The Jupiter Theatre, Candlelight Pavilion Dinner Theatre, The Colorado Shakespeare Festival, Birmingham Summerfest and the Riverside Theatre of Vero Beach, among others. Film credits include Bloody Homecoming , Suicide Note and Miami Vice . His professional directing credits include Big River , Singin’ in the Rain and Meet Me in St. Louis at the Palm Canyon Theatre in Palm Springs, Musicale at Whitehall 06 at the Flagler Museum in Palm Beach and Much Ado About Nothing with the Mountain Brook Shakespeare Festival. Numer ous publications include a book, The State Acting Academy of East Berlin , published in 1999 by Mellen Press, a book chapter in Performer Training, published by Harwood Press, and a number of articles and reviews in academic journals and periodicals including Theatre Journal, New Theatre Quarterly, Western European Stages, The Journal of Beckett Studies and Backstage West . He has taught Acting, Movement, Dance, and Theatre History/Literature at California State University, San Bernardino, the University of West Georgia , the University of Montevallo and Palm Beach Atlantic University. He holds a Ph.D. in Theatre from the University of Colorado, Boulder and an M.F.A. in Musical Theatre from the University of Miami, FL. European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents The 2025 Festival International New Drama (FIND) at Berlin Schaubühne Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 20 Willem Dafoe in conversation with Theater der Zeit The Puzzle: A new musical in the Spoleto Festival, Italy presented by La MaMa Umbria Varna Summer International Theatre Festival Mary Said What She Said The 62nd Berliner Theatertreffen: Stories and Theatrical Spaces That Realize the Past, Present and Future. Interview with Walter Bart (Artistic Leader, Wunderbaum Collective & Director, Die Hundekot-Attacke) from the 2024 Berliner Theatertreffen Duende and Showbiz: A Theatrical Odyssey Through Spain’s Soul Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 21, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage Radu Afrim and his House Between the Blocks by Călin Ciobotari Published: December 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF House Between the Blocks (Târgu Mureș National Theatre Romania, Tompa Miklós Company) The adventure of Romanian director Radu Afrim's travels in the not-so-distant past, an adventure frequently equivalent to a self-referential discourse, has already been employed in a set of performances, of which, of course, the top of the list remains The Retro Bird… , created, yes, also in Târgu Mureș, a city that seems to offer the director the type of mental state necessary to return to subjects that are never definitively closed. Very intimate, personal, and signed with a special tenderness, such performances obviously occupy top places in Afrim's creation due to the intense way in which they contain their creator. The House Between the Blocks is one of these works written not only for the audience, but also for himself... The house between the blocks, a kind of island with volatile temporal relevance (it is no longer in the calendars, but in history, so its existence is assured forever, as one of the characters demonstrates), resembles a "coffin" at the bottom of a grave whose walls are the blocks that surround it. Through the window covered and uncovered, successively, by curtains, as through an incision into the Real made from inside the Unreal, we see a fragment of the concrete grandeur of socialism and we hear the children of the workers playing in the yard that once belonged to the house. Interestingly, communism always remains on an outside; everyone who enters the family Both's house seems to "take off" their shoes when they get here. Tender-ridiculous, a decrepit aristocracy seems to want to symbolically oppose the great mutations of the real. The interior is vast, ironically imperial, a "palace" room in which Mother Both, the "friend" of Empress Sisi, lives her century. The green Viennese terracotta stove, the stained glass in the window openings on the back door, the 1875 ceramic service, furniture whose shapes evoke a submerged world, all of this clearly defies the 1980s, but coexists, willingly or by necessity, with the radio, the bottle, the worn Persian carpets, the poverty, and the cold. The result is a dizzying mix of illusionary luxury and crude modesty, but also a strong air of retro-(un)reality. This is where the Both women live (Mother Karola and her two daughters, the old ladies, Ida and Etelka), together with the child brought by the waters, the orphan Misi. They live from "art", as the sisters have made a profession out of painting works reproduced on post stamps. Their art does not imitate the real, but imitates imitations of imitations of the real, as if the real reaches them at third or fourth hand. Individually, the paintings are true definitions of kitsch, but together, in the high paneling inside the house between the blocks, they have the air of distant, enigmatic, misunderstood aesthetics... The connection with the present is made especially through two characters: Misi, the orphan from the 1980s, who today arrived for a few hours in the town of the Both sisters, suddenly remembering all this thanks to the muffin-like smell of the paint colors from the cemetery shop. The second connection is through the character Pythia, the neighbor who sees the future; her predictions (the unbearable heat of a future December 1989 – the Romanian Revolution, the time when democracy will be threatened, paradoxically, by the fact that everyone has the right to vote, the Americans, the Russians and their wars etc.) are also a refuge in the future for a woman traumatized by the past. As usual, Afrim composes picturesque, but problematic, vulnerable characters, capable of provoking laughter, but also of making us think: besides Misi, two other children, Rocco, the boy conceived on August 23, and Adam, the gossipy child, then the forester Cornel, the small entrepreneur Csongor, organizer of the not very profitable film club in the Both sisters' house, the gynecologist's daughter, who came here to prepare for admission to Art School, in Cluj etc. They all seem attracted by something indefinable, something rare and very precious that the dinosaur mouth of the bulldozer threatens with definitive destruction. The relationship with reality of all the characters is so ambiguous that more than once you have the feeling that the stage is invaded by children who are playing art, life, communism, history. The tone is set by the fascinating character of the mother, a doll-like being cut out of Marquez's century of solitude, hyperlucid, and cynically observing, as if from inside a trance, the world and its transformations. The old woman mixes temporalities, mixes truths with fictions, becoming a spokesperson for the imaginary, but also for values that seem to belong only to the past: love, beauty, poetics. From her imperial bed, herself a museum of her own uniqueness, she revisits her erotic correspondence through her personal biographer, Misi, who will write a book about the love in the blank spaces between the words. The mother is also responsible for the entry of the ghostly into the scene: the soldier Kázmér, her first and great love, breaks away from the old woman's dreams and becomes concrete. Afrim keeps him in sight, integrating him into several memorable images such as the one in which, perched at the head of the sleeping old woman, he melancholy caresses strands of her long hair. In the end, he will lead her to the cemetery of heroes, accompanied by the echoes of dogs barking in the darkness of the golden age. But the ghostly also comes from the future, or rather, from the debates about the future of some characters who, from this point of view, feel Chekhovian. More than once, the sisters make you think of Three Sisters , especially in sequences like the one in which Ida, Etelka, and Pythia (who will turn out to be born of the same father as Etelka), together with a "Vershinin" from the Forest Department, talk about “what will be someday”. They do it in a way that berates the eternal reduction of people queueing in communism, and valorizes, instead, what these people think, what they dream, what they idealize. The video sometimes emphasizes escapes into the realm of the ideal, as when the block across the street is suddenly replaced by a plunge into a painting (a seascape à la Aivazovsky) and with a ship sweeping the scene. When you are ready to believe that the show is primarily about the life of the Hungarian community in Transylvania in the 1980s, in communism, Afrim imposes a dramatic turn, shifting the emphasis onto the concept of family and the nebulae behind the family. The importance of the biographer Misi grows exponentially, he himself getting caught in parallel biographies from which answers to identity questions are successively revealed. The blood family is doubled by a community family, then, symbolically, by a generally human one (with circumstantial references to Adam and Eve). Paradoxically, in this world of still life paintings from which human beings are missing, no one seems truly alone. Neither the ghosts that cross Eternity, nor the Hungarian Romanians in late-stage communism. The show is dedicated to the director's first graphics teacher, a detail that Afrim wants to emphasize at the end of the show, opening a new perspective