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The Journal of American Drama and Theatre welcomes submissions. Our aim is to promote research on theatre of the Americas. Manuscripts should be prepared in conformity with the Chicago Manual of Style.
The Journal of American Drama and Theatre welcomes submissions. Our aim is to promote research on theatre of the Americas. Manuscripts should be prepared in conformity with the Chicago Manual of Style.
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The Journal of American Drama and Theatre welcomes submissions. Our aim is to promote research on theatre of the Americas. Manuscripts should be prepared in conformity with the Chicago Manual of Style.
Copyright:
Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
Verfügbare Formate
Als PDF, TXT herunterladen oder online auf Scribd lesen
Volume 16, Number 1 Winter 2004 Editor: David Savran Managing Editor: Ken Nielsen Editorial Assistant: Amy E. Hughes Circulation Manager: Jill Stevenson Circulation Assistant: Serap Erincin Professsor Daniel Gerould, Executive Director Professor Edwin Wilson, Chairman, Advisory Board James Patrick, Director Frank Hentschker, Director of Special Projects Martin E. Segal Theatre Center THE GRADUATE SCHOOL AND UNIVERSITY CENTER OF THE CITY UNIVERSI1Y OF NEW YORK Editorial Board Philip Auslander Una Chaudhuri William Demastes Harry Elam Jorge Huerta Stacy Wolf Shannon Jackson Jonathan Kalb Jill Lane Thomas Postlewait Robert Vorlicky The Journal of American Drama and Theatre welcomes submissions. Our aim is to promote research on theatre of the Americas and to encourage historical and theoretical approaches to plays, playwrights, performances, and popular theatre traditions. Manuscripts should be prepared in conformity with The Chicago Manual of Style, using footnotes (rather than endnotes). Hard copies should be submitted in duplicate. We request that articles be submitted on disk as well (3.5" floppy), using WordPerfect for Windows or Microsoft Word format. Submissions will not be returned unless accompanied by a stamped, self-addressed envelope. Please allow three to four months for a decision. Our distinguished Editorial Board will constitute the jury of selection. Address editorial inquiries and manuscript submissions to the Editors, JAD7j'Martin E. Segal Theatre Center, CUNY Graduate Center, 365 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10016-4309. Our e-mail address is mestc@gc.cuny.edu. Please visit our web site at web.gc.cuny.edu/mestc Martin E. Segal Theatre Center publications are supported by generous grants from the Lucille Lortel Chair in Theatre and the Sidney E. Cohn Chair in Theatre Studies in the Ph.D. Program in Theatre at the City University of New York. Martin E. Segal Theatre Center Copyright 2004 The Journal of American Drama and Theatre (ISSN 1044-937X) is a member of CELJ and is published three times a year, in the Winter, Spring, and Fall. Subscriptions are $12.00 for each calendar year. Foreign subscriptions require an additional $6.00 for postage. Inquire of Circulation Manager/Martin E. Segal Theatre Center, CUNY Graduate Center, 365 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10016-4309. All journals are available from ProQuest Information and Learning as abstracts online via ProQuest information service and the International Index to the Performing Arts. All journals are indexed in the MLA International Bibliography and are members of the Council of Editors of Learned Journals. THE JOURNAL OF AMERICAN DRAMA AND THEATRE Volume 16, Number 1 Contents FROM THE EDITOR AusA RoosT, BEFORE OKLAHOMA!: A REAPPRAISAL OF MUSICAL THEATRE DURING THE 1930s MARVIN CARLSON, GHOSTS AND FOLLIES ALAN ACKERMAN, INFELICITIES OF FORM IN ZONA GALE's MISS LuLU BEIT JOHN s. BAK, STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER!-BY FORCE!": BLANCHE AND THE EVOLUTION OF A RAPE JUDITH MILHOUS, AN AMERICAN MEDLEY FOR NEW HAVEN? OR, WHY TONY ASTON DIDN'T Go TO YALE CONTRIBUTORS Winter 2004 IV 1 36 50 69 98 120 Journal of American Drama and Theatre 16, no. 1 (Winter 2004) FROM THE EDITOR Founded in 1989 by Vera Mowry Roberts and edited by her until her retirement in 2003 at age 90, the Journal of American Drama and Theatre has provided a unique forum for historical, theoretical, and literary critical scholarship. The singularity of the journal is in part a result of Vera Roberts's singular importance in the American theatre for over fifty years. A pioneer in American theatre studies and a champion of women artists and scholars, Vera was educated at the University of Pittsburgh and began her teaching career at George Washington University. Believing in the inextricable connection between theory and practice, she directed in educational, community, and professional theatres while teaching theatre history and dramatic literature. In 1950 she and five others co-founded Washington's Arena Stage, one of the first and most influential regional theatres in the U.S. Vera joined what was then called the Department of Speech and Dramatic Arts at Hunter College of the City University of New York in 1955 and was one of the faculty members who in 1968 established the Ph.D. Program in Theatre at CUNY's Graduate Center. Her publications include dozens of pathbreaking articles and three books, On Stage, A History of the Theatre (1962), The Nature of Theatre (1972), and Notable Women in American Theatre (1989), which she co-authored with Milly S. Baranger and Alice M. Robinson. When Vera began her career after World War II, American drama was widely regarded as the illegitimate cousin of its European superior and hardly worth taking seriously as a subject of scholarship. Along with many others, she had to fight to establish its legitimacy during a period when playwrights like Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller, directors like Elia Kazan and Jose Quintero, and a new generation of actors trained by the Actors Studio were revolutionizing American theatre practice. By later founding and editing the Journal of American Drama and Theatre, she became instrumental in advancing the kind of theatrical and academic work she had long been endeavoring to legitimize. Collaborating with co-editor Jane Bowers, Vera published essays by many of the leading scholars in the field. In the fifteen years since the journal was founded, Theatre Studies-like the humanities more generally-has been transformed. Its object of study has been interrogated and pluralized and its traditional methods have been challenged. Under my editorship, I hope to bring the journal more closely into conversation with American Studies and Performance Studies by attempting to problematize three key words in the journal's title: "American," "drama," and "theatre." Recent scholarship has alerted us to the fact that the designation, v "American," is ambiguous and problematic. Does it refer to the United States, the continent of which it is a part, or the entire hemisphere? The very word, moreover, is the product of an imperial history, a corruption of the name of a sixteenth-century Italian navigator. I believe that scholarship on subjects deemed American should be conscious of the geographical and linguistic ambivalence of the word and the colonial histories that are inscribed in it. We must bear in mind that not all drama that passes for American is written in English. Indeed, some of the most noteworthy American theatre has been performed in Spanish, Italian, Yiddish, German, and many other languages. Just as problematic is the word, "theatre." Performance Studies has demonstrated the theatricalization of many social behaviors, ceremonies, and practices. Does a Mardi Gras parade, for example, qualify as theatre? Or a political convention? Or a ride at Disney World? Or a public execution? Or a Janet Jackson concert? Cannot these performances be analyzed using the same tools that one brings to a study of what happens behind and in front of a proscenium arch? Why have these and other popular entertainments-from musical comedy to magic shows-been marginalized within Theatre Studies? And what of the word, "drama," which precedes "theatre" in the title of the journal? Does this signal a privileging of the literary? Or does it suggest that the literary is simply one among a multitude of theatrical forms? Until recently, academic programs in drama, theatre, and English departments have tended to favor canonical, text-based theatre. But non-text-based performance is every bit as central to what we call American theatre as Long Day's Journey into Night. Please help us continue Vera Roberts's mission and expand the journal's mandate by submitting articles on these and any other subjects that relate to American Theatre Studies. Manuscripts should be prepared in conformity with The Chicago Manual of Style, using footnotes (rather than endnotes). Hard copies should be submitted in duplicate. Articles must be submitted on disk as well (3.5" floppy). Address editorial inquiries and manuscript submissions to the Editor, Journal of American Drama and Theatre, Martin E. Segal Theatre Center, The Graduate Center, CUNY, 365 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10016-4309. Journal of American Drama and Theatre 16, no. 1 (Winter 2004) BEFORE OKLAHOMA!: A REAPPRAISAL OF MUSICAL THEATRE DURING THE 193Qs1 AUSA ROOST Oklahoma! is generally viewed as the pivotal moment in musical theatre history that gave musicals content. In nearly every history it is the show that separates the "mature" musical from the superficial, star-vehicles that supposedly dominated the Depression.2 According to most musical theatre books Oklahoma!, which opened in the midst of World War II, created the "integrated" musical that uses songs and dance to further the story and save musicals from frivolity. This trajectory of musical theatre history has become so deeply ingrained that it defines the expectations by which all musicals are judged. As the reviews of the recent Broadway revival demonstrate, the histories posit that this show was "a revolution in musical storytelling" that "engineered the musical equivalent of the interchangeable part . . . and the musical was now, in principle, anyway, infinitely repeatable."3 In The New York Times Ethan Mordden (the most prolific of the musical theatre history writers) argued, "Depression economics had forced musicals of the 1930s to favor easy entertainment. They offered star turns and fun but lacked content."4 The musical before Rodgers and Hammerstein continually experimented with form and content. While its authors relied primarily on humor, they developed musical satire into a sophisticated genre with variable formal elements, mostly within revues but also in operas, 1 Many thanks to Jim Wilson and David Savran for their close readings and suggestions. 2 Ken Mandelbaum, Not Since Carrie (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1991) and Richard Kislan, The Musical: A Look at American Musical Theatre (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1980) are two books that refer to the Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals as "mature." 3 John Lahr, "O.K. Chorale," The New Yorker, 1 April 2002, 84. 4 Ethan Mordden, "Six Decades Later, Still the Great American Musical," New York Times, 24 February 2002. 2 RoosT and musical comedies.s After Oklahoma! set the form by inventing the "interchangeable" part, authors no longer needed to experiment with structure at all. However, the history of the 1930s is not a history of shows merely leading up to Oklahoma!. It is a history of producers taking extraordinary risks as Broadway reinvented itself in light of the Depression and the talking (and singing) movies that decimated its audience base. It is the history of authors systematically testing form and content to create vital and exciting musical theatre that could, possibly, provide a foundation for further innovation in a genre that has since become tired. While the integrated musical tended to distance the subject from the audience by time and/or place, the thirties musicals focused on urban, contemporary characters, like the members of their audience. Out of this came not only Oklahoma! but numerous shows that point to various possibilities in the genre, particularly in interweaving popular culture with political commentary. There is a difficulty in dismissing all the innovations that came before a successful new style as merely leading up to the future event. In musical theatre this tendency had denigrated many of the musicals that experimented with class, politics, and social issues and with satire, allegory, and opera. During the Depression authors, producers, and s Revue is generally defined as an evening made up of unrelated sketches and songs. Musical theatre and musical comedy have a single story that uses both songs and spoken dialogue. The "concept" musical is a musical that is organized around an idea or concept rather than a chronological development. Characters often break the fourth wall and comment on the actions as they sing directly to the audience. Historically, opera generally has little or no dialogue, although there are exceptions. Opera is generally performed in repertory, without amplification (which affects performance, orchestrations, and sound, as well as the behavior and expectations of the audience), in a not-for-profit environment while new musicals are generally developed for open-ended runs in a market defined by for-profit demands. Musical theatre is influenced by the Jewish cantors, with a strong emphasis on melody, one syllable per note and the focus on a solo singer, while opera is more influenced by the Christian choral tradition, with numerous notes for a single syllable and choral melody. These lines are continually blurred, for example when the English National Opera performs Pacific Overtures or the Lyric Opera commissions a new piece by Michael John LaChiusa; Mozart's The Magic Flute would probably be considered a musical if it had been written in English, for it mixes spoken dialogue with song, and was written to include special effects for a working-class audience. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 3 directors grappled with political issues and entertainment at a time when neither had stable definitions. Their shows explore different ways to dramatize political issues, not only as content, but also as commentary that connected to the lives of the audiences. The retelling of the biased history has created a self-fulfilling prophecy, where producers are afraid to produce shows that challenge audiences' presumably conventional expectations. In addition to unfairly dismissing the nuance and intelligence of the genre, the Rodgers and Hammerstein-focused histories have, in a subtle way, created expectations for the future of the genre that can stymie experimentation. The producers, librettists, lyricists, and composers of Depression-era musicals took extraordinary risks to develop new structures, combining political concerns with popular forms. While political satires shared the stage with extravaganzas and frivolous comedies exploiting political issues without commentary, the vital connection between entertainment and commentary needs further exploration. Thirties musicals continually experimented with form and addressed the political and social concerns of the moment, and they had a far greater influence than is traditionally recognized. The satire developed in these shows continued throughout the 1950s, primarily in the work of Bernstein, Camden, and Green (including Wonderful Town and Candide), and also in shows like the superficial spoof How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying (1961) and the radical Anyone Can Whistle (1964). Love Life, a 1949 musical vaudeville by Kurt Weill and Alan J. Lerner, draws on the 1930s experimentations and in many ways provided a foundation for the concept musicals, which was then developed by Kander and Ebb in Cabaret.6 Not until Company in 1970 does the musical return to contemporary, urban subject material that risks changes in structure and content. The experimentations created by the 1930s authors, however, provide a rich blueprint for artistic experimentation under severe economic pressure, the combination of popular art with political commentary, and an understanding of the satirical development that eventually supported the concept musical. While musical theatre was not unique in its political involvement during the 1930s, its historians have continually denigrated that period. Even as the genre of American musical theater has become synonymous with the "integrated," sentimental musical at the expense of all other forms, the inherent ideological implications of 6 The concept musical is generally defined as a musical that is organized around a central theme, rather than a linear plot, and has songs that comment on the action as well as developing character. 4 RoosT this shift have been largely ignored.? Rick Altman writes that genres are "ideological constructs masquerading as neutral categories," but the ideological implications of the definitions of stage musicals have been ignored.B The popular perception of American musical theatre leads audiences to expect sentimental, romantic plots, a tight focus on characters, and songs that explore or develop emotions. The chroniclers of the genre ignore musicals that develop representative characters, songs that comment on the action, or those that explore political or material concerns. This essay will start with a brief history of musicals in the 1930s, outline the historiography of musicals, and then analyze three shows in depth that systematically experimented with political content and demand a reassessment of the history of Depression era musicals: Face the Music, I'd Rather Be Right and Johnny Johnson. Irving Berlin and George Kaufman's 1932 Face the Music is a satire of the Tammany Hall corruption in New York. While it is local in its humor and targets, it drew strong audiences and even toured. George Kaufman went on to work with Moss Hart and Rodgers and Hart on I'd Rather Be Right, which opened in 1937 and satirized national politics. The authors focused on Roosevelt as he tried to pack the Supreme Court, failed to balance the budget, and tap-danced his way through a vaudeville. Finally, not-for-profit theatre also developed musicals, including Paul Green and Kurt Weill's internationally focused musical, Johnny Johnson (1936), which passionately demanded peace. These shows represent the ingenuity and commitment of Depression- era writers. While they are unique in their specific focus on contemporary local, national, and international politics, by no means are they the only innovative musicals before Oklahoma! that must be included in the canon. The innovations in form and content of Depression musicals must be reclaimed to explore the possibilities and expectations of the genre. REASSESSING THE 1930s Throughout the 1930s the status of musicals remained in flux because of both financial hardships and the immensely popular talking movies that created significant competition for entertainment 7 I use "sentimental" to refer to a show that makes its primary appeal to an audience through sentiment, as opposed to humor or intellect. a Rick Altman, The American Film Musical (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987), 5. Emphasis in original. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 5 expenditures. New York's musical comedy was originally designed for financially comfortable audiences but was a comparatively lowbrow entertainment. By the 1920s, the working classes attended movies much more often than theatre, which allowed theatre to move up in the social hierarchy. Simultaneously, Tin Pan Alley started to set the popular musical tastes of most of the country, which further confused musical theatre's place on the social scale. In 1914 The Atlantic Monthly hoped that through the popularity of movies, "the art of the stage may escape from the proletariat, and again truly belong to those who in a larger, finer sense are 'the great ones of the earth,' "9 but musicals inhabited a much lower social sphere than straight plays.to The newly ubiquitous popular song market (intimately connected with musical theatre), combined with the emergence of movies as a popular form, made the class markers of musical theatre less stable. Like most of the "capitalist culture industries," commercial theatre in the United States is a business before it is art, and of necessity, it is a popular art form because it relies on many individual ticket-buyers for support.tt Thus, any financially successful show on Broadway needs to appeal to a large enough audience both to meet weekly operating costs and to pay back the initial investment. As a result of the economic conditions surrounding the production of musical theatre, the authors needed to be aware of the demands and interests of their audiences. As movies gained in popularity and theatre ticket prices increased, working class people were increasingly excluded from the theatre by virtue of ticket prices alone. The Depression exacerbated this problem. Between 1929 and 1933 theatre lowered top ticket prices by 37% to $4.40. Many shows charged a top ticket price of $2.50 with balcony seats available for $1 and 9 Quoted in Lawrence Levine, Highbrow/Lowbrow {Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1990), 207. to Contemporary reviews of Of Thee I Sing when it won the Pulitzer prize over an O'Neill play make this bias obvious. 11 Michael Denning, The Cultural Front (New York: Verson, 1998), 42. 6 Roosr occasionally 55 cents. Yet, despite the price cuts, theatre was increasingly a luxury few could afford.12 The changing financial conditions forced producers to experiment. While Ziegfeld continued with his extravagant revues, he continually lost money. By contrast, Sam H. Harris allowed playwrights to experiment as they saw fit, and the result included several successful political satires. Playwrights, lyricists, and composers had to innovate as they navigated the cultural hierarchy. The Gershwins, who were the most committed to developing political musicals, were the most aware of the tension between popular and elite art forms and deliberately tried to transcend or ignore the cultural hierarchy, incorporating both popular forms and intellectual themes into their shows. This awareness is clear years before the Depression; in 1916 two years after the Atlantic Monthly article, Ira (then 20) wrote that the "The Ideal Humorist" "Must be a low brow-with, however, a streak of appreciation and sympathy for the ideas of aesthetics."13 In 1922 Ira wrote, "For though we like to play the high-brow stuff ... we're not high brows, we're not low brows . . . we're He-brows."14 Jewish identity sets them outside the American cultural elite. During the Depression the Gershwins consciously developed popular work: after the premiere of Porgy and Bess, a Hollywood agent sent a telegram to George Gershwin saying, "They are afraid you will only do highbrow songs, so wire me on this score so I can reassure them." George wrote back, "Rumors about highbrow music ridiculous. Stop. Am out to write hits."1S In a 1935 article on George Gershwin in 12 According to U.S. Census reports, in 1929, the most prosperous year of the 20s or 30s, the per capita personal income averaged $705. Although the movies were available for as little as ten cents, few theatre tickets were offered for the cheapest prices, which were usually upwards of a dollar, and the highest theatre ticket prices were $7, or one percent of the average annual income. By 1933 per capita personal income was $374, with finance, insurance, and real estate workers averaging 24% less than their 1929 salaries at $1,555 and domestic workers averaging $460, a fall of 37%. By contrast, the costs of necessities declined much more slowly; the price per pound of bread fell by just 19% from 8.8 cents to 7.1 cents. Even those on the lower end of the economic system lucky enough to have work needed to make their meager salaries stretch much farther. 13 Deena Rosenberg, Fascinating Rhythm: The Collaboration of George and Ira Gershwin (New York: Dutton, 1991), 18. 14 Ira Gershwin, The Complete Lyrics of Ira Gershwin (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1993), 29. 1s Rosenberg, 321. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 7 Modern Music, Virgil Thomson wrote, "I don't mind his being a light composer, and I don't mind his trying to be a serious one. But I do mind his falling between two stools."16 George Gershwin's early death has lent an iconic element to the composer, but the highbrow/lowbrow dichotomy persists in looking at his work. The difficulty of transcending the categorization of highbrow/ lowbrow has continued to affect the reception of Depression musicals. As Levine writes, "Rigid cultural categories . . . made it so difficult for so long for so many to understand the value and importance of the popular art forms that were all around them.''17 In contrast to Rodgers and Hammerstein who effectively created a middlebrow, nationwide culture, the Depression musicals rarely reached a nationwide audience. They did, however, develop a politically conscious, popular form, transcending preconceived delineations. The Gershwin brothers and George S. Kaufman created the foundation for political satire in musical theatre with Strike Up the Band, Of Thee I Sing (1931-the first musical to win the Pulitzer Prize), and its sequel Let 'Em Eat Cake (1933). Two years later the Gershwin brothers brought Porgy and Bess to the stage, which eschewed overt political commentary as it broadened the definition of American musical theatre. Porgy and Bess is often viewed as America's best opera, but it was originally intended for the commercial stage. 1s Their 16 Qtd. in Levine, 233. 17 Ibid., 232. 1s Porgy and Bess is the only American opera to be continually performed at numerous opera houses throughout the world, including the Metropolitan and Glyndebourne. Although Amah/ and the Night Visitors, originally written for an NBC special, has become widely performed by community groups at Christmas, it does not have the critical acclaim of the Gershwin piece. "Porgy and Bess will gradually establish itself as arguably the greatest truly American opera" [Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., ed., The Almanac of American History (New York: Barnes and Noble Books, 1993), 470). Porgy and Bess "has proved a lasting characteristically American opera .. .. Many Americans have written operas, but not many have created truly American operas" ['Opera," George Hauger, The Cambridge Guide to Theatre (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 741]. See also Stanley Green, The World of Musical Comedy: The Story of the American Musical Stage as Told Through the Careers of its Foremost Composers and Lyricists" (New York: Ziff-Davis Publishing Company, 1960), 2-3; Thomas S. Hischak, Word Crazy: Broadway Lyricists from Cohan to Sondheim (New York: Praeger, 1992), 48; Lehman Engel, The American Musical Theater (1968; reprint, New York: Collier Books, 1975), 145; Joseph Swain, The Broadway Musical (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990), 12; and Cecil Smith, Musical Comedy in America (1950; reprint, New York: Theatre Arts Books, 1981), 162-63. 8 ROOST last two shows failed financially, but the Gershwins continually developed musicals through satire and heightened emotions while working to reach a large audience. The Gershwins are still among the most popular American songwriters, but the political issues that permeated many of their shows are ignored today. Throughout the Depression many authors followed the Gershwins' lead and musicals explored publicity-driven elections, corruption in the police force, labor issues, communism, gender, and war, and these shows were produced commercially and in the nonprofit theatres. The shows usually developed the political elements in conjunction with entertainment, usually centered on a love plot, and often developed political commentary through satire. They experimented with different presentation styles to soften their message after the original sharpness began to lose appeal (with Roosevelt's election and increased optimism). Authors experimented with framing devices (usually dreams or introductions that called attention to the show as a fiction) that distanced the action. The best-known political musicals of the 1930s are probably Pins and Needles and The Cradle Will Rock, both of which consciously experimented with different production styles. The International Ladies' Garment Workers' Union successfully produced the former, which became the longest running musical during the decade. The director, Charles Friedman, consciously avoided any pretense at realism: "I directed in the music hall tradition where you sing directly to the people in the audience .... I did not direct it as an illusionistic play."19 As the conservative characters in the show experimented with slogans like "Bigoted and Better," and "Rugged Individualism will Save the Starving," the Mussolini character acknowledged, "You call me sadistic, imperialistic" but explained, "My armies require a quarry./ And though we may slay hordes of Spaniards each day,/ After all that we say that we're sorry."20 Throughout its four-year run, the authors constantly updated references, interweaving international issues with domestic labor politics in a playful and up-beat revue. 19 Friedman qtd. in Michael Denning's The Cultural Front (New York: Verso, 1997), 297. 2o The first two lines were included in a sketch in Sing Out the News. There is no extant script for Pins and Needles. In a 1980 letter from Harold Rome to Paul H. Dedell, People's Theatre, dated June 16, 1980, Rome wrote "It was a revue, consisting of songs and topical sketches. The sketches are long outdated, and to the best of my knowledge, are no longer available" (Harold Rome Papers, Yale University, MSS No. 49, Series No. IIIB, Box No. 78, Folder No. 54). Pins and Needles, Columbia CD CK57380, track 12. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 9 Meanwhile the failure of the Federal Theatre Project to produce The Cradle Will Rock is one of the best-known stories about the FTP. Opening on June 16, 1937, only weeks after the Memorial Day Massacre where forty striking steel workers in Chicago were shot in the back and ten were killed in the drive to unionize Republic Steel, The Cradle Will Rock successfully drew on the CIO's drive to organize steelworkers that year.21 Numerous other authors experimented with creating popular theatrical forms for progressive political ideas with both political and theatrical perspectives. In New Theatre Jerome Morass argued for musicals based on his concerns about political efficacy, reaching widespread audiences, utilizing an indigenous American art form and the power of German musicals. He believed that satirical musical revues "made more powerful by a clear-cut, class-conscious viewpoint, would be an invaluable agitational bulwark against fascism."22 His Marxist Parade was produced on Broadway simultaneously with Cole Porter's superficial Red, Hot and Blue, which exploited political issues to attempt a timely veneer. Not surprisingly, commercial producers attempted to replicate the financial success of Pins and Needles with a sequel, Sing out the News (1938) . While the show, based on the scripts and reviews, had the vitality of the original, the sequel was not able to compete financially with the still-running original, which did not go unnoticed by Broadway producers and directors. After the failure of Sing Out the News, Joshua Logan had all the satire written out of Swing to the Left, which became known as Stars in Your Eyes. Shortly thereafter, the script to Louisiana Purchase became less political and significant political experimentation in musicals on Broadway ended until WWII. Taken together, these musicals create a foundation for understanding the innovative, vital, and complex paths that creative teams attempted to develop during the 1930s. All of this has been subsumed into the histories as "pre- Rodgers and Hammerstein," and has been ignored and derided by historians. 21 See Jeremy Brecher, Strike! (Cambridge, MA: South End Press, 1997). 22 Jerome Morass, " New Musical Revues for Old," New Theatre (October 1936), 12. 10 ROOST MusiCAL THEATRE HISTORY: FAcrs AND MYTHS Musical theatre histories generally follow these lines: Jerome Kern first "integrated" the music with the story when he created a series of musicals with Wodehouse and Bolton for New York's intimate Princess Theatre, which focused on contemporary, upper middle class characters. Kern worked with Hammerstein to create the first "mature" musical, Showboat (1927). As Joseph Swain notes, "In virtually every historical study of the American musical theatre, Showboat is recognized as an important landmark. . . . Showboat is the first American musical that integrates the elements of a musical theater into a credible drama."23 Musical theatre history traditionally ignores all musicals between Showboat and Oklahoma! sixteen years later. Despite the fact that the songs of the Gershwins, Rodgers and Hart, Irving Berlin, and Cole Porter are acknowledged as "standards," that theatre music provided much of the popular music until rock 'n' roll, and that the compatibility of theatre with popular music often marks the twenties through forties as the great age of musical theatre, the musicals of the twenties and thirties are generally denigrated in books about musical theatre as pointless vehicles for stars and hit songs.24 Porgy and Bess (1935) is the exception, but it is identified as 23 Swain, 15. 24 "Standards" are songs that have been remade by numerous artists in at least two different styles by at least two generations. They are usually in a 32-bar MBA format, which means that an 8-bar portion of the songs is repeated twice, a contrasting 8-bar portion is sung and then the first 8 bars are repeated a third time. For example, the "A" portion of "I Got Rhythm" always ends with "Who could ask for anything more." The "B" portion begins with "Old man trouble" and ends with "round my door." "I Got Rhythm" has been recorded by Ethel Merman, Ethel Waters, Louis Armstrong, Harpo Marx, Dorothy Dandridge, Count Bassie, Nat King Cole, Gene Kelly, Cab Calloway, Bing Crosby, Benny Goodman, Charlie Parker, Tony Bennett, Ella Fitzgerald, Marilyn Monroe, Mary Martin, Judy Garland, Fats Waller, Lena Horne, The Muppets, The Canadian Brass, Maureen McGovern (a pop/vocal artist), Kiri Te Kanawa (an opera singer), the Moscow Sax Quintet and Andre Previn, to name but a few. (An unscientific search on a web page [artistsdirect.com] had 336 different versions of the song. Many were repeats for a single recording that can appear on several albums or be cataloged under both first and last names, but it did not include all the known versions.) See Jesse Green, "The Song is Ended," New York Times Magazine, 2 June 1996, for further discussion of standards. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 11 a folk opera and usually ignored as part of the history of musicals. As a representative example, Richard Kislan's The Musical acknowledges the diverse forms that laid a foundation for musical theatre, which include operetta, ballad opera, minstrelsy, vaudeville, burlesque, extravaganza, and revue. Despite acknowledging a diversity of styles in the early history, he focuses on the work of Kern, Hammerstein, and Sondheim, which he labels as "the mature musicai."2S "Maturef/ and "serious" refer to "integrated" pieces in many histories, as historians constantly privilege the sentimental "integrated" musical over the shows of the thirties, which they often dismiss as "transparent excuses" and "filler."26 As Mark Steyn affirms, the history of musicals is "a straightforward family tree from Jerome Kern to Stephen Sondheim via Kern's partner and Sondheim's mentor Oscar Hammerstein with various collateral branches."27 The Kern-Rodgers & Hammerstein-Sondheim evolutionary narrative influences most scholarship about musical theatre; unfortunately the shows between Showboat and Oklahoma!, when the most experimentation with styles and subjects happened, do not easily fit into this lineage and are often ignored. Part of the reason that the histories created an evolutionary development of the genre is that, for the most part, musical theatre books are published by commercial presses and focus on the shows that enjoyed commercial success during the time the history was written, and musical theatre enjoyed the most popularity between the beginning of World War II (when cast albums were introduced) and the arrival of The Beatles. Furthermore, cast albums, movies, and productions are the most popular means for becoming familiar with musicals; without a cast album, faithful movie, or a recent production, neither historians nor readers develop interest in a show.2a Focusing 2s See note 2. 26 Mandelbaum, 52. RUdiger Bering's Musicals (Hauppauge, New York: Barron's, 1998) is the only general book to include a (small) section on political satire. It was written for a German audience and later translated into English. 27 Mark Steyn, Broadway Babies Say Goodnight: Musicals Then & Now (New York, Routledge, 1999), 30. 28 The movies made of pre-Oklahoma! musicals bear little relations to the shows, using only one or two songs and the title. Probably as a result of cast albums, movie musicals of shows became much more faithful to the original. 