on the House Between the Blocks : one related to art, regardless of its quality or scope, as a form of resistance not only to ideology, but also to the daily misfortunes of existence. For decades, the two sisters sacrifice their lives dedicating themselves to colors, discussions about how to draw bears or mountains too high to be the Carpathians. What they do is, in equal measure, small and grand, even if only through that sense of meaning that, at least for a while, their lives acquire. From their repetitive, mass-produced paintings, meant to beautify the canteen of the rolling mill or whatever other living space of working-class people, art, in its most minor definition, can hope to save the world. The remembrance that the sisters hope for is not just about remaining in someone's dreams, as they believe, but is also possible through traces of this kind left by colors (the 50 nuances of the gray color) on a canvas. Just as Afrim's first art teacher remains in memory through this show dedicated to her... The depth of the relationship between the director and the Hungarian troupe from Târgu Mureș has been written about repeatedly. It has materialized, over time, in collaborations that have led to landmark performances not only for Afrim, but for Romanian theater in general, like Tihna [The Composure] Castingul dracului [The Devil's Casting], Beție [Drunks], Pasărea retro… [The Retro Bird…], Grand Hotel... and so on. Diverse, versatile, playful, it's the kind of troupe that successfully fulfills the ambitions of characters that are as complicated as they are seductive. Where elsewhere could a Karola Both like the one from Târgu Mureș have been born, for example, in the amazing travesty of Csaba László's, an "Erendira" without anything caricatured, haloed by a very particular poetry of decrepitude, a bridge between multiple planes, generating humor and nostalgia, of egoism, but also of real superiority in relation to the world in which she lives her end. Erzsébet Fülöp, the performer of Ida, the older sister, confidently steers a woman's persona in whom she shows us resignation, hope, care, aging, but also dignity; she is supported by Katalin Berekméri, a strong element of the female-family triangle, then delightful in the character's transition to a new path, that of self-change, and overwhelming in her collapse in the last part of the show. László Rózsa skillfully alternates the many perspectives from which we see Misi, from the always available character from whom sensitivity emerges, to the narrator in whom deep emotions of encounters with the past reside, from the son upset by the parents' meeting, to the teenager who discovers love. László Zsolt Bartha presents us with Csongor, a mixture of harmless perversity and bankrupt entrepreneurship, but also an emissary of new times in which Bruce Lee films, Video, and a certain way of being will build careers. They are complemented by Gábor Viola (the virile and good-natured forester Cornel), Balázs Varga (the dead soldier, resurrected by the dreams of his youth's lover), Dorottya Nagy (the enigmatic and warm Pythia), Szabó Fruzsina (the gynecologist's daughter, the latter an amazing extratextual character, so well-defined that we almost look for him in the cast of the show), Nóra Szabadi (the red-haired Pentecostal woman), Botond Kóvacs (her husband with slow sperm), Bea Fülöp (Etelka's former classmate, the one who illicitly sells paint), Szabolcs Csíki (the aquatic child). You look at them all during the curtain call and feel grateful for the pure theater they offered you. On another note, perhaps the time has come to take Afrim seriously as a playwright. We have done so in the past, but always subordinating the playright to the director, refusing the absolute autonomy of the text and the status of "disposable play" that his scripts have assumed. I had access to the text a few hours before the performance. Afrim does this especially when he knows that for four hours we will depend on subtitles. Well, the reading was thrilling, the literary qualities of the dramaturgical material being, at least in my opinion, remarkable. A piece of dramatic literature of the highest quality, far above what, in general, contemporary Romanian playwriting produces. The situation is quite strange because it brings the theatrical ball back into the court of ... the director. What is certain, however, is that we can no longer talk about this dramaturgy without including in our debates, in our analyses and histories... the playwright Radu Afrim. Târgu Mureș National Theatre, "Tompa Miklós" Company - House between blocks , written and directed by Radu Afrim. Set designer: Anna Kupás. Costume designer: Orsolya Moldovan. Choreographer: Blanche Macaveiu. Stage manger: Lehel Rigmányi. Assistant director: Bea Fülöp. Video design: Samu Trucza. Prompter: Katalin Tóth. Translated by: László Sándor. Sound: Radu Afrim. Sound design: Vince Oláh. Lighting design: Radu Afrim, István Adám. Cast: László Rózsa, Erzsébet Fülöp, Katalin Berekméri, Balázs Varga, Csaba László, Lászlo Zsolt Bartha, Gábor Viola, Dorottya Nagy, Szabó Fruzsina, Nóra Szabadi, Botond Kóvacs, Bea Fülöp, Szabolcs Csíki. View date: 13th April, 2025 Image Credits: Article References References About the author(s) Călin Ciobotari is a theatre critic, Professor PhD and doctoral supervisor at the Faculty of Theatre of the “George Enescu” National Universtiy of Arts Iași, Romania. He is an associate professor at the Faculty of Philosophy and Social Political Sciences at the “Alexandru Ioan Cuza” University Iași, Romania. He is member of the Romanian Theatre Union and of the Romanian Writers' Union, he is the author of over twenty books and about a thousand articles (journalism, studies, theatre reviews etc.). He is the editor-in-chief of the literary magazine “Dacia literară”, producer and presenter of the tv broadcast “Scena” (Apollonia TV Iași). In 2019 and in 2022 he was awarded the UNITER Prize for Theatre Criticism. In 2020, 2022, 2023 and 2024 he was director/ curator of the National Theatre Festival. The widely circulated author's volumes include Chekhov's Marginals (2016), The Stage Director and the Text. Reading Practices (2017), Hamlet in the Cherry Orchard (2018), Reciting Gorky. A Theatre on the Edge (2021), A History of Kissing in Theatre (2022), Letters to Hamlet (2023), The Dramaturgies of the Alcoho . Landmarks from o Fluid History of Theatre. Within the Theatre Doctoral School, of which he has been director since 2020, he develops the research directions of Aesthetics, Drama Theory and Theory of Performance Arts. calinciobotari@yahoo.com European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025 Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 21 Robert Wilson’s Moby Dick at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf, Summer 2025 Dramas of Separation at Festival d’Avignon 19th Edition Polyphonies of the Present: The Pulse of the Almada Festival Summer 2025 in London, England The Tragic Ideal of Eternal Youth: Folk Myth on the Modern Stage International Theatre Festival of Sibiu 32nd Edition Review of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa by Ópera do Castelo Radu Afrim and his House Between the Blocks Report from Berlin Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 20, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage Interview with Walter Bart (Artistic Leader, Wunderbaum Collective & Director, Die Hundekot-Attacke) from the 2024 Berliner Theatertreffen By Steve Earnest Published: July 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF Interview with Walter Bart, Artistic Leader of Wunderbaum Collective and Director of Die Hundekot-Attacke from the 2024 Berliner Theatertreffen Wunderbaum, Co-creators of Die Hundekot-Attacke at Theaterhaus Jena Walter Bart was born in Rotterdam in 1978 and completed his training as an actor at Toneelacademie Maastricht in 2001. In the same year, he founded the collective Wunderbaum with Maartje Remmers, Wine Dierickx, Marleen Scholten and Matijs Jansen (they were later joined by stage designer Maarten von Otterdijk), and together they created more than 50 productions over the past 22 years. Wunderbaum collaborated with Johan Simon’s company Hollandia and with NTGent before the collective joined up with Theater Rotterdam in 2010. Theater Rotterdam continues to be Wunderbaum’s basis today. From 2018 to 2022, Wunderbaum formed the team of directors of Theaterhaus Jena. With Wunderbaum, Walter Bart created theatre for the main and the small stage as well as other venues across the city. They developed concepts, directed and performed. The collective’s most recent productions include “Alfa Romeo”, “Wunderbaum spielt LIVE, online läuft es schief” (both in 2024), “La Cordista”, “Der Platz” and “Die Hundekot-Attacke”, a co-production with Theaterhaus Jena that was invited to the 2024 Theatertreffen. About the Incident in Question In February 2023 Choreographer and Ballet Leader of Hannover Opera Marco Goeke walked up to critic Wiebke Hüster , confronted her about a scathing review she had published about his new work “In the Dutch Mountains” the day before. Angered about her comments, Goeke then pulled out a back of dog excrement (from his pet dachsund) and violently smeared it all over Hüster’s face. The police and authorities then got involved and Goeke, a rising star in the German dance scene, was first suspended and later removed from his post as Director of the Hannover Ballet. The incident made national news across Europe (as well as the New York Times ). The Hannover Ballet stated that Goeke’s impulsive and violent actions damaged both Ms. Hüster as well as the reputation of the company itself. The incident was universally condemned as an attack on the freedom of the press. ES: So your background, you're now the artistic director of Theaterhaus Jena? WB: No, no, I used to be, until 2020. But together with my group, Wunderbaum, we are an actors' collective from the Netherlands. And we are based in Rotterdam, in Theater Rotterdam. And then we read that this theater was looking in 2018 for a new artistic direction, or a new artistic leader. ES: And they specifically asked for a collective to apply for the leadership role? To come in as a group of people leading? WB: Yeah, a group of people. They wanted a group of people. Not just one, and that's kind of like the way this theater, the background of this theater is. They like to work as a... Yeah, and it has partly to do with the history of it, because it was torn down. I will give you a book of the history of the theater house, it's pretty interesting. It's like, after the wall came down, they... I mean, the whole East was like... Kind of like, they didn't know in what direction to go, of course. So, they were all kind of... And all the money was gone. All the money was gone, so they were really poor. And they tried to... They invited a group from the Ernst Busch, in 1990s, 91. And that's a group of actors from the Ernst Busch Schule in Berlin, and they... it was a class from the Ernst Busch who took over this theater. . So the leaders of this theater, they just drove there, and they said to a few actors, come over to Jena, you'll get the whole theater, and do what you want. ES: It sounds like an excellent opportunity for a group of young actors studying theatre to finish their last year in this situation. Was it? WB: It was okay. But there was not a lot of money. And they got a... Good luck.Yeah, good luck. And the theater was really run down. It was really terrible., like a mess. And I'll show you later the building. And then... So there is something like this situation in the DNA of the house, there's a strong collective vibe. And then it's also led by a group of... They call them... It means like some sort of a board. But in the board are also technicians, for example, from the theater. And they decide of the future, so they choose the next people. And so for that reason, I think the theater also always had like a collective background. And then they asked us to come and we... But we are an actors' collective, so we are six actors. It's funny, we worked quite a lot in the U.S. as well, as a group. ES: So has your company visited the USA? WB: We did two, three co-productions with the Red Cat Theater in Los Angeles. The Red Cat. It's Mark Murphy. There's so many theaters in Los Angeles. It's part of the Disney Theater. It's the Red Cat. And then we went to play in Austin in the Fusebox Festival a few times. And in New York also in a theater. And we did... Yeah, Detroit. We've been in the U.S. quite a while. But never in Carolina. It's a pity. No, no, no. Maybe Atlanta would be the closest. The U.S. is so huge. So the actors are also involved in decisions about how they run the theater. And now this group, the actors, and my girlfriend, who's a director, and our set designer, do it till this summer. And then we moved to Berlin. But Wunderbaum stays in Rotterdam. But I moved to Berlin. And then they asked me as a director to do this piece. So they invited me again. ES: So what about this piece? I wanted to know how you developed this project. WB: Obviously, it was a big story at first. Yeah, exactly. So it's kind of like... Why make a play out of this? I always thought... Because a lot of people didn't know how to talk about it. And I kind of liked that about it. Because you felt there was a huge insecurity. Because of course the press framed it pretty fast as an attack on the freedom of speech. And then you felt on the artistic side, people who deal with critics, they think, okay, what can I say about it? The image of somebody putting... Yeah, it's so extreme. And all the time you... I felt there was such much... People were so uncomfortable to talk about it. So, there was not an honest talking about it. t's also like... And for me that kind of fitted in the time. I think in this time there's a lot of subjects. And I think it certainly has to do with Corona. It also has to do with politics. That I felt there's a lot of topics where people don't immediately say there, open your mouth. It's like immediately... And not in the first conversation. But say, okay, are you a Trump voter? Or are you a Biden voter? Or are you a pro this or pro Corona? Believe me, that's a big problem. I know, of course. We follow the American politics day by day. I'm hooked on it, unfortunately. It's stupid. Make a play about that. Yeah. I think Americans have to do it themselves. It's already a play. ES: It is. We're living it. WB: But then I felt like this kind of discomfort, is that a word? Where you don't know how to talk. And I thought that was in this subject a lot. Because it's kind of like... You didn't know what to say about it, actually. Or you don't know. People were not like... And then I thought that... So it would be great to... Because it's so difficult to talk about it. But then theater is the best place also to talk about it. Because it happened in a theater. ES: What actually happened in the theater and how did you guys make the piece? WB: It happened in a theatre in Hanover, the incident. So, then we made the concept about the theater. And I did it before with Wunderbaum. And that piece played also in the United States. Which one now? It's called Looking for Paul . And it also won in Edinburgh. We won a big theater award for it. And it is about... It was the same concept. It is a group of actors who want to make a piece. But they end up in a fight. So they don't make it to the premiere. And they fail. So they don't... But that's in fiction. It's like... We play a group of actors. We're developing a play. And they don't succeed. And in the end, they decide to read the emails they wrote each other during the rehearsal process. So, it's like this meta. So, it's a group of actors reading emails. About why they didn't succeed. And then you follow this group of actors and all their thoughts. And I knew that this way of having more perspectives on one subject and blurring the line of fiction and reality. WB: So, it's kind of like a pseudo-documentary work. Because the actors use their own names and use real stuff and mix it with fiction. And then I thought it's also a great way to... It's on reality TV now. Everybody is so interested in that, but I don't understand that. Not, exactly. We cringe at Survivor . ES: I can't believe that. My wife likes to watch The Bachelor . WB: I would leave the room to watch The Bachelor . It's terrible. What is it? The Bachelor . This married idiot. This young single idiot wants to date all these girls. It's so stupid. And the women are like, Oh, he's so sweet. I'm like, shut up. It's funny. ES: This totally took over our culture. I wonder why. WB: Yeah, me too. I think it will go away. I hope so. It's like zombies. ES: It's like zombies. They just came and took everything. And now, please go. WB: Well, of course, in a way, I think TikTok took over. I mean, the younger generation is, of course, watching TikTok. And it's the same. What I like about TikTok is hat's reality TV. Everybody can produce it. So, it's getting easier and easier. I read this Michael Cohen thing. I read it every day. This process that's happening now. He said, no, I'm going on TikTok at night. When I'm tired and I want to lose stress, I go on TikTok. And then he goes on TikTok saying these stupid things, you know, about this process. He also has this trouble that he's saying too much about the process. I don't know. But it's legal. ES: He can do this. Yeah, he can do it. Freedom of speech. WB: Exactly. But I'm so surprised people do that. I would never, like, at night when I cannot sleep, go live. Or maybe you've been drinking or something. You say things. Yeah, I would be way too scared. But that's kind of funny as well, that these people see this reality. I don't know. They don't care. ES: So how did you develop the script? Just by improv? WB: We started writing in the reality. As a group. We wrote it together, which is the great thing about it. And then, so we knew that when we would, and we did the writing together with a reality timeline of what happened for real. So, we knew when we would do the press release of it, that there would be a lot of reactions. And we wanted to have these reactions in the writing. So we did the press release that we were going to make it. And then we, everything that happened, we used in writing. So, we had characters. And these characters, yeah, they write about their perspective, with the reality of the incident as a background. And then the joke was that they, because nobody comes to Jena, besides theatre critics. There's a lot of times we don't get a lot of critics, because it's in the province. In the story, there's only one newspaper following us. It's the local Thuringer Zeitung. And they, it's very hard to get attention from other newspapers. And then we thought if we do this topic, that's the storyline. The actors think, hey, when we make a piece with this topic, maybe more press will come. So let me ask you though, before we go forward. ES: So, who are the actors? Are they playing themselves as actors, inviting the press? Or who are they? WB: They are the actors from the theater. Actors from the company. Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, they play themselves. But they play themselves. Because what they play is, they develop characters out of this. And they just decide to, as a group, they decide to take this on as a project. Yeah. Okay. Yeah. And in the fiction, I'm not part of the fiction. So there is, in the fiction, there's no director. Okay. So they develop it as a collective. Okay. Because we thought it was more interesting. Not to have the dynamic of it. Not to have the director in it. But that's also how we work, in a way. Because all the material you would make. Because everybody is the director, in a way. Yeah, exactly. ES: Are you in the show? WB: No, I'm not. But that's what, Wunderbaum and my collective, we all direct. And we are all directors. So, there's no hierarchy. Maybe you, I don't know if it's... ES: No, I understand fully. I know groups like this. Yeah, it's like... And sometimes that's the best way to work. WB: But sometimes... it sucks. (laughs) But sometimes it's more efficient. You direct it. Everybody does this. We got three weeks. Shut up and listen to him. Or whatever. You do whatever. Exactly. That's exactly how we work. Exactly. It's what works best. And then, that was kind of the joke in it. That they don't have a job anymore next year. Because this is the last production they make here. Oh, I saw that in the script. Okay, this is gonna be our last show here. Yeah, so this is the last show. It's not really, it's not totally true. Because now they rehearse for another. There's gonna be one more summer production. But... We play, it's the last season. Next year they are all jobless. So, they don't have work next year. ES: Really? WB: Yes, that's the truth. So, they are all jobless next year. And that's why we thought it might be good to get as much press as possible for this thing. ES: Well, getting in the Theatertreffen is a good gig. WB: Exactly. So that's also playing with it. They also try in the script, they also say maybe if we make this, the Theatertreffen will come. So, the Theatertreffen is even part of the script. So we were kind of... And then it kind of like, how it developed. So how it developed, it developed in the best possible way. Reality. So yeah, that's it. And then we decided to dance. So there is like a dance part in it. Because it's also about the dance world. Because it's of course about a choreographer. Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, there's a dance sequence, okay. We worked with a choreographer. And he taught us how to dance. Modern dance, and in their rehearsals, they dance. They work on a dancing show. And in the end of the emails, they present this dance material they rehearsed. That you will see. So, it's first emails, reading, and then dancing. And it's the idea that the dance is bad, so the critic also says, this sucks, you know, so they all want to... Well, they tried to really dance, so we worked with a real choreographer. We tried to make the dance not ironical. But of course, it's a really bad dance. I mean, to the standards of modern dance, it's not good. But they worked hard on it. And in the characters, they try to... In the dances, they also try to tell the story with dance. The story of what happened. The story of the incident. The story of the incident they try to tell in the dance. Is told in the dance. And it was good because it's way more abstract. Because of course, there's a lot of like... You cannot... The incident itself on stage would be very... I don't know, not that interesting. And also not tasteful. I mean, for the critic, it's a lot about taste as well. What words do you use if you want to... And of course, there's a lot of discussion also in German theater about reproducing things. So, you would reproduce a violent act. Do you want to do that? No. ES: Why do you think this work is important? WB: Oh, God, I really don't know. ES: Well, do you think the questions about the freedom of speech, the freedom of the press... WB: No, not totally. But I think it's very much about... Or what can the theater express? No, I think it's about the periphery and the center. So, it's like where the center is. It's in a theatre in Berlin, in Germany. And what's the periphery? How do you call it? Is that a word? What's outside the center? The work is about where the center of everything is, right? Yeah, I think that's it. And they try to get... And these actors, they are very aware that they are not in the center. ES: And they try to become the center? Okay, I understand. WB: Yeah, they try. They know that we need... And in that way, it's... Yeah, it's about where is the center and what's important and what do we think as actors or as theater makers is important. And that's, I think, the main question and how we function in this media is also a big topic because we found out when we did it that we're like... You have this DPA, Meldung , it's called in Germany. And I know it's... I think you will have it in America as well that when you do like a press thing and then it goes to all media. So, you have like, you write something, and it goes to all news channels. ES: A press release? WB: Yeah. Yeah, but then a press release... normally when we do a press release with theater it doesn't end on the front page of all newspapers. But now it did. Okay. So we got like... And then we found out how this media works. And they... Because the word dogshit is in it, people click on it because they are interested in the story of the dogshit. So people want to read that. So it's also a lot about how media functions and how attention works. It's pretty inevitable to talk about. It's like so much... about how these media function. They have this clickbait thing so that journalists also get paid for how many clicks they have. Of course, I mean, it's also this... I think it's this Trump thing. Of course, the drama. Every article where there is Trump in it, people click on it. ES: Really? People are that... You think people outside of the USA are interested to know what's going on with Trump? WB: Totally. Yeah. That's fascinating. It's like... But it's like a real-life show. It's like the biggest entertainment there is. Like the president... Wow. The porn star. It's like better than The Bachelor . I thought it was only... USA late-night talk hosts. They always talk about Trump. I'm like, what are they going to do when he's gone? Because that's where they get all their material. They're talking about Trump. ES: Yeah, yeah. I think they're happy that he's back. Because now they know what to talk about again. WB: Yeah. I mean... I mean, how are they going to talk about... I don't know. About migrants at the Mexican border. But then... Without Trump. Exactly. That's... That's the whole... I mean, you know... Because you see it here. You see a little bit in Germany. Of the migration. Image Credits: Article References References About the author(s) Steve Earnest is a Professor of Theatre at Coastal Carolina University . He was a Fulbright Scholar in Nanjing, China during the 2019 – 2020 academic year where he taught and directed works in Shakespeare and Musical Theatre. A member of SAG-AFTRA and AEA, he has worked professionally as an actor with Performance Riverside, The Burt Reynolds Theatre, The Jupiter Theatre, Candlelight Pavilion Dinner Theatre, The Colorado Shakespeare Festival, Birmingham Summerfest and the Riverside Theatre of Vero Beach, among others. Film credits include Bloody Homecoming , Suicide Note and Miami Vice . His professional directing credits include Big River , Singin’ in the Rain and Meet Me in St. Louis at the Palm Canyon Theatre in Palm Springs, Musicale at Whitehall 06 at the Flagler Museum in Palm Beach and Much Ado About Nothing with the Mountain Brook Shakespeare Festival. Numer ous publications include a book, The State Acting Academy of East Berlin , published in 1999 by Mellen Press, a book chapter in Performer Training, published by Harwood Press, and a number of articles and reviews in academic journals and periodicals including Theatre Journal, New Theatre Quarterly, Western European Stages, The Journal of Beckett Studies and Backstage West . He has taught Acting, Movement, Dance, and Theatre History/Literature at California State University, San Bernardino, the University of West Georgia , the University of Montevallo and Palm Beach Atlantic University. He holds a Ph.D. in Theatre from the University of Colorado, Boulder and an M.F.A. in Musical Theatre from the University of Miami, FL. European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents The 2025 Festival International New Drama (FIND) at Berlin Schaubühne Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 20 Willem Dafoe in conversation with Theater der Zeit The Puzzle: A new musical in the Spoleto Festival, Italy presented by La MaMa Umbria Varna Summer International Theatre Festival Mary Said What She Said The 62nd Berliner Theatertreffen: Stories and Theatrical Spaces That Realize the Past, Present and Future. Interview with Walter Bart (Artistic Leader, Wunderbaum Collective & Director, Die Hundekot-Attacke) from the 2024 Berliner Theatertreffen Duende and Showbiz: A Theatrical Odyssey Through Spain’s Soul Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.