12 RoosT on the most popular contemporary shows, however, privileges the more conservative elements of the form. As Koger writes, "In focusing primarily upon the most successful and popular musicals in history, scholars have, in effect, given those shows more legitimacy than their less successful counterparts."29 The Depression is the only time when numerous musicals that challenged many elements of the status quo succeeded at the box office, and yet these shows are continually denigrated. Furthermore, few texts work to incorporate the political, social, and economic trends of the time into the development of musical theatre. For the most part, a few authors have delineated the history of musical theatre: Cecil Smith, Stanley Green, David Ewen, Lehman Engel, Ethan Mordden, and Gerald Bordman defined the history and the expectations of books about musical theatre. Cecil Smith wrote the first book on musical theatre during the politically repressive era of the blacklist, and his conventions, assumptions, and style have been largely accepted. For example, most musical theatre history is written in a chatty, gossipy, "I was there" voice for a popular audience and it usually eschews documentation. It focuses almost exclusively on Broadway and privileges words over music and texts over production. As Alicia Kae Koger documents: Smith's assessment of the musical theatre as inappropriate for scholarly research and analysis signaled that such popular entertainments lacked substance and depth; at the same time, his view derided the methods of the academician. In suggesting that the scholar and the musical could not be compatible Smith established an attitude that would pervade the writing on the musical theatre for the next three decades.3o Equally important to Smith's literary and stylistic choices, contemporary theatre shaped the history, as Mordden noted earlier in his career: 29 Alicia Kae Koger, "Trends in Musical Theatre Scholarship: An Essay in Historiography," New England Theatre Journa/3 {1992): 77-78. Koger's article is an excellent introduction to musical theatre historiography; however, she is not a musical theatre historian and her article is limited by the very histories she analyzes. 30 Ibid., 70. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! History is written by the victors and in this case it was the Hammerstein generation who wrote the musical comedy histories. In the wake of Oklahoma!, Carousel, South Pacific, and The King and I, the official line held that a great musical was well-made, diversely and impeccably joined, and if possible well- meaning. By hindsight, a hit show that wasn't integrated or solemn had to be a fluke-no matter how many there were.3t 13 Surprisingly, the histories from the politically conservative 1950s, by Smith, Ewen, and Green, were all complimentary towards the radical satire of the Gershwins. Lehman Engel, writing for CBS records in 1967, seems to have started the dismissal of the 1930s satirical works, arguing that Of Thee I Sing "is a ruin because it was stapled into its own time and situations which nowadays we have to ask Great-grandpa or an archaeologist (nearly synonymous) to explain." He concludes that "today it is meaningless, and the show, because it is built squarely on comedy, cannot be revived."32. The 1952 revival of Of Thee I Sing made the show seem very tame, and probably hurt political satire in the eyes of many historians. In addition 31 Ethan Mordden, Broadway Babies The People Who Made the American Musical (New York: Oxford University Press, 1983), 58. 32 Lehman Engel, The American Musical Theater, (1967; revised edition, New York: Collier Books, 1979), 219. The same quote also appears in Lehman Engel, Words with Music (New York: Macmillan, 1972), 300. The second quote appears in Engel's The American Musical Theater: A Consideration (New York: Macmillan, 1967), 112. His 1979 book is primarily a reworking of the 1967 book. In Words With Music he also argues "The Gershwin librettos (Porgy and Bess excepted) achieved little beyond the entertaining of their precisely contemporary audiences. Although the characters were local everyday people, they were nearly as unreal as the ersatz ones of their operetta forebears" (83). Two years after Engel's first book, Abe Laufe also criticized the Gershwins' political satire as not pertinent. He took the issue of timeliness to an extreme, arguing that by 1933 the issues of Let 'Em Eat Cake and Of Thee I Sing were already irrelevant. Despite the continuation of the Depression and the change in style from Of Thee I Sing to Let' Em Eat Cake, he argues that the latter's failure was entirely because "the timeliness of the humor was gone." Abe Laufe, Broadway's Greatest Musicals (New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1969), 33. 14 Roosr to numerous cuts and rewrites, the show, a satire of ineffectual government, had no satirical relevance during the McCarthy era. The only political musical that Engel supports is the one for which he served as a musical director, The Cradle Will Rock. While it was an exciting and contemporary piece, due to a series of pol itical quirks The Cradle Will Rock is far more "stapled into its own time and situation" than many of the satirical musicals. Recently the issues raised in the Gershwins' trilogy-wars designed to ensure favorable trading conditions, a president's impeachment because of complaints about his romantic behavior towards a woman before his election, and a coup resulting in a stolen election-have startling contemporary resonance. Yet Engel's statements and biases regarding 1930s musicals have been so often repeated, they have become accepted as fact. Forty-five years later Mark Steyn echoed Engel's derision of pre- Oklahoma! musicals: Talented men wrote these shows (Vincent Youmans, the Gershwins) but they accepted implicitly the low ambitions of the genre, and were concerned mainly that you notice their contributions .... The Golden Age of Theatre Song left us lotsa song but very little theatre.33 Steyn never backs up his assertion that the Gershwins "accepted implicitly the low ambitions of the genre," but it is certainly influenced by Engel and the many authors who quoted Engel.34 In fact, the Gershwins wrote the radical satire Strike Up the Band before Showboat opened and continually challenged their audience and producers. Strike Up the Band did not make it to Broadway until 1930 and the other satires were several years later, but the Gershwins 33 Steyn, 64. 34 Even Tim Robbins's movie, Cradle Will Rock, repeats this assertion by having the Hallie Flanagan character state "Never before, to my knowledge, has an American musical dealt with content and social issues and dramatic themes .... [Cradle Will Rock is] reinventing musical theatre." Tim Robbins, The Cradle Will Rock (Burbank: Touchstone Home Video, 1999). The Federal Theatre Project had previously produced Johnny Johnson and Flanagan had to have been familiar with Pins and Needles, but the movie reinforces standard assumptions about musical theatre. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 15 clearly worked to experiment with the form. Nevertheless, historians continually deride nearly all Depression-era musicals. The scholars who do acknowledge the contribution of the Depression writers frame that work as important for helping create a foundation for Rodgers and Hammerstein. If Rodgers and Hammerstein are only about "integration," and integration is only about imbedding the songs in the dramatic action of the piece, then the 1930s shows definitely belong in that tradition. Yet integration generally implies an unspoken but specific set of priorities and expectations: text develops a story until the emotions, now too strong for spoken words, soar into song. Dance is sometimes used when emotions become too strong for any words to develop areas the character is afraid to acknowledge, or to build community. Furthermore, the action almost always focuses on characters who are removed from the audience by either time or geography. And while the songs in satirical musicals are more likely to further the plot, the songs of " integrated" musicals are more likely to develop character. When historians ignore political and social commentary, they develop a historical narrative that focuses exclusively on integration before the "concept" musical, with romance as the only acceptable content of these shows. While writers like Bruce McConanchie, Andrea Most, D. A. Miller, and Stacy Wolf have begun to challenge traditional views of musical theatre, they have focused primarily on Rodgers and Hammerstein and their successors. The stage musicals of the 1930s remain virtually unexamined. Musical theatre history generally ignores political issues in favor of the integrated model, and this is exacerbated by some of the historians who seem avidly to dislike progressive political comments in musicals. Mark Steyn's derision of liberals and their causes runs throughout his book.35 Ethan Mordden ignores Kurt Weill's political involvement in the United States and excuses his German politics as accidental. Juxtaposing Weill's artistry with Marc Blitzstein's politics he implies that artistry and politics are mutually exclusive. This false dichotomy and the language he uses to condemn Blitzstein indicate hostility towards progressive commentary in musicals: Weill 35 Steyn is alone, however, in using musical theatre for unabashed homophobia: " Fags weren't funny any more; fags meant disease and death" (202). His dislike of progressive political movements is clear in unexplained diatribes "American feminist deconstructionist cultural studies professors" (106) and "the banality of one farewell message on an Aids [sic] memorial quilt" (206). 16 ROOST "happened[,] for various complex reasons having to do with the nature of the precarious Weimar Republic, to have collaborated on artwork with Leftists. Blitzstein was a braying stooge of the Communazi [sic] Red Front whose work never succeeded and who is virtually forgotten today."36 Mordden does not let Blitzstein's "braying ... Communazi" musicals alter his overall view that before Oklahoma! "the good shows were more entertaining than but not much different from the poor ones. They were all concoctions, pranks, swindles."37 Gerald Bordman faults Pins and Needles for its political involvement: "Too many of the sketches and songs gratuitously injected slanted political muckraking into what could have been pleasant apolitical numbers," which Bordman claims could have been better developed as "a basically innocuous, mindless revue."38 Although these historians sometimes champion liberal causes today and rarely display their anti-political bias blatantly, it does inform their work.39 The 1930s shows are so little understood that the conventionally accepted way to deal with their revival is to cut the satire and focus on a love plot. The revised revivals, or "revisals," reinforce the idea that the shows possessed little inherent worth. The cycle is perpetuated as the revisals are incorporated into the conventional perception of musicals, which further reinforces the idea 36 Ethan Mordden, Beautiful Mornin': The Broadway Musical in the 1940s (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 144. The conflation of Communism with the Nazis is particularly indicative of a deep dislike for progressive politics, and a disregard for history, for communism and Nazism were diametrically opposed. 37 Ibid., 7 (emphasis in original). 38 Gerald Bordman, American Musical Revue (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 108-09. 39 Ethan Mordden has been quite supportive of gay rights and most musical theatre historians applaud Hammerstein's political involvements. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 17 that the original shows were superficiai.40 Nearly all items created around musical theatre support the evolution of sentimental musicals and ignore political and social commentary as a valid function of musical theatre.41 This unexamined popular dialogue of books, cast albums, and related items shapes what audiences expect, which defines what producers will finance, thus ultimately influencing the form and content of future shows. FACE THE MUSIC (1932) Face the Music, with songs by Irving Berlin, libretto by Moss Hart and direction by George S. Kaufman, opened in early 1932, which, in many ways, marked the low point for the Depression. Salaries had dropped 40% since 1929 and hourly wages by 60%.42 40 Producers routinely hire playwrights to rewrite books, and it would be very unusual for an early musical to be presented with the original book intact. Crazy for You, a rewrite of Girl Crazy without the satire, closely focused on the love story and added other Gershwin hits. Even City Center's Encores!, which is a series dedicated to producing lost musicals as staged readings for only one week, substantially rewrote the 1927 Strike Up the Band to make the love story sentimental, rather than ironic. David Ives changed the context of "The Man I Love" so that the romantic leads sang it sincerely, rather than as the heroine taunting the hero with an ideal romance to fight in a war in which he did not believe. Additionally several of the more pointed songs were cut, and songs from the 1930 version were added. "Yankee Doodle Rhythm," a patriotic song with several racial slurs, was cut. If Encores! set it according to the original stage directions with the singers donning hoods that resembled KKK uniforms shortly after the number finished, the authors' progressive linking of racism with patriotism would have been clearly demonstrated. Instead they cut the entire number. At a question-and-answer session following the Saturday matinee on 14 February 1998, Ives stated that he made the changes to strengthen the love plot. 41 For example, when the U.S. Post Office issued American musical theatre stamps four shows were included: Showboat, Porgy and Bess, Oklahoma!, and My Fair Lady (1956) . 42 See Bureau of the Census Historical Statistics of the United States: Colonial Times to 1970 (Washington, D.C.: Department of Congress and Bureau of the Census, 1976). 18 ROOST The government helped large banks get loans but seemed uninterested in the procurement of food for families and the failure of the U.S. banking and economic system became painfully obvious when demonstrated by the debacle of the Bonus Army.43 Publicly, Hoover seemed oblivious to the problems as investigations into the economic difficulties exposed widespread corruption.44 Furthermore, New York City became painfully aware of the corruption under Tammany Hall when Judge Samuel Seabury prosecuted numerous political figures and police commissioners for bribery, pay-offs and fraud.45 The trials and Face the Music ran simultaneously until Jimmy Walker, New York's 43 During the summer of 1932, a large group of veterans, many with families, known as the Bonus Army, traveled from all over the U.S. to Washington, D.C. They petitioned the government immediately to pay their adjusted compensation, which Congress had approved in 1925. Somewhere between fifteen and twenty thousand people moved into a "Hooverville" (temporary shanty housing named sarcastically after the president) outside the capitol, and when the senate voted against the bill, most left. A few thousand stayed on until General MacArthur defied Hoover's commands and led the U.S. Army with tear-gas bombs and threats of machine guns and tanks to disperse the veterans. See Donald Lisio, The President and Protest: Hoover, MacArthur, and the Bonus Riot (New York: Fordham University Press, 1996). 44 Beginning in 1933 the U.S. Senate heard testimony about the vast corruption of the economic elite on Wall Street, and how they had manipulated the market and protected their own interests at the expense of socially unconnected investors and the workers. Even as the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) and specific legislation worked to prevent future abuses, a deep cynicism developed. The abuse was outrageous and widespread. The head of Chase bank netted over $6.5 million from a drop in his own company's stock. The economic elite profited handsomely from insider trading and often put all of the risk on the institutions they worked for even as they kept all of the profits. They sold stock to their family members, took paid positions on other boards in exchange for the arrangement of loans, made money through illegal liquor trade, and manipulated the market for their profit at the expense of everyone else. See John Kenneth Galbraith, The Great Crash 1929 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1954, 1979), 132-35, 147-67. See also Frederick Lewis Allen, Since Yesterday: 1929-1939 (1940; reprint, New York: Bantam, 1965), 135- 40. 45 See Herbert Mitgang, The Man Who Rode the Tiger: The Life and Times of Samuel Seabury (New York: Fordham University Press, 1996). BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 19 mayor, was forced to resign in September of 1932. Face the Music responded to the growing cynicism and awareness of corruption with a satire of fraud among police managers, who-needing to hide some of their illicit profits-decide to lose their ill-gotten wealth by investing in a show. The musical demonstrates a popular method of political commentary during the thirties, satirizing theatre and connecting the corruption of theatre to fraud in other elements of society. Reisman, the fictitious producer, brags that he can lose all the money that needs to disappear. Foolishly, he trusts a bank that immediately folds, so the show needs to return a profit. The intended flop becomes a smut show, the Vice Commission raids the musical, and the police let everyone go. 46 "It'll be on the front page of every paper, and by Friday night we're sold out for six months."47 The show-within-the-show parodied the commodification of sex, mediocre musicals, and the producers' acceptance of censorship. In the end, the musical blurs the lines of news, entertainment, and criminal trials with Reisman getting his wish to produce his own trial from jail. The show may have been an inspiration for the movie of The Producers, for the plots are similar. Face the Music, however, is far more cynical for it correlates the corruption of theatre to numerous elements in contemporary society. The show's satire focuses on three targets: economic despair, political corruption, and show business. These elements were not always unified as the authors explored the potentials of a new genre, a concern that contemporary critics noted: "Satire to music is still a difficult medium and 'Face the Music,' which attempts to combine a familiar type of musical comedy score with a modish sense of impishness, is not perfectly fused."4B Nevertheless, the show built on Of Thee I Sing to develop musical satire as a viable form. Face the Music opens with all of society at the latest social hot spot: The Automat. Conversation focuses entirely on how difficult things are, but even in these circumstances, major differences exist between the privileged and the poor. Two socialites compare bargain shopping: "I felt I just couldn't live without Bergdorf-Goodman. But look at this. Twelve-fifty at Klein's!"49 The truly down-and-out, 46 One of Seabury's highest profile investigations involved police arresting prostitutes and then releasing them for bribes. 47 Moss Hart and Irving Berlin, Face the Music (New York Public Library for the Performing Arts *ZC-87), 2-11. 