European Stages serves as an inclusive English-language journal, providing a detailed perspective on the unfolding narrative of contemporary European theatre since 1969. Back to Top Article References Authors Keep Reading < Back European Stages 21, 2025 Volume Visit Journal Homepage International Theatre Festival of Sibiu 32nd Edition by Kalina Stefanova Published: December 1, 2025 Download Article as PDF “Thank you!” as a Theme, “Thank you!” as a Code (highlights of the International Theatre Festival of Sibiu and its 32 nd edition) “Let’s say “thank you” to God, to our friends, parents, children, to everyone, that we are alive, that we can smile, that we can love, that we can share; let us thank all those who help us make this festival happen…. this huge and spectacular family that wants goodness and beauty on earth.” This is how Constantin Chiriac, the founder, president and, in effect, main engine of the Festival since 1993, ends his address in the catalogue this year. The phrase “Thank you”, though, was not only a theme of the 32 nd edition. It is a code to the essence of the Festival in principle, an explanation, at least partial, of its transformation over the years into a phenomenon of a world scale – so far the third largest one, after those in Edinburgh and Avignon. In the same address Chiriac pinpoints the main reasons for the theme’s choice, yet one of them stands out: “… in a time of heightened conflict, when war and hatred bring so much destruction,” what was sought out was “… a theme that would make us more open, more thoughtful, and more beautiful…” – “a magic word” that can tame even “those who do us no good…” This is an excellent encapsulation of the broad-minded manner in which the Festival has been cut out from its very start. It is with the same broad-mindedness and extraordinary panache that its editions continue to be created over the years. It is the Festival that transformed Sibiu – the 15 th in size city in Romania, with a population of 134000 – into a very sought-out destination, with over 100000 visitors arriving there especially for the event. At the same time, despite the throngs of people and the numerous new, glossy buildings, Sibiu hasn’t lost its authentic atmosphere and spirit. And this too the city owes to the Festival, to its distinct respect for tradition – respect that characterizes many of its accompanying undertakings. Like the Walk of Fame. There are other such Walks around the world, yet what distinguishes the one in Sibiu – containing already 77 stars of stars – is its special whereabouts. It connects the place of the oldest theatre in Romania (built in 1788) with the place where the future new building of the National Theatre “Radu Stanca” – the organizer of the Festival – will stand. Yet, among the numerous such undertakings marked with the Festival’s “hats-off” to tradition and its focus on building bridges between the past, present and future, what stands out most is the main rubric in its program, entitled Heritage Performances . Initiated back in 2005, it presents emblematic productions of “Radu Stanca” Theatre. Importantly, the “set” selected for each year does not necessarily differ in full with the one of the previous Festival edition. There are shows which could be in the selection for many years. Such is the case with the famed and spectacular Faust of Silviu Purkarete, created back in 2007, which was the very first show in the rubric this year too; or another long-running Purkarete’s production – The Scarlet Princess, staged in 2018, which also featured there. 20 years after the start of the rubric, these heritage performances could be viewed as forming a special collection – something like a live theatre museum . Notably: a museum not only of the output of “Radu Stanca” Theatre and, thus, of Romanian theatre, but of world theatre as well. For, I dare say, these productions have changed the face of theatre at large. It has to be underlined that they are live shows, part of the repertoire of “Radu Stance”, not revived especially for the Festival. There are many theatre museums around the world – with important expositions of photos, set-designs, costumes, recreated offices of prominent playwrights, directors, and artists, with arrays of artifacts from emblematic productions, etc. Yet, the special “collection” formed by the heritage performances of the Sibiu Festival is reminiscent only of the Asian “living national treasures” – artists or genres. Here, though, the scale is different – it concerns a whole art form. And an art form in development at that! For, as the time goes by the heritage performances develop, improve; the very chance for the viewers to make a live comparison between them over the years also gets enriched. This gives the “collection” a special educational added value too, transforms it into a one-of-a-kind spiritual institution in the whole theatre world. Mind you: there is no bombastic title of this unique undertaking; it’s been unfolding to no fanfare. Simply, with the Heritage Performances rubric the Festival says a most humble and yet most inspired “Thank you!” to the Theatre and serves it with an astonishing devotion and dedication. With the this unofficial live museum of theatre Festival creates for the audience, the artists and the students alike a direct access to the assets of an idiosyncratic theatrical spiritual bank which get incessantly enriched and renewed. Among the shows included in the rubric this year, the one that stood out for me was Games, Words, Crickets… directed by Purkarete . Maybe because it reminded me of another face of Purcarete’s talent, so different from the one manifested in the monumental Faust and in the colorful The Scarlet Princess . Or simply because under this talkative title – seemingly very concrete, yet as though decided to not disclose what the show is about – there is so special gem of a production. It has already been separately covered for this magazine after its premiere in the illuminating review by the esteemed scholar and critic Ion Tomas. (vol. 18, 2023) Yet, I believe it deserves to be placed again and again under our spotlight for more readers to find out about it. The main character in Games, Words, Crickets… is the poetic word, the word with God’s sparkle in it – the word as a beginning, as a gift from above gathering heaven and earth, flesh and spirit, all in one, united by beauty, by love, by life. Poetry in this show is high and elevating, childish and jumpy, playful and full of joie-de-vivre. A hymn, a prayer, a fable, a story in white verse… A praise for poetry itself, a praise for the Holy Mother, a praise for the plum brandy as a gift sent to the man for help and for joy, a praise for the invincible Balkan spirit… In brief: a praise to God and all His creations… By Nazim Hikmet, Paul Verlaine, Shakepeare, Sergey Esenin, Radu Stanca, Mihai Eminescu, Marin Sorescu… As if all the world and all human life from days of yore till now, as it has been seen by the poets, is now gathered in the palm of one human being who presents it to us with such rapture, such joy, such trepidation as though he himself creates every word, every line, every image, every nuance before us and for each and everyone of us. Constantin Chiriac is the astonishing actor who savors the joy of sharing with us as if the very birth of all that poetry. I have seen him in many roles and have always wondered if there is any one he can not handle. Now I know the answer. For, this role is much more difficult than all the rest. Here there is no one person to impersonate so organically as if you are that very person. There is no one face, body, soul, behavior to enliven on stage and yet to remain your own self intact. Great poetry is to hand your soul to the others without leaving anything just for yourself so that you can find a shelter there. Great poetry is to give your eyes to the others so that they could see the world through them, to reach out to them as a small child, without fear and trust them with anything to hide. So that you could share the joy of the spring’s advent, the mystery of moon, the sky’s tenderness, the elusiveness of dream, the joy of the crickets’ song, love, happiness, gratitude to God, to nature, to life, the exaltation of dance … During this show one gets to live though all this in its pure form. Chiriac wakens all these feelings in us not only through the poets’ words but also through his own attitude to everything these words have to say, cry out, cover, shy away from, hide… At one point, he is as if a pure spirit, lost in nature’s beauty, in another, he gluttonously eats a piece of water melon while the juice flows freely down his arm; immediately afterwards, already on his knees and with head resting on the back of his hand – surely the only part of it not sticky then – he prays… And in all that he is so organic, not a hint of falseness cracking the air of full truthfulness he exudes. In his aforementioned address Chiriac recalls how when his parents made him happy and he didn’t know how to thank them, they would caress his head. Later on, he would regularly say “thank you” “with so much truth in my voice that it brought tears to their eyes.” In this shared memory, I believe, is the key to his