48 Brooks Atkinson, New York Times, 18 February 1932. 49 Face The Music, 1-4. (Underlining theirs.) 20 RoosT however, rummage for food: "We had the goldfish for [the] entree at dinner last night, and I said goodbye to the canaries this morning. Of course, there's Aunt Tilly, but there's no meat on her."so All the banks have folded, and the bank presidents are in prison. The corrupt police exacerbate the general despair. The commissioner calls the force together because, "We're facing a crisis ... . We've been making a lot of money and the Reformers are out after us."Sl The corruption, however, is by no means limited to the police; all politicians and government officials are implicated.S2 At one of the numerous parties the police throw to mingle with chorus women, they meet a bribing, disbarred judge. One woman is surprised to hear a judge would be removed for bribery, but a policeman clarifies that, "He got on the bench for bribery . . .. They finally got the judge for selling opium."S3 Despair and corruption are continually intermingled. In Face the Music, theatre is the largest source of corruption, incompetence, and scandal, but eventually it pales compared to the systematized corruption of the city government. Through their focus on corruption in theatre, the authors created derisive satire without the appearance of malice or didacticism. However, it is also clear from the mood of the show that theatre is no different from anything else. The entire society is corrupt and all business involves selling oneself. There is a constant joke that "show-business is the oldest profession in the world."54 The connection of sex and show business becomes much more explicit with the development of the musical. The producers are delighted with the judge's ruling: "I give you my word as a gentleman, this is the dirtiest show I've ever seen."ss They refer to Mae West and The Captive and delight in theatre's transgression of societal norms. Theatre clearly sells sex because everything else is, as the second act opener proclaims, "Lousy": "Any wonder why the theatre's going to heii?/After looking at this show it's easy to teii."S6 Attending theatre has worse odds than gambling. so Ibid., 1-7. s1 Ibid., 1-23. s2 Like the show, Seabury focused on the police but branched out to include the entire political infrastructure. Tammany Hall routinely demanded the first year salary of all political appointments. Justice Seabury documented the fraud in excruciating detail. s3 Face the Music., 1-61. 54 Ibid., 1-24. ss Ibid., 2-15. 56 Ibid., 2-2. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 21 Production, like all business ventures in the Depression economy, is even more like a game of roulette. Though it is called "show business," it is clear that any connection with a sound business model is entirely coincidental. One police officer does not think investing in a show could "take care of our problem. We've got too much money for one producer to lose." The producer responds: "I resent that. That's an insult. No man can sit there and tell me he's got more money than I can lose on a show."57 Although the theatre cannot compete with the banks' financial incompetence, it is clearly a foolish investment. Theatre attendance is frivolous, and investment is dangerous, but employment is devastating. Actors are sold off of pushcarts on the streets and picked up for prostitution. The only way to be cast is to "know" the producers. When Reisman produces his own investigation at the end of the show, the world of show business is explicitly linked with political corruption, and the authors illustrate that corruption and despair penetrate all elements of society. Reisman exploits the similarities of trials and entertainment when he positions his own trial for maximum publicity: "They've got the greatest natural attraction in the world! ... They've got something that gets on the front page of every paper in the country."58 Thus, the separation between entertainment and politics is completely eradicated. Face the Music is a tightly written, engaging show, and it is also brazenly cynical. The authors made the connection with local politics clear, naming one character after Judge Seabury just in case any audience member missed the correlation. As Brooks Atkinson of the New York Times noted: "What makes 'Face the Music' essential to the hilarity of Manhattan is the audacity of its cartooning of local politics."59 The authors, however, matched the timbre of the time beautifully, and they focused on entertainment. Unlike many political musicals of the 1930s, there is no fantastical element or dramaturgical estrangement. The only thing that makes the show less pessimistic is the use of theatre as the primary target of satire; the show-in-the- show intensified the satire of commercial theatre, which was explicitly linked with corrupt politics. Face the Music ran for 165 performances in 1932 (with an additional month-long run in 1933). The 1933 revival did not prosper, in part because the show is built around specific 57 Ibid., 1-24-1-25. 58 Ibid., 2-8-8. 59 Brooks Atkinson, New York Times, 18 February 1932. 22 ROOST retired politicians. As Atkinson noted, "Perhaps the change in 'Face the Music' would interest the historian; it is chiefly the point of view of the audience."6o Face the Music probably could not have been such a popular success at any other time, and no other hit musical develops the dry, acerbic tone. The authors matched the weary prevailing mood just before Roosevelt's election. Despite the entertainment, despair and cynicism pervade the piece, and musicals generally attract a wider audience with an underlying optimistic core. Nevertheless, Face The Music and Of Thee I Sing established a commercial and artistic foundation; Berlin and Yip Harburg drew on the precedent with the politically engaged musicals Louisiana Purchase and Hooray For What?. Political commentary became common enough that some writers incorporated it into trivial shows as a bit of color, like Cole Porter's Red, Hot and Blue. I'o RATHER BE RIGHT (1937) Rodgers and Hart's I'd Rather Be Right draws on Face The Music by intermingling theatre and politics to satirize both. Rather than ridiculing theatre and corresponding it with society, however, they lampooned the current president by associating him with theatre. The 1936 presidential election between Franklin Roosevelt and Alfred Landon was bitterly contested.61 Platforms were surprisingly similar, but the people Roosevelt referred to as the "malefactors of great wealth" and "economic royalists" passionately hated him; many viewed him as a demagogue and a communist.62 The chairman of the Republican National Committee said Roosevelt's powers were "comparable to those possessed by Mussolini and Hitler," and the committee published a pamphlet about Roosevelt's administration called "Tories, Chiselers, Dead Cats, Witch Doctors, Bank Wreckers, Traitors."63 Maxwell Anderson and Kurt Weill argued that Roosevelt had 60 Ibid. 61 See Sean J. Savage, Roosevelt: The Party Leader: 1932- 1945 (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1991), 124-27. 62 See George McJimsey, The Presidency of Franklin Delano Roosevelt (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2000). 63 Henry P. Fletcher, qtd. in Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr.'s The Coming of the New Deal: The Age of Roosevelt (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1958), 482; pamphlet quoted on 481. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 23 become fascistic in their allegorical musical Knickerbocker Holiday. Roosevelt also faced significant opposition on the left for he supported the capitalist system. When Huey Long advocated the obliteration of social stratification through legislation ['Share the Wealth''), Roosevelt made it clear that he wanted an "equitable way of segregating the great fortunes owned in this country and gained through the abuse of social ethics, from those which were gleaned by inventive ingenuity or as compensation for honest toil plus good management."64 Roosevelt won by a landslide because he treated the poor as respected citizens who faced a difficult situation. Despite Roosevelt's victory in 1936, he faced continual difficulties with the "nine old men" of the conservative Supreme Court that constantly ruled New Deal programs unconstitutional; he lost considerable power because of his attempt to "stack" the court.6s I'd Rather Be Right dealt with much of the anti-Roosevelt anger, the reelection campaign, the difficulties with the Supreme Court, and, unlike other musical satires, it named names. It ran for 290 performances, with a libretto by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart; Sam H. Harris produced. Rodgers and Hart wanted to add more love songs to the show because they made money from sheet music sales, a move that demonstrates how economic conditions shape shows even among the writing teams. Kaufman and Moss Hart, however, continually pruned those songs so that the show worked primarily as political commentary. 64 Roosevelt, qtd. in Ted Morgan, F.D.R.: A Biography (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1985), 410. See also Roosevelt's second annual report to congress reprinted in FOR: The Words that Reshaped America, ed. Stamford Parker (New York: Quill, 2000). There he discussed the importance of "the profit motive" which guarantees "the right by work to earn a decent livelihood for ourselves and for our families" (82). 65 Roosevelt derisively referred to the Supreme Court as the "nine old men" who still lived in the days of horses and buggies. The men were between 61 and 80, with 6 of them over 70. In 1936, they annihilated any labor laws by declaring it unconstitutional for the states to legislate working conditions and hours. The following year, Roosevelt suggested the expansion of the number of federal judges by the addition of a younger judge for each judge over seventy. This would have enlarged the Supreme Court to fifteen, and Roosevelt would have appointed six new members. The plan galvanized anti- Roosevelt anger and he lost significant political power over its defeat. Eventually judges were allowed to retire voluntarily at seventy and the Supreme Court began to allow more of the New Deal's changes. 24 ROOST While parts of the show originally seem like derisive satire, it also has many elements that work to lessen the satirical bite. Like many satires of the time, it is framed as a dream, much of the satire is undermined in the end, and the musical focuses on a romance that cannot be consummated until the underlying social issue is solved.66 Despite the distancing device and happy ending, there is significant political commentary. In this case the young man and woman cannot get married until the man gets a promotion, which he will not get until the federal budget is balanced.67 The plot is framed as the young man's dream, and it burlesques Roosevelt's attempts to balance the budget at the same time that he approved extravagant budgets for a myriad of programs that are deemed frivolous. The musical is presented as a vaudeville, with various specialty acts that wander in to perform a number. The show continually acknowledges the overt theatricality of its own presentation.6B As the characters introduce themselves in a vaudevillian fashion, the political parameters are delineated. The Postmaster explains that his job is to give "jobs for everyone in the Democratic Party . . . I give a job for every vote, and how the votes increase."69 The show implies that the government is the only place people can find work, and the promise of employment is the only reason the Democrats were elected. The Secretary of the Treasury behaves like a child, spending his allowance 66 A framing device is used in the 1930 Strike Up the Band (which also frames the action as a dream), Knickerbocker Holiday and Louisiana Purchase (framed by authors or lawyers commenting on the show), and Johnny Johnson (which uses a lunatic asylum to distance the satirical commentary). 67 Although few promotions were explicitly linked to a single political issue, thousands of people could not afford to marry, as they could not move out of their parents' homes; the marriage rate fell by 30% during the Depression. Allen, 107. According to Allen, the marriage rate went from 10.14 in 1929 to 7.87 in 1932. 68 For example, the members of the president's cabinet refer to themsel ves as the chorus of Gi lbert and Sullivan: " From the way we' re grouped/You'd think we'd trouped/With Rupert D'Oyly carte." George Kaufman, Moss Hart, Lorenz Hart and Richard Rodgers, I'd Rather Be Right (New York: Random House, 1937), 22. D'Oyly Carte produced Gilbert and Sullivan's shows in England. 69 Ibid., 23. James Farley, the Postmaster General, had served as Roosevelt's campaign manager. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 25 of $300 million in one week and demanding more. The cabinet creates new taxes because they cannot cut any items from the budget. One suggestion is to sell all the gold in Fort Knox (a reference to the Gold Reserve act of 1934), but the stock market crashes upon the news, so that is not an option. Another cabinet member suggests, "a Government pickpocket, in plain clothes, ... goes up behind a man and just quietly slips his hand into his pocket.'7o The musical's villain, the Supreme Court, vetoes this option. They will not tolerate any of Roosevelt's suggestions because they are angry with him for trying to fire them. The Republican nominee, Landon, now works as Roosevelt's mother's butler and represents an anti-theatrical political option: "It's true I didn't photograph well, nor did I have that smile. And I will frankly admit that I was lousy on the radio. But Mr. Roosevelt, I balanced my budget!'71 According to the show, Roosevelt won based on charisma, not policy. Meanwhile a circus atmosphere mocks Roosevelt. The young man's boss now works with the PWA: "With an elaborated cluttering of picks and shovels, a very small twig is picked up, transferred from one man to another, and finally deposited about ten feet from where it started.'72 Roosevelt asks to see the Wagner Act (a labor bill), and "two large German acrobats, fully tricked out with dumbbells, weights, etc." appear, who turn out to be "Federal Theatre Project No. 34268.'73 The president's advisors then plan a variety show to precede Roosevelt's request for a third term: "Give 'em entertainment first-a good band, comedy .... Then you go on with the commercial.'?4 Thus, entertainment keeps the masses occupied as power is abused. Despite relentlessly criticizing Roosevelt, the show supports him in several ways. In the end, the script itself undercuts the satire of Roosevelt inherent in the rest of the show. First Roosevelt's enemy, the Supreme Court, becomes completely ridiculous when it declares 70 Ibid., 34. 71 Ibid., 104. 72 Ibid., 86. The PWA, or Public Works Administration, was one of the early New Deal programs, an early version of the WPA or Works Progress Association. It differed from the WPA because it did not run the administration of projects but provided funding for locally controlled projects. 73 Ibid., 91. 74 Ibid., 111 (emphasis in the original). 26 RoosT "the Constitution unconstitutional.'?s More important, Roosevelt's last speech emphasizes how crucial it is to come through the difficulties together as a country. He acknowledges the hardships, reminds the audience that although things are bad they have gotten better, and emphasizes that they can fix the current problems by cooperation: There's something in this country-a sort of spirit that holds us together-that always sees us through. And we mustn't ever lose that. Just remember folks, that even though things are a little wrong right now, we've got a chance to make 'em right, because at least this is a country where you can come out and talk about what's wrong. And there aren't many left like that nowadays. . . . It doesn't matter whether I'm President or anybody else is, and it never mattered. That's not important. There's only one thing that really matters in this country, or ever will. You!76 The casting of George M. Cohan helped Roosevelt. Cohan supported Roosevelt and refused to sing several of the lines.77 More important, because Cohan was the original Yankee Doodle Boy and the actor most identified with patriotism, he linked Roosevelt with patriotism. Roosevelt finally tells the young people, "Get married. Take your life and live it. You'll manage. People have done it before. You'll come through somehow. Listen-suppose I don't balance the budget? There'll be a baby born every minute just the same.'78 The young man wakes up from his dream and decides they should marry. The resolution invokes a common comic-satire tradition: the world is a mess, but people will find a way to survive despite political and economic difficulties. At a time when the political system seemed totally dysfunctional, and the marriage rate had fallen by a third, ignoring the e ~ o n o m i and political systems was perhaps the most optimistic message a musical could support. Many of the issues raised in I'd Rather Be Right were concerns Roosevelt had previously raised. When the Civil Works Administration (a precursor to the Works Progress Administration) was created, Roosevelt commented on his concerns about the ever-more-central role of the Federal government: 75 Ibid., 119. 76 Ibid., 121 (emphasis in the original). 77 See Frederick Nolan. Lorenz Hart: A Poet on Broadway (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994), 229-33. 78 Ibid., 122 (emphasis in the original). BEFORE OKLAHOMA! We are getting requests practically to finance the entire United States. There are individuals who want $500 to start raising chickens, and from there up to the corporation that wants to borrow money to meet its payroll; from there on to the railroad that has to refund its bonds coming due; from there up to the municipality that says the wicked banks won't let us have any money; and from there down to the individual who says he is entitled to work .... There is the general feeling that it is up to the Government to take care of everybody, financially or otherwise .. . the artists, musicians, painters and brass bands.79 27 o w e v e ~ I'd Rather Be Right never indicates that Roosevelt implemented moderate policies, and "attempted to find a middle road between the ideological poles" that may have saved capitalism from a revolution.8o The show is ambivalent in its representation of Roosevelt, and class seems to have affected its reception. As indicated by the following newspaper account, the wealthy probably viewed it as an indictment of Roosevelt's policies even as the working class viewed it as an exoneration of Roosevelt. Cohan was clearly aware of the varied audience reactions f o ~ according to the New York Post, when Sara Delano Roosevelt (Franklin Roosevelt's mother) attended the musical Cohan was concerned: Mr. Cohan, playing F.D.R., makes an impassioned plea for a third term, and the speech, put over for all it's worth by the star, generally receives hisses from the lower floor, answered by applause from the balcony. Fearing that the dowager Mrs. Roosevelt might be disturbed by the hisses, Mr. Cohan raced through the speech at this performance and finished the scene at such breakneck speed that the audience didn't get the idea until too late. There was no hissing and no applause.81 79 Qtd. in Morgan, 409. 80 Michael A. Bernstein, The Great Depression: Delayed Recovery and Economic Change in American, 1929-1939 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 189. 81 Wilella Waldorf, New York Post, 9 June 1938. 28 Roosr The disparity between the reactions of the people in the orchestra (who paid significantly more for their tickets) and the people in the balcony indicates that the show could support divergent opinions of Roosevelt. The show is derisive of Roosevelt. Infantalizing him, it implies that his administration developed with as little forethought and coherence as a vaudeville show. Despite this satire, the show probably helped support Roosevelt. Press coverage surrounding the show benefited Roosevelt. By doing nothing, he demonstrated that he was not a dictator, and America was a free democracy; numerous press articles pointed out that the authors would have been killed for similar works in Russia, Germany, or Italy. Eleanor Roosevelt supported this view and commented that satire was healthy for the country: "The outstanding interest is that we live in a country where a play like this can be produced and acted and have a long run without any interference from the government. Thank God for democracies . . . . I would ... fervently thank God for a nation with a sense of humor."82 While it was the only intelligent response she could make (for the suppression of satire gives it more power), it served to undermine complaints linking Roosevelt to fascism.83 According to Patrick Julian, I'd Rather Be Right "is very much a part of the collective record that formed around the personality of President Roosevelt."84 The show portrayed the president as spontaneous, concerned about everyone, boisterous, and tap-dancing (despite his limited physical capabilities due to polio), and his opponents as frivolous. Ultimately the president's concern for the representatives of the underclass (the boy and girl) drives all of his attempts at power. "By making the figure of the President both extremely sympathetic in voice, movement, and deed and allowing him the opportunity to let America laugh at his recent troubles, they [the authors] were contributing to his mythical status as the protector 82 Ibid. 83 See Richard c h e c h t e ~ "The Theatre of Satire, or Politicians and the Arts" in Before His Eyes: Essays in Honor of Stanley Kauffman, ed. Bert Cardullo (Lanham: University Press of America, 1986), for the political implications of theatrical satire. 84 Patrick Julian, "Let the Orchestra Go, but Carry the Gallery: The Mythic Portrayal of FOR in I'd Rather Be Right," New England Theatre Journal9 (1998): 65. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 29 of the common man and the leader of a free people in a dark world."85 As Rodgers and Hart, Irving Berlin and others satirized domestic political issues in the commercial theatre, not-for-profit groups experimented with musicals in a variety of forms. One of the most innovative is The Group Theatre's Johnny Johnson. JOHNNY JOHNSON (1936) Johnny Johnson, the most unusual musical of the decade, both compels and challenges audiences. While Face the Music focused only on local issues and I'd Rather Be Right centered on national ones, Johnny Johnson interwove local and national politics with international concerns. Under the guidance of Cheryl Crawford and the direction of Lee Strasberg, The Group Theatre developed the innovative script and score for Johnny Johnson with Paul Green writing the book and lyrics and Kurt Weill writing the music. According to Green: "The first act is a comedy, the second a tragedy and the third a satire. That sounds crazy and maybe I can't get away with it, but that is what I have tried to write."86 The show focuses on Johnny Johnson, a sort of everyman, who attempts to live ethically in a society that glorifies war. Like Kaufman's approach to Strike Up the Band, Paul Green wanted music: "Without music there could be no war .... Music has always been an integral part of fighting."87 Combining music with anti-war satire was a conscious attempt to develop the theme of complicity. The first act is earnest and light-hearted. The show opens with the entire town out to celebrate Johnny's newly created monument to peace, moments before war is declared. Like many musical commentaries, social issues divide the young couple: Johnny is against the war and Minny Belle, his sweetheart, is in favor of the war. When Johnny announces his pacifism, Minny breaks off the engagement. Once President Wilson announces that this is a war to end war, Johnny enlists with an innocent idealism. A scene satirizes the army as Johnny attempts to join. "[In] a series of vaudeville blackouts, he is soon befuddling the Army psychological examiners while they are trying to catechize him; enraging the drill sergeant who will not realize that Johnny is left-handed; unintentionally stealing the captain's girJ."88 At the same time, his rival for Minny cynically espouses support for the war and fakes an illness to avoid enlisting. 8s Ibid., 67-68. 86 Newsweek, 28 November 1936, 19. 87 Paul Green, qtd. in ibid. 88 Paul Green Kurt Weill, Johnny Johnson 2-7-50, NYPL-PA. 30 RoosT In the second act, Johnny attempts to kill a German sniper who is shooting through a gash made in the heart of a statue of Jesus. He ends up talking with the sniper, who is named Johann (German for Johnny). Johann is sixteen years old and hates the war as much as Johnny. Mutually, they attempt to convince their fellow soldiers to shoot in the air instead of at each other. Johnny then sneaks into a meeting of the allied commanders, where each one tries to outbid the others with how many casualties they can offer for the next battle. He makes an impassioned plea for peace, which the commanders ignore, and then opens a canister of laughing gas. They agree to peace and Johnny makes a hasty retreat. The effect of the gas quickly dissipates and Johnny is arrested as war is reinstated. The war is shown through flashes, which are preceded by biblical references that support peace. One flash portrays "A young German praying at the foot of the black wooden statue of Christ. He rises to meet an American who enters with drawn bayonet. They fight and the German is run through. An exploding shell kills the American. The statue totters and falls with a crash."B9 Johnny finds Johann's body and mourns his death: "Two hundred thousand dead, five hundred thousand dead, a million dead.-And they have had their way, Johann. And all for what? And why? What for? . . . They killed you. I saw it happen. One of my own squad did it."90 In the third act Johnny is placed in an insane asylum, presumably to protect society from his dangerous ideas. Although the second act has strong expressionistic overtones, the satire in the third act is presented within the framing device of a lunatic asylum. Act three takes place ten years later and develops a decidedly different approach. Johnny has been diagnosed with a rare mental disturbance that the doctor likens to one that afflicted Jesus, "peace monomania." It starts with a long political discussion. Johnny portrays President Wilson in the debates and the other inmates depict various political figures, satirizing the emphasis on abstract theory rather than on the realities of people's lives.91 They eventually ratify a "League of World Republics," clearly a reference to Wilson's desire for the United States to join the League of Nations. The scene satirizes politicians through a constant emphasis on parliamentary rules and through equating political personages with mentally disturbed inmates. 89 Ibid., 2-7-51. 90 Ibid., 2-8-52. 91 Wilson was President of the United States during World War I and tried to keep the U.S. out of war; after the war he worked tirelessly (although in vain) at both his goals-to have a fair and liberal war settlement and to convince the United States to join the League of Nations. He won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1920. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 31 The final scene takes place much later, after Johnny, now 45 or 50, has been released and sells toys on the street. Minny's son gives Johnny a nickel to buy a toy soldier, but Johnny will not sell war-related toys. Minny's husband, who avoided service by his bogus illness, is the mayor, and the son is going to be a soldier in the current cycle of war. "Daddy says that we're in for a terrible war and all the people have got to be ready to keep the enemy from destroying us."92 The show ends on a somewhat upbeat note as Johnny walks out of the town. "He begins whistling his song again-a little more clearly now, a little more bravely."93 Despite the convoluted priorities of society, Johnny's strength allows him to live with integrity. Green's idealism runs through the show. Despite the insanity of politics and the difficulty of survival in this world, if people can keep their own integrity, they have an inner reserve of strength and beauty to draw upon. This strength endures even if they do not change the world. The satire is used only for political subjects: the army recruiters, the allied commanders, and the inmates' satire of politics. The story of the everyday people is told with earnest idealism. Only power and hypocrisy are ridiculed. Based on the photos and reviews, the direction seems to have reflected the varying styles of the acts. The first act was staged in a conventionally realistic manner. The second act had an expressionistic, nightmarish quality. In the scene with Johann, there is a disintegrating archway, and a fence is painted to look like a nightmare. The statue of Jesus had a huge, violent gash where his heart should have been. The third act developed a quality reminiscent of cartoons. This show is one of the few that did not succeed financially. The actors of The Group Theatre were very disappointed in the production because they did not feel supported by the director or designers and The Group Theatre disbanded shortly thereafter. It is entirely possible that if The Group Theatre had created a stronger production, the show would have had a much longer run. The actors make it clear that "It's no secret that Group morale on every front reached its all-time low during the final 92 Ibid., 3-2-25. 93 Ibid., 3-2-26. 32 RoosT stages of Johnny Johnson."94 Despite the original financial failure, the show has received several revivals. The initial round of reviews emphasized that even though it was an important show, it was deeply flawed. As Atkinson wrote: It is part fantasy, part musical satire, part symbolic poetry in the common interests of peace; and also one is compelled to add, part good and part bad, since new forms cannot be created overnight. There are many interludes in Mr. Green's work when both the satire and the idealism wither away to restless emptiness .... [Johnny Johnson is a] sincere and generally exalting attempt to put on the stage an imaginative portrait of recent history.9s The authors worked assiduously to balance the different moods, and the result was not always successful. The different styles bothered a great many critics. According to Krutch in The Nation, "Every now and then the mood is broken, every now and then the author of the text seems to lose his sense of style, and to write a speech or a scene too realistic on the one hand or too near burlesque on the other really to harmonize with the dominant manner, which is poised at some definite point between the two."96 The show has beautiful moments that almost everyone immediately appreciated, but 94 See "Report of the Actors' Committee To The Directors of the Group, December, 1936, by Stella Adler, Roman Bohnen, Morris Carnovsky, Elia Kazan," 11. This document goes through everything that the actors believed was wrong with Johnny Johnson in particular and The Group Theatre in general, focusing mostly on the lack of planning on the part of the creative team. Although the document stated that developing Johnny Johnson was one of the best experiences of the Group, the production team failed abysmally. The Group Theatre was not planning to produce the show until right before it was cast. With eleven weeks of rehearsal, blocking was not given until the eighth week, and then it was not specific. Costumes were thrown together at the end. The sets were changed at the last minute, and the set designer was over-committed to other projects. Lee Strasberg read a newspaper during the meetings with the set designer. Harold Clurman talked about abstract ideas and Cheryl Crawford took over because she was the only one willing to deal with details. 9s Brooks Atkinson, New York Times, 20 November 1936. 96 Clippings, Kurt Weill foundation, The Nation, Joseph Wood Krutch, 676 (n.d.; probably 1936). BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 33 the overall effect disappointed many critics. Although the show is dissatisfying in some scenes, many of the images and ideas are resonant. Several critics of the time seemed to be moved by the show long after they saw the piece. The Literary Digest commented on the phenomenon: " Rarely do critics ever go back to take a second look at a slated production, even when invited. Curiously, by last week most of the fourteen First Line critics had gone back to 'Johnny Johnson' voluntarily, most of them had written second reports, confessing themselves 'haunted' by certain aspects of the play."97 Overall, the later reviews seemed to appreciate the careful amalgamation of the various elements. We are led to think that only serious intentions can be light without boredom; or shall we say at least flexible. You make a mistake about this "Johnny Johnson" of The Group Theatre if you say that songs and dances are added to a play that might otherwise lack ginger. . . . The piece is built of dialogue, movement, scene, music all together. It is a promising-and needed-example of theatre that passes from one to the other of these with equal ease. 9s Johnny Johnson combined music and varying approaches for an idealistic show, demonstrating many of the different qualities and styles explored during the 1930s. It is a hybrid piece that could prove a vital model as creators work to reimagine the possibilities of the American musical. Concurrent with Oklahoma! 's revival, Urinetown also opened on Broadway. The critics have praised it for being an "unrepentantly skeptical work .. . [both] Swiftian [and], Brechtian."99 Urinetown "acknowledges theater tradition and pushes it forward as well ."loo While Urinetown has been lauded in most news sources, even making a featured appearance in conjunction with Enron on "The Jim Lehrer 97 Literary Digest, 2 January 1937, 23. 98 Stark Young, The New Republic, 9 December 1936, 179. 99 Linda Winer, "Urinetown: The Musical," Newsday, 21 September 2001. 100 Bruce Weber, 'Theatre Review; How Reality Affects a Play," New York Times, 21 September 2001. 34 ROOST the show itself has little that could pass as even mild political commentary in comparison to such pop-culture stalwarts as The Simpsons, South Park, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, or even the politically tepid Saturday Night Live.1o1 The most political element of the show is a single line in the second act, which The New York Times's critic considered "a bold if brutal bit of sarcasm": "Don't you think people want to be told that their way of life is unsustainable?"102 This is hardly "bold" or "brutal" by any standard other than musical theatre scholarship after Lehman Engel. While occasional political comments are thrown in, perhaps to give the musical a sense of political daring, the show is fantastical enough in its premise that it has no bearing on current political discussions.103 Compared to the much-derided musicals of the Depression, Urinetown is quite tame, using politics to dress up the plot rather than developing a show to comment on the political scene. Because the history of political involvement in musicals has been almost entirely lost, in part because of the focus on Oklahoma!, Urinetown is seen as cutting edge by most of the critics. However, its success indicates that producers might successfully develop works in the mold of the 1930s satires. This does not mean that current shows are without merit. 101 I use parody with regards to comments on art and form and satire in relation to political and social concerns. 102 See Bruce Weber. 103 The production is a marvelous parody of musicals, but is not satirical. The plot is premised on a drought that is controlled by a corporation, which charges people to use toilets. While there is a minor connection to environmental concerns, it is also so clearly preventable (clearly technology could develop an alternative for water- based toilets were such a drought to occur). Furthermore, no reputable political commentators are arguing that corporations are protecting the environment by carefully controlling use of natural resources. BEFORE OKLAHOMA! 35 Looking at the history, Oklahoma! is important-it pioneered cast albums, faithful movie adaptations, and long, nationwide runs developing a national audience for Broadway musicals. Formalistically it developed dream ballets and brought musical theatre's focus to rural subjects that are removed by time and/or geography. The salience of previous shows in no way diminishes Oklahoma! 