acting approach in Games, Words, Crickets… as well as one more explanation of all he does for the Festival and the theatre in principle. Even in an address of just three paragraphs he needs the “anchor” of a concrete story – something that he has felt with his own heart; a need for enveloping the spirit in a body, for making the common feel personal, so that it doesn’t sound empty, so that it could touch, convince, feel true. This show does not narrate a single story, as it usually happens in theatre, or one big story, as it usually happens in the theatre of Purcarete. In it every poem is a story in its own right, shared as a first-hand experience, and at first glance these stories may seem small but it is exactly they that form the big story of our life. The very choice of the poems as well as the concrete collage of them makes this even more palpable. Exactly as it is said in one of them, “Words have their time. You can’t just throw them around when you want.” At times Chiriac steps aside, so that he could look at the words and everything they have to say from “the outside” – to see them together with us, the audience. For instance, when the air in the theatre hall is charged with rapture – our rapture with one of the poems – he looks at us and says, “Paul Verlain!” in such a manner as if asking, “How splendid it is, isn’t it?” At the same time, as if a conductor summoning the sound at the end of a rapturous music piece, he puts an exclamation mark instead of a dot. Chiriac’s masterpiece of acting in this show is not at all an unexpected tour de force. He has started his career with poetic recitals – a popular genre at that time in Romania – and has a formidable experience in this field. I myself have witnessed many a time how his speeches at international forums, where he’s in his capacity as a Festival head, all of a sudden soar into poetry, or he takes everyone by surprise reciting a famous monologue by Shakespeare, for instance. The hall then gets so quiet, as if people hold their breath, and the respective event immediately gets uplifted to another level. Even in such cases his poetical detours are not simply reciting of a beautiful text, they are an expression of his joy that this text exists and that he can share it with us. And again, at the end, when he tells us what the poem is, the way he pronounces the title and the poet’s name imply the same, “How splendid it is, isn’t it?”, unuttered with words but expressed with eyes, which accompanies the poetry in Games, Words, Crickets… Although it may not seem so from all already said Games, Words, Crickets… is a one-man show. Yes, it is only Chiriac who has the floor throughout it, yet he is not alone on stage. There are 17 more actors there and part of them are there quite before he makes his entrance. Clad in white shirts and light beige mid trousers, as if giant children, in the beginning they are snowmen, with just hinted most characteristic features; then, with the advent of spring, they “melt down”. Then they build crystal pyramids from transparent wine glasses – pyramids which start slowly gliding on a thin transparent belt horizontally on stage, at the background of sounds of water created before us with of a bucket and small plastic bottles. Further on, one of them would hold a long stick with a lantern and an etude about the moon follows. Then all of them grab umbrellas, wind blows, and it’s already autumn. Then they grab pillows and snuggle, and the night falls…. Not simply do these “grown up” children become the background of poetry on stage, Purcarete transforms them into the very atmosphere of the poetic images and feelings – an unusual Chorus who “comments” and “reacts” on behalf of nature. “What’s going on?”, Chiriac asks them at one point, when the night starts falling down, and they respond with the usual sounds of dusk. This is a dialogue with nature as a Chorus and, naturally, the answers do not come back in words. And again as a Chorus, these “grown-up” children, together with us, are also audience of all the poetry Chiriac endows us with – as it were our extension on stage. It would be so easy for a director to use multimedia instead as a background of such a show. But would even the most technically modern multimedia be able to substitute all these live eyes and hearts, all the different frequencies exuded by these 18 human bodies and souls? And would it be able to achieve such depth of the communion between the man and the world, such diversity of the nuances of this communion, as it happens in Games, Words, Crickets… ? It does great credit to Purcarete that he has chosen to achieve all this and, most importantly, to create the impalpable via the most authentically theatrical and yet most difficult way. Towards the end of the show, during something like a dance, while Chiriac, standing slightly aside, shares with us the n’th portion of beauty, suddenly it turns out that among the dancers there are two other Chiriacs – puppets of his size, attire, face and manners, each one of them led by several puppeteers. The three of them sit at a table: he en face to us, his doubles at the two sides. The doubles start repeating each gesture of his, each mimic, and the feeling gets to be surreal. Exactly as the watermelon minutes before that, or the ode to the brandy wouldn’t let the show stay on just one lyrical wave, and do balance it instead, now the two counterparts endow it with an additional dimension and make it even livelier. After the “talk” of the three (with a voice-over of Chiriac), another dance follows – the Zorba’s sirtaki. All 17 actors dance, including the doubles, only Chiriac, again aside, sets the rhythm with a bell and starts the last poem: “Oh, stay and sip from one more cup at the old crossroads of old rivers, for when it comes to love and wine all men become most joyous givers…” As he continues with the marvelous lyrics of Kazantzakis and other poets, he joins the dance and, although the lights soon go off, the music and his words keep on resounding – as a hymn of life – life that goes on even when the actors on its stage have already stepped down and new ones are soon to make their entrance there… “Poet of the stage, that’s how Silviu Purcarete was defined by Georges Banu, the late brilliant Romanian-French critic. Adriana Mocca, a Romanian actress, in turn, called him “a collector of beauty”. To me, Games, Words, Crickets… is a hymn of life exactly as poetry and beauty – life as it could be and as it is created to be. There is nothing ugly in it. The ugly and the evil are not invited there. Only the games, the words, the crickets, and everything the dots that follow in the title imply. To me this show is much more difficult and complex an endeavor than the mega-productions, like Metamorphoses, Faust, and The Scarlet Princess . Of course, they require a mighty directorial talent few others possess – a type of talent that has deservedly earned Purcarete a world-wide recognition as a master of exuberantly rich theatricality (if I may take the liberty to paraphrase another esteemed Romanian critic and scholar Octavian Saiu). Yet, to be able to create such an inseparable entity of poetry and beauty, as he does in Games, Words, Crickets… , and, moreover, to manage preserve its fine frequency vibrations for a whole hour and twenty minutes so that its integrity doesn’t fall apart is an even more extraordinary achievement. The fact that Purcarete is equally good at both the breath-taking spectacular and the intangible that makes one holds one’s breath, lest the spell gets broken, places him among the very few contemporary directors of such a strikingly wide diapason. Electra – a production by another revered Romanian director, Michai Manuitiu – was included in the Heritage performances too and stood out with its special status. Created back in 2005, it gained a cult status over the following years. In the beginning of 2025 it was revived in its fully original shape and even with some of its original actors. Of course, now, some of the young actors of “Radu Stanca” Theatre share the stage with them. It is exactly this passing of the acting torch before the audience’s eyes that not only makes the production unique but further underlines the importance of the rubric as a live spiritual territory. For, with Electra in the Heritage “collection”, this unique live theatre museum goes one step further: it manifests the possibility for organic upgrading of the theatre art within one and the same production in a “time lapse” of two decades. Notably too, Manuitiu’s Electra could serve as a point of reference, an idiosyncratic mirror in which major differences between theatre of 20 years ago and theatre of today stand out, alas, not always in favor of the latter. For instance, the distinct asceticism in terms of the material, like set-design, costumes, etc. stands in stark contrast with the many-ness that tends to overwhelm the nowadays stages. Also, Electra looks and feels like a stylized ritual and, with very few exceptions, doesn’t get into the literal illustrativeness when it comes to the elements of violence in the plot, unlike contemporary theatre which seems nearly obsessed with direct displays of violence. That is why Electra doesn’t look like a B-rated movie focused on close-ups of the very destruction of the human flesh’s integrity but feels rather like a dance or a painting. As for the regular theatre program, among the main