's accomplishments. Meanwhile Urinetown is a very good parody; it is not, however, satire. It does not innovate with structure or content; instead it reopens the opportunity to experiment with form and content. The goal of both historians and producers should be neither to develop The New American Musical nor The Definitive History, but to grapple with the eclectic, exciting, and exacerbating history that refuses to have only a single form for a single purpose. Journal of American Drama and Theatre 16, no. 1 (Winter 2004) GHOSTS AND FOLLIES MARVIN CARLSON Tom Sellar, in the lead article for the Roundabout Theatre's magazine Front and Center of Spring 2001, began his comments on that theatre's current revival of Stephen Sondheim's musical Follies with the observation, "It is a musical of and about ghosts."l Indeed in a panel devoted to "Material Ghosts: Theatre and Memory in the Twenty-First Century," I can think of no more fitting illustration of how memory, ghosts, and material circulate in the theatre than this first major musical revival of the new century in New York whose theme, concerns, and very physical embodiment are built upon the ghosts of a century or more of New York theatre. Follies presumably takes place in an abandoned New York theatre, once the home of this spectacular, now almost legendary entertainment. On the last night before the theatre is to be demolished to make way for a parking lot, the producer of the original shows holds a reunion of Follies performers. Two couples, the women (Phyllis and Sally) former Follies girls, and the men (Buddy and Ben) the stage door Johnnies they married, meet at this gathering after many years and confront their failed dreams surrounded by the ghosts of their younger selves and the real and ghostly figures of other Follies performers. T. E. Kalem, reviewing the piece for Time magazine, called Follies, "the first Proustian musical .''2 As I have argued elsewhere, it is a particular quality of the theatre to deal with memory, ghosts, and the recirculation of every part of its complex material realization,3 but I know of no dramatic script, nor no stage realization, that has been more centrally concerned with this dynamic than Sondheim's Follies. The failed hopes and blasted dreams of the deeply flawed central characters reflect, as is so often the case in Sondheim, a painful confrontation with a tarnished and faded national dream. Indeed Hal Prince called the collapse of the American dream the real subject of the show, 1 Tom Sellar, "The Ghosts of 42nd Street," Front and Center, Spring 2001, 2. 2 T. E. Kalem, "Follies," Time, 12 April 1971, 97:78. 3 See Marvin Carlson, The Haunted Stage (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2001). GHOSTS AND FOLLIES 37 presented in the form of a bittersweet recollection of a bygone theatrical era. 4 Doubtless this lost era has been converted by memory into something far more glorious and brilliant than was the original, typical of the imaginary golden ages that haunt all cultures, but that does not diminish but rather increases its emotional power. Sondheim's orchestrator, Jonathan Tunick, perfectly expressed this dynamic in orchestral terms: "Follies is not a re-creation of, but a glorification of, every Broadway pit band that ever played ... and it's not what the pit band actually sounded like, it's what you thought the pit band sounded like."s In 1971, when Follies opened at the Winter Garden Theatre, the revitalization of the Times Square area still lay in the future, and the New York theatre in general and the American musical in particular, seemed close indeed to the situation of the characters in Follies, the aging remnants of a once-glorious culture, now engaged in celebrating the last spark of that glory in ghostly memories. One of Sondheim's great gifts as a composer and lyricist is his ability to create fresh new works in an almost unlimited variety of earlier musical styles, an ability that was perfectly suited to the concept of Follies. Not only the remarkable closing sequence, which recreated a metaphorical Follies review in which the problems of the individual leading characters were presented as review numbers, but much of the production consciously and specifically evoked composers and lyricists of the earlier twentieth century. Sondheim himself helpfully provided a guide to a number of these evocations: "One More Kiss," he reports, was written in the tradition of Friml and Romberg; "The Story of Lucy and Jessie" in that of Cole Porter; "You're Gonna Love Tomorrow" and "Love Will See Us Through" in that of Jerome Kern and Burton Lane, with an Ira Gershwin-E.Y. Harburg lyric. "Beautiful Girls" imitated Irving Berlin; "Broadway Baby" DeSylva, Brown, and Henderson; "Loveland" Jerome Kern; and "Losing My Mind" George Gershwin with a Dorothy Fields lyric.G The importance of such musical ghosting to the central dynamic of the play would seem obvious, but it nevertheless escaped the notice, or at least the comprehension, of New York's major reviewers. 4 Meryle Secrest, Stephen Sondheim (New York: Knopf, 1998), 206. This association was visually emphasized in the poster for the original production, which showed the statuesque head of a Follies girl with a clear suggestion of the face of the Statue of Liberty, with a deep crack running down it. s Qtd. in Craig Zadan, Sondheim & Co. (New York: Harper Collins, 1986), 155. 6 Ibid., 147. 38 CARLSON Clive Barnes in a particularly savage review in The New York Times remarked that "This non-hit parade of pastiche trades on camp, but fundamentally gives little in return.''? Stephen Banfield, in his musical biography of Sondheim, views Sondheim's musical references in a far more positive light, and further notes that "Sondheim's pastiche technique reaches its zenith in Follies."s Here he extends Sondheim's general comments on pastiches to a number of specific parallels: "Rain on the Roof" shares subject matter and manner with Berlin's "Isn't This a Lovely Day?" from Top Hat . . . ; the verbal gist of "Can That Boy Foxtrot!" though not the innuendo, parallels that of Berlin's "You'd Be Surprised," which appears in the film Blue Skies but stems from The Ziegfeld Follies of 1919 ... ; the melody of "Little White House" is similar to Roger Eden's celebrated vamp in Nacio Herb Brown's "Singin' in the Rain;" "Live, Laugh, Love" contains at least two musical suggestions of Gershwin, in its introductory accompaniment, similar to that of " I Got Plenty o'Nuttin" ... and in Ben's "Me, I Like to Live,/ Me, I Like to Laugh" refrain, which uses the metric wrong footings of "Fascinating Rhythm," though not to the same degree. Sondheim's model for "Losing My Mind" was Gershwin's "The Man I Love." "Broadway Baby," at least in the hands of Elaine Stritch [in the 1985 Follies in Concert] sounds like a Mae West parody.9 7 Clive Barnes, "Follies' Couples, Years Later," New York Times, 5 April 1971, 44. Barnes's highly negative review inspired a number of letters of protest from leading figures in the New York cultural and theatrical world, headed by Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., who suggested that the "complex and sardonic commentary on American theatre and on American mores in general" was simply beyond the comprehension of an English reviewer (NYT, 2 May 1971, 2:37). Jerry Orbach complained that Barnes was not simply wrong about Follies but "criminally mistaken," while Remak Ramsey prophesied that Sondheim's work would be "sung and remembered long after everyone has given up ever finding a quotable line from a Barnes review" (NYT, 23 May 1971, 2:25, 27). s Stephen Banfield, Sondheim's Broadway Musicals (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1993), 166. Banfield's analysis has been particularly helpful to me in understanding the scope of musical ghosting in Follies. 9 Ibid., 199-200. GHOSTS AND FOLLIES 39 Less remarked upon in studies of Sondheim, but even more striking from a theatrical point of view, was the recirculation not only of musical styles and motifs, but of the actual physical bodies of performers. Directors Hal Prince and Michael Bennett sought out performers who would physically evoke a collective theatrical memory, just as the score aurally evoked a collective musical one. Martin Gottfried in his review in o m e n ~ Wear Daily was one of the few critics to understand this. "Alexis Smith, Gene Nelson, Dorothy Collins, Yvonne De Carlo, Fifi D'Orsay and Mary McCarty have not been hired just for the sake of camp. The audience knows these people from its own past, remembers their faces from a performing youth. Now they are aging and we see them aged, and Follies is about aging and age. In a sense these actors are being used as people rather than performers."lo Interestingly, the memories evoked by the physical bodies of these actors were neither of the original Follies, now two generations in the past, nor of that performance tradition, but rather of the popular culture that replaced them, the musicals, reviews and films of the 1940s and early 1950s, much more central to the performance memories of 1971 audiences, even if most of them had a strong interest in the musical theatre. In fact several of these performers, familiar as they were to 1971 audiences and with careers stretching back three decades or more, actually made their Broadway debuts in Follies. Perhaps the outstanding example of this was Yvonne De Carlo, who first performed the song that best captured the power of these Proustian performances and the spirit of their performers, "I'm Still Here." Although De Carlo brought a significant performance memory to Follies, none of it was from the Broadway tradition, but rather from films and television. She had established herself in 1940s film musicals such as Salome and Scheherazade, which in many respects inherited the tradition of the lavish stage entertainments of previous decades. During the 1950s she appeared primarily in Westerns, when that genre held a leading place in American film culture, and during the 1960s she appeared as Lily Munster on The Munsters, one of the most popular television series of the decade. "''m Still Here" is a particularly effective example of a "list song," a standard musical comedy device often used by Sondheim but before him almost a signature device for Cole Porter, and with an impressive tradition going back at least as far as Gilbert and Sullivan. Most often these lists are primarily used to place the singing character 10 Qtd. in Zadan, 138. 40 CARLSON in a framing world by piling up references to specific items in that world.ll Banfield, in his discussion of Sondheim's use of list songs, suggests a subgenre of such songs, "encyclopedia songs," which assemble things that make up a person's experience. "''m Still Here" he calls a "wonderful encyclopedia song," adding parenthetically that "it suggests the newspaper rather than the encyclopedia."t2 This distinction is hardly minor, however, since the newspaper references are designed to place their singer not in a specific physical world or mental world, like almost all list or encyclopedia songs, but in a specific temporal one. The stanza containing the most detailed and specific list is the following one: I've been through Ghandi Windsor and Wally's affair, And I'm here. Amos 'n' Andy Mah-jongg and platinum hair, And I'm here. I got through Abie's Irish Rose, Five Dionne babies, Major Bowes, Had heebie-jeebies For Bebbe's Bathysphere. I lived through Shirley Temple And I'm here. Few of these references would seem to suggest items or experiences that would test anyone's powers of survival, as the over-all theme of the song implies. Rather they are the sorts of items that caught the popular cultural imagination of their period, mostly the early 1930s (which, surely not coincidentally, was also the heyday of Porter, the master of the list song). Thus their function is in fact much closer to the over-all theme of Follies than are structurally similar compilations 11 Another striking example in Follies is Phyllis's "Could I Leave You?" which begins with a list of the "little things" that make her marriage to Ben intolerable and she continues with an inventory of the furniture she looks forward to obtaining in a divorce suit. 12 Banfield, 179-81. GHOSTS AND FOLLIES 41 in other musical list songs. Like the musical echoes of Sondheim's pastiche numbers, or the physical bodies of performers of the past, these verbal references, singly and collectively, seek a Proustian effect, evoking, like the taste of the madeleine, memories of an almost forgotten past. Yvonne De Carlo's non-Broadway background was not unusual among the better-known performers of this first Follies. Indeed, non-Broadway backgrounds characterize most of the performers mentioned by Gottfried as evoking memories of a "performing youth" in the Follies audiences. Alexis Smith (Phyllis), like De Carlo, made her reputation in the 1940s, as the "Dynamite Girl" of Warner Brothers, playing opposite such stars of that era as Errol Flynn, Charles Boyer, Frederic March, and Cary Grant. Gene Nelson (Buddy) began his career in ice shows and in fact appeared during the 1940s in Broadway reviews (This Is the Army, 1942) and musicals (Lend an Ear, 1948), but he was best known for his film work at Twentieth-Century Fox and Warner Brothers in the late 1940s and 1950s. His specialty was song and dance spectacles, most notably the film of Oklahoma! in 1955, where he played the high-kicking cowpoke Will Parker. During the 1970s he turned to film and TV directing, and so his appearance in Follies brought his performance career to a kind of full circle. Dorothy Collins (Sally) had built her reputation largely in television, especially as a singer in the popular 1950s series "Your Hit Parade," but also as a conspirator in the gags on the widely viewed "Candid Camera." Mary McCarty, who as Stella Deems led the company in the central "Mirror Number," "Who's That G i r l ? ~ was another film and television star, breaking into movies in the 1938 Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm and building a reputation on television during the 1940s and early 1950s in such series as The Admiral Broadway Review and Celebrity Time. Of the six performers cited by Gottfried as touchstones of cultural memory, only one actually provided a living tie to the older vaudeville and review tradition. Fifi D'Orsay, 86 years old when she appeared in Follies as the chanteuse Solange Lafitte, had been a vaudeville headliner, Mademoiselle Fifi, and the song Sondheim created for her, "Ah, Paris!", eloquently recaptured her style and persona of fifty years before. An even more striking direct tie to the Follies tradition, however, was Ethel Shutta, cast as Hattie Walker, since Shutta had actually made her debut fifty years before in the Winter Garden, the same theatre in which Follies was presented, in the Follies-type review The Passing Show of 1922. For her, a comparative youngster, Sondheim created the song "Broadway Baby." One other performer contributing to the memories embodied in this first Follies production must be mentioned. One of the most striking moments in the production comes when the four-piece stage 42 CARLSON band at the opening party suddenly swells to a full orchestra during the "Beautiful Girls" number and the spotlights pick out a dazzling but ambiguous figure at the top of the stairs, the first materialized follies ghost, who then leads down the stairs a glamorous process of her fellows, each with a sash proclaiming the follies year she represents, from 1918 to 1941. She is clearly too old for a follies girl, and yet she wears that unmistakable elaborate costume and headdress, and moves in that unmistakable elegant and graceful style. This first "beautiful girl" was not so familiar to the audience as De carlo, or even, presumably, Shutta or D'Orsay, but she also evoked deep if quite different resonances with the Broadway tradition. This was Ethel Barrymore Colt, daughter of Ethel Barrymore, and thus the direct descendent of the greatest of American theatrical dynasties. Although she had first appeared on Broadway with her famous mother in the theatre that bore their common name in 1925 (she was 59 when she appeared in Follies), most of her career had been spent as a nightclub singer outside of New York. Strangely enough, her only other Broadway appearance had been in a variety follies-type review, George White's Scandals of 1931, from which she was fired, to be replaced by Ethel Merman.B Although Follies won almost every available theatre award for 1972, it was not a commercial success. Nevertheless it entered that roster of Sondheim shows that despite an initial unfavorable critical reaction14 became legendary in the history of the modern American musical theatre. An all-star concert version with the New York Philharmonic, Follies in Concert, was a huge success in 1985, and this time was hailed by The New York Times reviewer, now Frank Rich, as "one of our musical theatre's very finest achievements."1S Again the 13 Margot Peters, The House of Barrymore (New York: Knopf, 1980), 330-32. 14 Especially from the influential New York Times Walter Kerr seconded Barnes's strongly negative reaction in a follow-up review on April 11, calling the work "intermissionless and exhausting," a "tedious extravaganza" displaying "ingenuity without inspiration" (NYT, 11 April 1971, 2:1) . 1s Frank Rich, "Concert Version of 'Follies' is a Reunion," New York Times, 9 September 1985, C16. The opinion of the Times reviewer remained as powerful as ever, but obviously Rich's enthusiasm gained in significance by the fact that his own positive judgement was haunted by the memory of producers and audiences alike of the contemptuous dismissal of Sondheim's work by Rich's predecessors, Barnes and Kerr. GHOSTS AND FOLLIES 43 dynamics of ghosting were an important part of the occasion. Indeed Rich's review noted that "it was impossible to separate the fictional show-biz reunion dramatized in Follies from the real one unfolding on the stage."16 In 1971, Sondheim was still known primarily as a lyricist, although his production of Company the previous year had for the first time gained him generally widespread praise as a composer as well .17 During the next decade and a half, however, he produced a series of major works, including A Little Night Music (1973), Pacific Overtures (1976), Sweeney Todd (1979), and Sunday in the Park with George (1984), still running when Follies in Concert was presented, as well as several popular anthologies of his music, beginning with the now almost legendary Sondheim: A Musical Tribute, a one-night benefit at the Schubert Theatre on March 11, 1973. The first major book on Sondheim, Craig Zadan's Sondheim & Co., appeared in 1974; scholarly articles on his work began to appear during this decade, and he was the subject of four doctoral theses between 1980 and 1984.18 If his work still aroused controversy, he was nevertheless now clearly established as the leading musical comedy writer of his generation. Thus the 1984 concert incorporated not only performers who brought to it memories of the theatre and performance world in general, as did the cast of the first Follies, but also performers who could now specifically evoke memories of Sondheim's own distinguished career. Like Gottfried in 1971, Rich in 1984 remarked on the importance of this now doubly embodied tradition: To cast this all too transitory event, the producer Thomas z. Shepherd brought together veterans of Sondheim musicals stretching from the 1964 "Anyone Can Whistle" to "Sunday in the Park with George,"- among them Lee Remick, Elaine Strich, George Hearn, Liz Callaway and Mandy Patinkin. They were joined by other stellar musical-comedy hands who 16 Frank Rich, " Sondheim's ' Follies' Evokes Old Broadway," New York Times, 15 September 1985, 2: 1. 17 Although New York's most powerful critic, Clive Barnes at The New York Times, was dismissive of Company, as he would be of Follies, calling it " slick, clever, and eclectic rather than emotionally stimulating." Qtd. in Secrest, 197. 18 See Banfield, 54. 