accents was No Yogurt for the Dead , written and directed by Tiago Rodriguez, a production of the NTGent, Belgium (co-produced by Culturgest, Lisbon, Weiner Festwochen and Picollo Teatro di Milano – Teatro D’Europa). This show, to me, is like an unusual diary of a contemporary Scheherazade. A first-hand narrative, most of the time directly en-face to the audience, is the main approach for building the story. Importantly, again no multimedia interferes here – i.e. we are not being offered “to go to the movies” in the theatre, as often is the case these days. Moreover, theatre is especially emphasized. The audience is introduced to the story by one of the characters – a nurse. She is played by the only one of the three actresses in the show who plays just one role from the beginning to the end. The other two actresses assign themselves the roles of a father and a son, as well as two fake beards that will help us distinguish them – long and short (as their characters will be called, respectively – Long Beard and Short Beard). In the course of the action, they will not only openly exchange these roles, but will also get to play others, yet from the moment they “get into” all these roles, they are completely truthful, nearly without any detachment. This dance of realism and overt theatricality is a very good balancer for the story, as it doesn’t let it become merely documentary, although it is a true one, nor does it let it trespass into the territory of the sentimental and succumb to pain, although it is about the death of a dearest person. The story is about (and of) the director’s father – a respected journalist who writes his last reportage in the form of a diary in the hospital during his last days before his death. It is this diary which is the basic material for building the action – it is something like a magnet which draws together the fragmentary pieces of the story. However, it is not an ordinary diary but, exactly like Scheherazade, it sort of manages to win back from death another day and another day, and another day… And, like Scheherazade, this diary has its own secret: in the end, it turns out that in it there are only inarticulate scribbles – dashes and dots. Most of the action takes place around and in a hospital bed on the left of the stage. On the right, an uneven and fragmented hill rises, made of what looks like pieces of pressed cardboard with visible cracks between them, like in a glacier. There is another hospital bed on it – with a patient. However, he is most of the time in a half-back position or sitting sideways to us. So we don’t get to see him well, but we hear him almost all the time. For, his role is to “provide” the main musical background of the story – on a guitar. The major musical accents in the show, though, are the songs sang by the two actresses who play the father and the son. And their singing is remarkable, I dare say, it’s truly unforgettable! These songs, like the diary, are not ordinary ones. They too are like a magnet, even a stronger one than the diary. For, it is exactly they that gather the crumbling world of the dying man and restore not only the contours but as it were the very flesh of his slipping life. They are like the flickering of a fire which is about to go out, but, when it flares up again, it burns for a little while as if it was never about to die. Flare-ups that are sort of mirages, as if death is not coming and there is still plenty of time left for memories here, in this world, with those closest to us. These songs are the major strength of the show. Not only because of the way they are performed, but also because of the very choice of time and space, when the action should stop its horizontal course and fly up (or downwards, if that’s how we imagine the past). Most often this happens unexpectedly, as if out of the blue. Yet it is always exactly “on time”, when the story has fallen apart into too many pieces – because of the playing with roles and wigs, because of the strange use of two languages at the same time (the nurse speaks in Flemish, the father and son in Portuguese), because of the very fragmentary montage of the separate pieces… And then – then a song bursts forth and immediately brings everything together. And just as until then the characters (and even the story itself) have “acted like men” – iron, strong and cold-blooded – now they all of a sudden give way to their feelings and let their tears flow. The theatre at this moment is pushed aside and it is the human being in principle who remains on stage – the human being with everything that is a symbol of the heart – love, longing, tenderness, pain… The human being, like one big heart, fills the stage, the theatre, us. These songs decipher the dashes and dots in the father’s diary. They transform them into meaning, that is, into life. It is through them that death not only gets postponed, they make death pointless, even when the son finds his father’s bed already empty – waiting for the next patient. It is these songs that “make” the show. They contain the key to Tiago Rodrigues’ directorial talent: his fееl for the innermost human and his skill to fill the stage, the theatre, and us with this so elusive a “substance”; and, importantly, his ability to do so not the usual way, through familiar theatrical means, and, yet, paradoxically, to manage to achieve the oldest thing in the theatre – to move you to the bottom of your heart. I intended to write about the shortcomings of the show too. About its numerous endings, some of which it could easily do without. About the fact that some details of the story border on clichés, like the pen the son keeps forgetting to bring to his father and when he does so, he is already gone. Or that some contemporary performative clichés could have easily been avoided, like serving tea to the audience during the funeral, as if the viewers too are attending it… However, now, when time has passed since I saw the show in Sibiu, I find that the flows have faded and lost significance; that, when I think of this unique diary-reportage in songs, it grabs me by the throat as if it were my personal piece of memory. A memory of something the significance of which we find out much later after it happened, when time has erased the unnecessary little details. A memory which as if lifts us up, moves us away from the usual time-track, and extends our life each time when we remember it… I also think now what an amazing gesture of a son to his father’s memory this show is! The other production from the regular theatre program of the International Theatre Festival of Sibiu that struck me most was Jonah , at that time the newest directorial work of Silviu Purkarete . A co-production of the Romanian “Radu Stanca” National Theatre in Sibiu and the Tokyo Metropolitan Theatre, it steps on a Romanian play (by Marin Sorescu) which is, in turn, based on the famed Biblical story. The main performer is Asian (the Japanese star Kuranosuke Sasaki) and there are three speechless characters played by Romanians. “Why do people waste their time on things that are useless after death?” – wonders Jonah, the main character of the play, created back in 1968. This question, so topical in the nowadays world of excesses, is like a pitchfork both for the play and the production. The focus of both aligns according to this question. I.e. Jonah , as a play and as a production alike, is about all the rest: “… the spiritual communion that brings us closer to the primal energies of nature in which divinity manifests itself,” if I may take the liberty to quote the excellent description of the show in the Festival catalogue. Jonah , the show, is like a revelation. It is wise in a Biblical manner and luminous in a New Testament way. The first feature is a contribution of the playwright, the second – of the director. The play is a 26-page monologue, which I strongly recommend for reading – it brings a true literary joy. Jonah, like his namesake in the Bible, is in a big fish, but here the fish is in another, even bigger one, which in turn is in a third. However, notably, the direction of the “opening” of these, so to speak, Matryoshka type of fishes is the opposite of the way we do open Matryoshka dolls in reality, as here Jonah goes from the smaller fish to a bigger one and then to an even bigger one. I.e. the direction is vice versa. None of these fishes appear to be familiar with one of the main laws of life formulate by Jonah: “There should be a grid at the entrance of every soul. So no one can get inside it [armed] with a knife.” (He reaches this conclusion as a result of his personal observation after having managed to cut his way from fish 1 to fish 2.) I can’t help sharing yet another of Sorescu wisdoms presented as Jonah’s lines: “In the life of the world, I think, there must be a moment when all people think about their mother, even the dead. The daughter about the mother, the mother of her mother, the grandmother of her mother… until you arrive at the first mother great and good… What stillness then must be in the world! In that moment, if someone cried for help, he’s be heard by the whole earth.” Another unforgettable image is the dream Jonah has of building “a wooden bench in the middle of the sea. A grand construction of planed oak, so that the more cowardly seagulls could rest on it during a storm. … the wind to settle there from time to time [too], and, thinking of me, say, ‘He never made anything worthwhile in his life apart from this wooden bench, putting the sea all round it.’ I’ve given it a lot of thought, and that is what I’d really like to do. Oh, what a sanctuary, to sit head in hands, in the middle of the soul.” The so profound and so beautifully put insights Jonah comes up with do not make the play abstract. The poetical streak that goes through it intertwines with a splendid sense of humour and with the extraordinary ingenuity of the character in his attempt to talk with the world inside and outside of the fishes. For, “like any very lonely man, Jonah talks aloud to himself”, as Sorescu describes him in the beginning of the play. “He asks questions and gives answers, behaving all the time as if there were two characters on stage. He ‘splits’ and then ‘contracts’ himself back according to his inner life and stage demands.” This distinct dialogical nature of Jonah’s monologue – both as contents and as a manner of expression – is also a substantial strength of the text, as it doesn’t let the viewers’ attention get distracted from the stage for a single second. At one moment, two other fishermen enter the stage – they too have been swallowed by the fish – but they serve as just another spring-board for Jonah’s imagination. To handle the role of Jonah is a big challenge, indeed, since, apart from the concrete man, the actor has to be play as it were the whole world – the sea, the fishes, his wife, the wives of the other two fishermen in there, his mother, the cloud, whose shadow weighs in the fisherman’s net…. Sorescu very well knew this and he even suggested, “if the role is too difficult, another actor may play the last two scenes.” Purcarete’s decision to invite an Asian actor to perform Jonah further enhances the role, and considerably at that! In the first place, the main character, “his” world and “his” life, which at their very core are Romanian and, thus, also bear the distinct characteristics and mentality of the Balkans, get to be seen “from the outside” – through the eyes of a totally different culture in general – and get to be explored via a totally different sensitivity. Apart from that large cultural new viewpoint, there is also the personal new point of view of the actor himself. In interviews Sasaki mentions that before his work on the role he was not familiar with the Biblical story about Jonah and the whale, so he plays the role as the story of an ordinary fisherman. This, of course, doesn’t mean that the viewers familiar with the story would entirely forego searching for allegorical layers in the play. On the contrary! And this, in turn, adds yet another parallel viewpoint. Finally, the very organic disassociation of Sasaki from the Biblical story can be perceived as type of an estrangement in handling the character, adding one more perspective. This perspective might be perceived as a hint at the typical estrangement in the traditional Asian theatre. The effect of all that is very similar to the Matryoshka effect of the fishes in the play and on stage, each one opening up new perspectives towards Janah and the world. Sasaki is impressively economic in his choice of acting means of expression. During a considerable part of the time he sits or squats in the middle of the proscenium, and in the second case his hands are embracing his legs. This outside ascetics is coupled with the special inner finesse that humility and wisdom result in. This combination helps every detail of the text to stand out. So none of the words he utters, nor anything in-between the lines, gets lost en route to the audience; everything resonates with crystal clarity. In the beginning of the play Sorescu underlines that the role requires “great flexibility and simplicity”. This is exactly what Sasaki brings to it. Sorescu defines his play as “a tragedy in four scenes”. Indeed, in the original text, after Jonah manages to get out of fist 1 and then out of fish 2, and again doesn’t see the sun, at the very end, he gets out his knife again and “cuts open his own stomach”, pronouncing at the same time the final words, “Somehow we’ll find our way to the light.” Having decided not to follow these instructions and to cut the end and the final line of Jonah, Purkarete in effect changes the genre of the play and, thus, allows both the main character and respectively the whole show to dwell in the sphere of light – both literally and figuratively. He doesn’t follow Sorescu’s instruction for the set either. While in the original the milieu is predominantly naturalistic – inside the fishes, thus, very dark, the set-design in Purkarete’s Jonah is mainly in light, pastel tones. During the first part of the action, a large, slightly wrinkled, paper curtain in off-white plays the role of a back-wing of the proscenium, leaving the rest of the stage off-sight. It is right in front of it where Jonah sits with only a small aquarium with a red fish in it next to him. Then this curtain gets torn from behind at only several places, so that Jonah, already behind it, appears to be like a giant – with hands and legs far apart. Afterwards he cuts all of it, when he gets into the bigger fish. The overall feeling this curtain brings, together with most of the rest of the set, yes, could be of a vast water space, but could also easily be of a vast sky. For, Jonah and his whole world feel like being imbued and enveloped by that tenderness which exists only in the sky. Maybe he actually floats on a cloud, like in an Asian fairy-tale? And maybe this cloud is in another cloud, and it, in turn, is in another one…. In its colours – pastel in both literal and figurative sense, and in its inner light, Jonah resembles Games, Words, Crickets… The semblances continue in that both are one-man shows, yet there are other actors on stage – here, apart from the other two fishermen, we also get to see the actress who sings a beautiful melody as a music background. At the same time, the roles of the three speechless actors are not really big, unlike the role/s of the 17 actors in Games, Words, Crickets… To me, Jonah is even more difficult as a directing task than Games, Words, Crickets… On the one hand, it is very chamber-like. I first saw it during its visit to Sofia before the Sibiu Festival and the size of the National Theatre’s big stage and hall suddenly ceased to matter. Jonah managed to turn them into the most intimate chamber theatre – in terms of impact. At the same time, the production is monumental in a special way – so to speak, monumental from the inside – because of the revelatory feeling it evokes. I guess Jonah is a future “exhibit” in the Festival’s Heritage “collection”. A remarkable demonstration of how cultures could hug and understand each other on the stage, and how together they could hug, understand and love the human being. In other words, Jonah is another opportunity for the International Theatre Festival of Sibiu to say “Thank you!” to the theatre and to the audience . Image Credits: Article References References About the author(s) Professor Kalina Stefanova is an author or editor of sixteen books: fourteen books on theatre, and two narratives. She was a Fulbright Visiting Scholar at the New York University and has been a Visiting Scholar at the University of Cape Town (South Africa), Meiji University (Japan), and at the Shanghai Theatre Academy (China), among others. In 2016, she was appointed the Visiting Distinguished Professor of the Arts School of Wuhan University, China, as well as Distinguished Researcher of the Chinese Arts Criticism Foundation of Wuhan University. She served as IATC’s vice-president for 5 years (2001-2006) and as its Director of Symposia (2006-2010). In 2007, she was the dramaturg of the highly acclaimed production of Pentecost by David Edgar, directed by Mladen Kiselov, at the Stratford Festival in Canada. Since 2001, she has regularly served as an evaluation expert for cultural and educational programs of the European Commission. Currently she teaches at the National Academy for Theatre and Film Arts in Sofia. European Stages European Stages, born from the merger of Western European Stages and Slavic and East European Performance in 2013, is a premier English-language resource offering a comprehensive view of contemporary theatre across the European continent. With roots dating back to 1969, the journal has chronicled the dynamic evolution of Western and Eastern European theatrical spheres. It features in-depth analyses, interviews with leading artists, and detailed reports on major European theatre festivals, capturing the essence of a transformative era marked by influential directors, actors, and innovative changes in theatre design and technology. European Stages is a publication of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Visit Journal Homepage Table of Contents Theatre in Poland, Fall 2025 Editor's Statement - European Stages Volume 21 Robert Wilson’s Moby Dick at Schauspielhaus Düsseldorf, Summer 2025 Dramas of Separation at Festival d’Avignon 19th Edition Polyphonies of the Present: The Pulse of the Almada Festival Summer 2025 in London, England The Tragic Ideal of Eternal Youth: Folk Myth on the Modern Stage International Theatre Festival of Sibiu 32nd Edition Review of Samuel Barber’s Vanessa by Ópera do Castelo Radu Afrim and his House Between the Blocks Report from Berlin Previous Next Attribution: This entry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license.