44 CARLSON exemplify the Broadway whose passing "Follies" mourns-Barbara Cook, Carol Burnett, Betty Camden and Adolph Green. Once this company paraded before the Orchestra to the glittering melody of the opening song, "Beautiful Girls," it was impossible to separate the fictional show-biz reunion dramatized in "Follies" from the real one unfolding on the stage.19 In a follow-up article published the following week, Rich noted that "the cheering went on and on-in part to honor a restored musical treasure, in part to postpone that painful moment when the visiting ghosts of a glamorous old Broadway would once again disperse."20 Two years later Cameron Mackintosh revived Follies to considerable critical acclaim in London, but it was not until 2001 that the Sondheim piece was revived on Broadway, now significantly ghosted by its own legend. This was hardly surprising, since this revival, thirty years later, was as distant in time from the premiere production as that production had been from the first great Rodgers and Hammerstein hit, Oklahoma! in 1943. If one assumes an audience member the approximate age of the Follies protagonists, then the personal generational memory for the original Follies would have extended back over the great years of the "classical" American musical, the years of Rodgers and Hammerstein, with the Follies-type reviews lying dimly beyond, preserved more in recordings, films, and photographs than by direct memory. In 2001, the generation memory extended back over the Sondheim era itself, with that of Rodgers and Hanimerstein now as remote as the Follies reviews had been in 1971. Writing in the New York Times just before the April 5 opening, Barry Singer astutely observed that this production would be "as much haunted by the lingering ghost of the 1971 production as it is by the lore and legends that inspired the show's creation." And "this is perversely appropriate. Follies is about growing old. Having now grown old itself, the musical must forever contend with its own ghostly younger self." This emphasis runs throughout Singer's piece, which begins, "The Broadway musical has always been a haunted art form. Every Broadway musical performer or creator is shadowed by the spirits of those who have preceded them [sic]." Singer calls Follies a "collective memory of Broadway itself," evoking "the entirety of 19 Ibid. 20 Frank Rich, "Sondheim's 'Follies,' " 2:1. GHOSTS AND FOLLIES 45 Broadway musical history with an all-encompassing spectral embrace.''21 Thus, in a far richer and deeper manner than the original production, the 2001 revival was centrally a haunted production, haunted by its own memories, by those of its audiences, by, as Singer noted, "the collective memory of Broadway itself," and now also by memories of Sondheim's own major contributions to that collective memory. In 1971, suggests Ethan Mordden in another Times article in that same issue, "Follies dealt with nostalgia. By now the show is nostalgia. Yet it is a timeless piece" since it embodies those "ghosts of our former selves that are always looking on."22 The songs that were dismissed by some 1971 critics as pastiche echoes of musical memories had now developed their own Proustian echoes, and the characters and situation their own associations with the musical tradition. In the original production the living bodies of the actors were in most cases haunted by the theatrical memories they evoked, but in 2001 an additional layer of ghosting was created by the memory of those performers, many of them no longer living, who had created these roles and first delivered these songs as well as by the memories of those who had presented these songs in the legendary 1985 concert version, reinforced by the extremely popular recording of that event as well as by other recordings of specific songs from Follies in various staged and recorded compilations of Sondheim's work. These recordings guaranteed an audience in 2001 containing many members not only familiar with the Follies score, but with various interpretations of key songs, and indeed even with material planned for Follies but not used, most notably the sly "Can That Boy Foxtrot," whose borderline eroticism suggested the "naughty" songs of Cole Porter.23 Dropped during previews because of Yvonne De Carlo's difficulties in singing it and replaced by "''m Still Here," this song was subsequently incorporated into the 1981 Sondheim revue, Marry Me a Little (along with "Uptown, Downtown," another song dropped prior to the New York opening) and included in the four-disc A Collector's Sondheim released by RCA in 1985. Thus thanks to 21 Barry Singer," 'Follies' Shows It, Too, Is Still Here," New York Times, 25 March 2001, 2:2. 22 Ethan Mordden, "An Elegy for an Era, 'Follies' Itself Goes On," New York Times, 25 March 2001, 2:2. 23 Or perhaps even Noel Coward, whose parody of "Let's Do It," like "Can That Boy Foxtrot," brings Cole Porter's implied eroticism right to the edge of open expression. 46 CARLSON revues and revivals, as well as to a brief musical echo of it in the underscoring, even the rejected "can This Boy Foxtrot" maintained a ghostly presence in the 2001 revival. The layering of memories of specific songs, characters, and performers was clearly a powerful part of the effect of this revival. Behind Jane White, who performed the role of Solange, lay memories not only of her own fifty-five years and countless roles in the professional theatre, but also of vaudeville star Fifi D'Orsay, for whom "Ah, Paris" was written as well as of Liliane Montevecchi, who performed the song in the concert version. Behind Betty Garrett, a long-time star of stage and screen musicals, lay also memories of the 1920s showgirl Ethel Shutta, for whom "Broadway Baby" had been written (and who had reprised it in the 1973 Musical Tribute), as well as of Elaine Stritch, the star of Sondheim's Company, who did this number in the concert version. Behind Judith Ivey, the stage, screen, and TV star who created Sally in the 2001 production, lay memories of Barbara Cook, the vocal star who made "In Buddy's Eyes" one of the most harrowing and memorable songs in the concert version, as well as of Dorothy Collins, who created this role and who reprised "Losing My Mind" to create a climactic moment in the Musical Tribute. Behind Polly Bergen, who as carlotta sang the number that became a kind of theme for Follies, "''m Still Here," was not only the memory of Yvonne De Carlo (the only one of the stage veterans cited by Gottfried in 1971 who was still alive in 2001), but also of Bergen's own half-century of stage, screen, and TV performances and her recent reemergence, at the age of seventy, after almost twenty years of obscurity. Her own signature song "The Party's Over" and her own remarkable comeback added for many listeners an extra depth to her moving rendition of Sondheim's paean to survival. Indeed Sondheim himself remarked that Bergan regarded the song, and delivered it, as if it had been written to summarize her own career.24 Although the elaborate "Mirror Song," "Who's That Woman?", in which the protagonists confront their real and imagined younger selves, is probably the number which most directly expresses the central concerns of Follies, it is unquestionably "I'm Still Here" which has become the musical emblem of the show. What ghosts share with memory is survival. However attenuated, altered, subjected to the ravages of time, they are still here, and this has made Follies, despite the somewhat sordid narrative of its principle characters, a powerful statement of survival of both individuals and of the art they produce, even that most ephemeral of arts, the theatre. 24 James Gavin, "A Trouper Whose Role is Life-Tested," New York Times, 25 March 2001, 2:7, 22. GHOSTS AND FOLLIES 47 In his report on the 2001 revival, Singer understandably singled out Joan Roberts as the performer who "most particularly" embodied this spirit in the production.2s Like other performers in the revival, Roberts inevitably aroused memories of her predecessors in her role, that of Heidi Schiller, first Justine Johnston, a music comedy veteran, and then, in the concert version, the prominent operatic star Licia Albanese, hailed by Frank Rich as an "inspired casting choice" for her "spectral invocation of operettas past."26 The selection of Albanese also added an important element to the musical associations evoked by the bodies and the voices of the performers, acknowledging the relation of Sondheim's work not only to the many varied strands of twentieth century musical comedy and related popular forms, but also to the world of opera.27 In addition to the memories of these previous interpreters, Joan Roberts, like D'Orsay and Shutta thirty years before, brought to her role a personal history that made her almost a living memorial to the tradition being celebrated. Now in her 80s, Roberts, like her character Heidi Schiller, had established her reputation in East European operettas, touring in more than twenty such musicals under the sponsorship of the Shubert Brothers while still in her teens. Schiller's major song is " One More Kiss," the final number in a series of memory pieces by the ghost figures of the past, a lush and bittersweet Strauss-style waltz duet sung by Schiller and her younger self, an embodied evocation of the past of the fictional Schiller and the actual Roberts, who like Schillefr made her fame in work like this. The evocative power of these ghostly parallels is great, but it is vastly increased by the fact that Roberts, in 1943, building upon her success in operetta, was selected to play the leading role, Laurey, in Oklahoma!, the musical that launched a new era in American musical theatre, in which the triumph of the so-called integrated musical brought to an end the era of the operetta and the Follies-type reviews. Now, appearing in Follies, both an evocation of the ghosts of that earlier era and, in the opinion of many, the elegy for the musical era that began with Oklahoma!, Roberts became a living synecdoche of the structure of memory and memorialization offered by Follies as a whole. 2s Singer, 28. 26 Rich, " Concert Version," C16. 27 Europeans have been rather more ready to accept this association than Americans. Sondheim's Sweeney Todd, for example, was selected as the inaugural production for the opening of the new Finnish National Opera in Helsinki in September 1998. 48 CARLSON For the original production of Follies in 1971, Boris Aronson designed a splendidly evocative setting of broken scaffolding and decaying elements that, after the surrealistic Follies sequence, almost literally fell apart, revealing glimpses of daylight outside the partially destroyed stage. The design for the 2001 revival, by Mark Thompson, developed, like the revival itself, an even more elaborate commentary on Sondheim's haunted house. To begin with, the revival took place not in a major Broadway musical theatre like the original Winter Garden but at the smaller and now far less fashionable Belasco Theatre. The very different venue was itself an indication of how Broadway had changed since 1971. The Winter Garden was in fact without a show in 2001, but the production that had just closed there was Cats after a run of eighteen years, and a more problematic or challenging work like Follies was no longer thinkable in such a venue. Although the far more modest Belasco was selected for financial reasons, the entire production being considerably scaled down from the original concept, the choice could not have been more appropriate. Although the Belasco did not disappear during the wholesale destruction of major Broadway theatres in the early 1960s (a photograph of Gloria Swanson standing in the ruins of the destroyed Roxy is said to have been an important part of the inspiration for Follies), it had nevertheless suffered considerably from Broadway's late twentieth-century decline. Too small for most musicals in an era when Broadway has not been hospitable to the spoken drama, the Belasco is today more often than not dark, a kind of ghost itself, and a fitting home for the most famous Broadway ghost, David Belasco himself, who lived in a sumptuous private apartment on the upper floor of the theatre (now the home of the Shubert Archives) and whose stout figure, in clerical collar, was often reported appearing in the theatre until the nudity in Oh! Calcutta! reportedly drove it away during the early 1970s. Oh! Calcutta! was not the only depredation suffered by Mr. Belasco's once elegant house. Later in the 1970s it hosted The Rocky Horror Show for which production the handsome lower boxes on either side of the house next to the stage were destroyed and the ones above them heavily damaged to provide a suitable decayed cabaret ambiance for this production. When Tony Randall's American Actors Theatre and other more respectable offerings returned, at least from time to time, during the 1980s and 1990s, this destruction was masked by heavy discreet curtains hung on either side of the auditorium. Designer Mark Thompson ripped all this masking away, revealing (like an ugly scar temporarily obscured by heavy makeup) the ravaged interior of the once elegant auditorium. Further, following the model of Chloe Oblensky, who in 1987 added new cracks and GHOSTS AND FOLLI ES 49 peeling walls to the already distressed Majestic Theatre (now the BAM Harvey) in Brooklyn to make it resemble Peter Brook's decaying Bouffes du Nord in Paris, and Paul Clay, who added further decay to the already decaying lobby of the Nederlander Theatre on Forty-First Street in 1996 to provide a suitable venue for Rent, Thompson painted new cracks and stains on the doors and walls of the auditorium, so that instead of watching the stage representation of a partly destroyed theatre as in Aronson's original design, audiences actually found themselves seated in what was apparently such a theatre. The same complex mixing of real and fictional ghosting already present in the script and in the physical bodies of the actors was thus ingeniously carried into the auditorium itself, so that the audience was literally united with the performers in the interplay of present and past, memory and imagination. A more powerful and comprehensive expression of theatre's continual occupation with ghosts, memory, and the inevitable passing of human bodies and human works would be difficult to find, and for the sadly brief run of Follies in 2001 the Belasco was surely New York's most haunted house. What could be more appropriate then than reports that the ghost of Belasco has recently been seen again in his theatre home, apparently once again able to inhabit - comfortably this beloved repository of theatrical memory. This essay owes much to the helpful advice and musical comedy expertise of Tom Herson, Bruce Kirle, Scott McMillin, and David Savran. My warmest thanks to them all. Journal of American Drama and Theatre 16, no. 1 (Winter 2004) INFEUCITIES OF FORM IN ZONA GALE'S MISS LULU BEIT ALAN ACKERMAN Besides the uttering of the words of the so-called performative, a good many other things have as a general rule to be right and to go right if we are to be said to have happily brought off our action. What these are we may hope to discover by looking at and classifying types of cases in which something goes wrong .... [T]he utterance is then, we may say, not indeed false but in general unhappy. And for this reason we call the doctrine of the things that can be and go wrong on the occasion of such utterances, the doctrine of the Infelicities. J. L. Austin, How to Do Things with Words Ina: Oh, I'm so flustrated! Zona Gale, Miss Lulu Bett A lulu is a "remarkable or wonderful person or thing; freq. used ironically" (OED). Whether a person or a thing, a lulu is feminine. A 1922 example of this American slang "of obscure origin," provided by the OED, captures the qualified wonderfulness, the irony, the feminization and reification all at work in these redundant syllables: "She's a lulu though!" A lulu is also potentially disturbing. The central figure of Frank Wedekind's infamous "Lulu" plays is introduced (in a 1914 translation) by an Animal Tamer as a "pretty beast." In 1920, an American "lulu beast" appeared in Zona Gale's novel and Pulitzer Prize-winning play, both titled Miss Lulu Bett. Gale's works are fully alive to the semantic complexity of the name. Yet, ironically, the remarkable work that they do with words may, and has, escaped notice because those words are also so ordinary and the realist conventions to which the play adheres dramaturgically had become, by 1920, themselves so unremarkable. Though admired as an effective combination of dramatic realism and feminist propaganda, Gale's play is far more radical formally than has been recognized. Even Gale's most incisive contemporaries, while recognizing the importance of her work, could not quite put their finger on how it achieved its startling effects. Joseph Wood Krutch, describing another of Gale's works, wrote of "an atmosphere at once apparently realistic and yet charged with a sense INFELICITIES OF FORM 51 of the ominously mysterious ... enmeshed in a network of words." Krutch assumes a realist aesthetic innocent of complex linguistic strategies. His and yet indicates the felt opposition between the "apparently realistic" and the "network of words."l But for Gale the language of dramatic realism is not transparent. She understood the drama in the context of both European and American modernism. "Even if there were no signs to point the way/' she wrote in 1921, shortly after the play opened, "the assumption might safely be that we are moving slowly, and uncertainly, toward a new form of play. New poetry, new painting, new music, new social conceptions, new drama."2 The title character of the novel, though living in a Midwestern hamlet, thinks about social gatherings "the way that a futurist receives the subjects of his art-forms not vague, but heightened to intolerable definiteness, acute colour, and always motion."3 Futurists, Gale wrote in a letter, recaptured "that which lies within some other area of form than that form to which we are accustomed."4 The forms that the novel Miss Lulu Bett continually and self- consciously represents are more often verbal than visual, and Gale's work represents aspects of both literary formalism and the structural approaches to language current in her day. This is not to suggest that Gale read Edward Sapir, I. A. Richards, or Victor Shklovsky but that her work can be understood to participate in contemporary discourse on the forms of art and spoken language, while maintaining its realistic milieu. The novel recontextualizes relationships between sound and meaning. A character might say "the unspellable 'm-m,' rising inflection, and the 'I see,' prolonging the verb as was expected of him/'s with the result that the "expected" linguistic object is marked as 1 Joseph Wood Krutch, "Zona Gale's New Manner," Nation, 11 December 1929, CCCIX. 2 Zona Gale, "Zona Gale Sees New Form of Play Coming; Goddard Believes Plays Progress," Globe and Commercial Advertiser, 8 January 1921, n.p. 3 Zona Gale, Miss Lulu Bett [novel] (New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1920), 37. 4 Qtd. in Harold P. Simonson, Zona Gale (New York: Twayne, 1962), 102. s Zona Gale, Miss Lulu Bett, in Plays By American Women: 1900-1930, ed. Judith E. Barlow (New York: Applause, 1981), 53. Subsequently in this article, page numbers for excerpts from the play will be indicated parenthetically. 52 ACKERMAN a phonetic event. And the realization of that analysis of sound and sense in performance is a vital feature of Gale's transposition of the novel to the stage. Nearly every reviewer of 1920-21 praises Gale for the extraordinarily faithful adaptation of her best-selling novel, but none considers the precise nature of that textual condensation or, to put it bluntly, what Gale does with words. In the novel Lulu's overbearing brother-in-law, who speaks "methodically" yet "puns organically," objects as his elder daughter attempts to describe a recently attended tea party; she heaps superlatives like confectionery. "'Grammar, grammar,' spoke Dwight Herbert Deacon. He was not sure what he meant, but the good fellow felt some violence had been done somewhere or other" (21). It is the task of the play to demonstrate the violence done in dialogue and to realize aspects of those linguistic forms in the voices of actors and the spaces they inhabit. In 1921 Edward Sapir wrote that "our present tendency to isolate phonetics and grammar as mutually irrelevant provinces is unfortunate," for "there are likely to be fundamental relations between them and their respective histories."6 Miss Lulu Bett represents precisely the absurdity of such an isolation, for here the doctrine of separate spheres is represented as one of separate linguistic provinces: Women occupy the phonetic and men the grammatical. The protagonist must learn to inhabit both, to reconcile or to form new relations between phonetics and grammar. Three years before the success of Gale's play, Victor Shklovsky had written that art ought to disrupt habitual ways of thinking. Like other formalist thinkers, he believed that the study of literature is fundamentally the study of language and that the distinguishing feature of literary language is its capacity to defamiliarize or make strange an object or action that is ordinarily perceived "automatically" or ignored.? Shklovsky and his American contemporary, I. A. Richards, thought further that the chief end of the defamiliarizing work of art is perception, ultimately a full awareness of the world. a The failure of so many critics to appreciate the play's formalism may be accounted for as a failure to recognize the realist-modernist dynamic. 6 Edward Sapir, Language: An Introduction to the Study of Speech (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1921), 183-84. 7 Victor Shklovsky, "Art as Technique," in Russian Formalist Criticism: Four Essays, trans. Lee Lemon and Marion J. Rees (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1965), 3-25. s I. A. Richards, "Science and Poetry," in Criticism: The Foundations of Modern Literary Judgment, ed. Mark Scharer, Josephine Miles, and Gordon McKenzie (1926; reprint, New York: Harcourt, Brace & Co., 1958), 513. INFELICITIES OF FORM 53 The exaggeration and destabilizing impact of Wedekind's "Lulu" plays epitomize the parodic and deeply conservative impulse of modernism to depict modernity as degeneration and culture as corrupt. Antonin Artaud also diagnosed a sickness that comes from "a rupture between things and words." He proscribes a hieroglyphic theater "not confined to a fixed language and form."9 Gale represents the danger of limiting subjects to a fixed language and form, but for her this danger results not from a rupture between words and things but on the contrary, from their identity. Gale's play does not represent culture as inherently problematic or esoteric; nor are discussions of language within her work explicitly accompanied by meta-textual references. Playfulness with language is naturalized in Miss Lulu Bett as, H. L. Mencken argued, it was broadly and unconsciously in contemporary American usage. Miss Lulu Bett renders a local situation that audiences recognized at once as ordinary and familiar. Yet, as Constance Rourke notes, it also bitterly assails "the tedious facility of thought and speech and action."lo Modernist drama, from Wedekind to Pirandello to Brecht and so on, foregrounds its representational apparatus, explicitly protesting the elision of theatricality on the realist stage. But, of course, it is possible to be both a modernist and a realist, to employ metaphor and metonymy simultaneously and in the service of each other. Lulu may or may not be really a beast, but, as a cook becomes known for her meat-pies, personal identities are naturally reduced to verbal mannerisms. Miss Lulu Bett has an interest in eliding aspects of its representational apparatus, allowing the audience to forget the constructedness of theatrical time and space in order to foreground more vital formal concerns. Gale's drama adheres to the model of the fourth-wall illusion and presents a subject that is far from shocking but is more subversive for being more common, directing attention to the building blocks of reality, language itself. The plot of the play Miss Lulu Bett is simply told. The thirty- three-year-old, unmarried Lulu has been, for fifteen years, a household drudge in the home of Ina and Dwight Deacon, her younger sister and overbearing brother-in-law. The 1922 silent film labels Lulu "a beast of burden." She is "caught in the toils of the commonplace." Eventually a chance for escape arrives in a visit by Dwight's brother, the world traveler, Ninian. He and Lulu flirt until one night, to pass the time before going to the theatre, they perform a mock-wedding service only 9 Antonin Artaud, The Theater and Its Double, trans. Mary Caroline Richards (New York: Grove Press, 1958), 12. 1o Constance Mayfield Rourke, "Transitions," The New Republic (1 August 1920), 316. 54 ACKERMAN to be informed that in the presence of Dwight, who "happens to be a magistrate," they are now officially married. Lulu departs with Ninian but returns in the next act when the marriage turns out to have been fraudulent. The play has more than one ending (each of which differs from that of the novel). In the first Lulu learns that Ninian, who was previously married, has found his wife again. She determines to leave the Deacon family, find work and see the world for herself. The revised ending kills off Ninian's first wife so that he can return and be reconciled to Lulu. The plot and the trope of the woman who longs for liberation from the oppressive domestic sphere are not enough to qualify Miss Lulu Bett as a landmark drama. The play bears a striking resemblance to another, staged ten years earlier by David Belasco, called The Lily in which an older daughter is compelled to work as housekeeper, serving her younger sister until her own passionate rebellion. By 1920, social polemics against the oppressiveness of the domestic sphere were far from radical. Gale's literary and dramatic work merits attention not because it stages a woman's liberation from a constrictive environment but because of the remarkable ways in which realist dramaturgy, middlebrow sensibility, feminist poetics, and modernist concerns with language coalesce. The play begins with an assault upon grammatical Midwestern-American English and never lets up in its critique of the forms of expression available to middle-class women and men and the inherently gendered quality of those forms. Without properly understanding such experimentalism, it is difficult to see how certain sections of dialogue can make sense at all. The first scene sets the stage with an abruptly farcical exchange that indicates that the superficially petty members of the Deacon family are engaged in a hostile contest over language itself. Lulu's niece, Monona Deacon, is the baby of the family, but she continually asserts an awareness of her own agency that might mark a far older person. Her linguistic clowning has a sharp edge and should evoke other important examples of baby talk in popular and high culture of the 1920s, from Fanny Brice's Baby Snooks to Tristan Tzara's Dada. In the novel, Monona injects, into a moment of family silence, a " loud 'Num, num, num-my-num,' as if she were the burden of an Elizabethan lyric."ll Unlike drab aunt Lulu, she is a festive if, paradoxically, humorless character. She challenges and often successfully inverts normative social structures and patterns of discourse. Her utterances, though less communicative than aesthetic, are intended to have a social impact and so extend far beyond the typical child's glossolalia. In the novel, she is described as "using a ridiculous perversion of words, scarcely articulate, then in vogue in her 11 Gale, Miss Lulu Bett [novel], 11. INFELICITIES OF FORM 55 group."12 When Lulu asks her in the second act of the play why she provokes her parents with strings of apparently insensitive questions, telling her, "you mustn't talk so," she replies honestly: "0, I like to get them going" (101) . Monona's nonsense is more prominent and powerful on stage than it is in the novel in part because theatricality itself is considered by the characters to be potentially dangerous and wicked. In this respect Monona resembles the mischievous and "theatrical" Gertrude Stein, who expressed a similar impulse in The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas: "My sentences do get under their skin.''13 In the opening scene, both Monona's subversiveness and her complicity are signaled as she enters. Like Nora in A Doll House, she covertly indulges a forbidden appetite and then "hides a cookie in her frock.'' Monona will give way to Lulu, who makes the cookies, as the Nora figure in this drama; each of the female characters is factored in the larger story of a woman's need for autonomy and, specifically, in the need for a new form of self-expression. But Miss Lulu Bettis less a reworking of A Doll House than, like Noel Coward's Easy Virtue (launched in New York in 1925), both an homage to and a send-up of the discussion plays of the nineteenth century that centered on fallen women and neglectful mothers. Monona continually calls attention to the sign system as a sign system, and yet her performance does not vitiate the realism of the play as a whole; rather it will heighten the audience's ultimate identification with the protagonist, Lulu herself. Yet Monona does play a critical role in Gale's project; her performance is not ends-directed. If (masculine) forms are "heightened to intolerable definiteness," Monona represents the other, perhaps dialectical, aspect of Gale's definition of futurism, the "always motion.'' After gobbling her snack, Monona begins a "terrible little chant on miscellaneous notes" that will stand in opposition to a "masculine" language often identified by its causal and linear structure. For instance, after her mother tells her not to "stand listening to older people" but to "run around and play," Monona performs a reductio ad absurdam that literalizes her mother's sentence (legal pun intended). Monona "runs in a swift circle and returns to her attitude" (95). In a later scene, upon Monona's singing the "terrible little chant," as it is always called, her twit of a father, Dwight, responds forcefully, building to a "male" climax: "Softly, softly, softly, SOFTLY!" (92). The line is a paradoxical indication that form is at least as important as content. The common sense of the word softly, with its connotations of 12 Ibid., 48. 13 Gertrude Stein, Selected Writings of Gertrude Stein (New York: Vintage Books, 1990), 61, 66. 56 ACKERMAN detumescence and femininity/ in this line is in tension with its arrangement (repetition) and mode of delivery (building to an exclamation). A central feminist critique of conventional dramatic form (exposition-complication-climax-denouement), here represented in the microcosm of a single sentence, is that it represents a "male bodily experience."14 In this play the structures of individual utterances are incorporated into larger thematic and formal concerns. The hapless suitor Cornish, cannot finish a sentence or ejaculates prematurely. As the play opens, then, Monona is consuming sweets surreptitiously/ already a disruptive presence, even before Dwight enters and attempts to assert his authority as a father. In this context 1 Monona's first line C'I ain't a baby.'') establishes the play's theme/ for it is a descriptive statement/ an attempt at self-naming, but it is also a negation (anti-nominative) and slang (subverting standard English) that cannot be understood outside of the particular context in which it is uttered. And it provokes a bizarre response from her father. Monona draws attention to the construction of meaning through difference/ and the overdetermined language of this scene indicates that the most fundamental signs of identity, pronouns and names, are rooted in oppositional structures. Dwight: What! You don't mean you're in time for supper, baby? Monona: I ain't a baby. Dwight: Ain't. Ain't. Ain't. Monona: Well, I ain't. Dwight: We shall have to take you in hand, mama and I. We shall-have-to-take you in hand. Monona: I ain't such a bad girl Dwight: Ain't. Ain't. Ain't. (89) Monona names herself in a way that Dwight does not actually contradict, but she also defines herself in the negative as a direct response to Dwight's initial naming of her. The opening scene immediately introduces a central theme indicated in the title itself, the potential violence of naming and the problem of resisting the force of one's own name. As Judith Butler notes, "the name wields a linguistic power of constitution in ways that are indifferent to the one who bears 14 Patricia R. Schroeder/ The Feminist Possibilities of Dramatic Realism (Madison, NJ: Associated University Press, 1996), 22. INFELICITIES OF FORM 57 the name."ts Every character already has a "proper" name, yet all remain vulnerable to the action of naming or having their identities re- constituted by others in language. Monona's name suggests the monodic or single melodic line. She does not introduce variety or alternative forms of expression. And though he hears and does not contradict her, it is evident that Dwight does not take her seriously, for he parodies precisely the negation (ain't) that is her own by claiming it so strenuously for himself (the nominative "baby" was his to begin with). The opening dialogue between Dwight and Monona sets up a fundamental problem that the play will explore: the vital roles played both by the circumstances in which an utterance is made and by the agreement and seriousness of a listener to grant any form of self- articulation the status of objective validity. Another remarkable feature in Dwight's first exchange with Monona is that, far from compelling her to speak his language, he ends up speaking hers. He adopts not only her word (the ungrammatical ain't) but also the a-logical repetition of a word in a form that resembles her opening chant. Yet this playful disruption, this reductio or re-forming, only reinforces the existing order when Dwight reasserts his prerogative in linguistically formal terms. For, asserting a different kind of syntax, Dwight repeats the authoritarian, "We shall have to take you in hand," with a heavily enunciated, "We shall-have-to-take- you in hand." Each word is linked in the text as if to emphasize the diagrammatic subject-verb-object structure, with Dwight as subject and Monona as object. The overdetermined enunciation is fueled by Dwight's self-righteous vindictiveness and his desire to assert authority. His heavy articulation of a sentence in which he is the subject and Monona the object indicates not only that control over language is a form of power but also that every utterance is inherently constructed and, thus, freighted with a context. "Any child thirteen years old properly taught can by that time have learned everything there is to learn about English grammar," writes Stein. "So why make a fuss about it. However one does."t6 That fuss not only defines characters and relationships in Gale's play, but, more important, the plot will be generated from just such a fuss. When Dwight's wife Ina enters, he absolves her with another highly formal line of a crime she did not commit. "Have I kept you waiting?" she asks. The answer is simply no, but Dwight replies with more self-reflexive grammar. "Bear and forbear. Bear and forbear," he 1s Judith Butler, Excitable Speech: A Politics of the Performative (New York: Routledge, 1997), 31. 16 Stein, 249. 58 ACKERMAN says resignedly, indicating on one level, again in form and content, that he must continually carry the burden of these women and yet refrain from or avoid responding in kind. Both assumptions prove to be false. It is rather the women and, we soon discover, Lulu in particular who must perpetually bear and forebear the burden of Dwight's authority. By bemoaning his plight with "bear and forebear," Dwight dramatically foregoes forbearance entirely (or utter-ly). The lines are not only ambiguous in their subject-object orientation, but also they do exactly the opposite of what they appear to claim (an instance of Austin's infelicities) . Moreover, though he seems to imply that he must bear and forebear continually, the form of the sentence makes that meaning ambiguous, for though ostensibly referring to himself, the absent subject is "you." Gale's playfulness with grammar questions binary oppositions of self/other, speech/writing, passivity/activity. The difficulty of situating Dwight's line within a clear set of referents indicates the ideological importance of the repetition. The verb "to bear" has not just metaphorical but also semantic significance, for words bear meaning, or explaining. To bear is also to be accountable for. And while men can bear a burden or be a forbear (ancestor), only women can bear children. The defamiliarizing of the word through repetition and by drawing attention to power of its prefix is a technique that Gale employs commonly. Here, Dwight's emphasis on bearing and forbearing establishes a range of thematic concerns in the play specifically related to language itself: Who is active, and who is passive? Who is the subject? Who is the object? And how is one to limit the range of possible referents, let alone the ideological baggage, with which language comes loaded? When Lulu first enters, a few lines later, she is bearing a plate of muffins, and she will be defined throughout the play by her cooking, one of the few forms of (specifically female) making (also poetics) open to her, yet she is told, paradoxically, that she cannot "work." In an important sense, it is absolutely true that Lulu is unable or, at least, not allowed to work, if we accept Hannah Arendt's distinction between labor (the activity that corresponds to biological process) and work (the activity that corresponds to the unnaturalness of human existence). To labor, Arendt writes, "is to be enslaved by necessity."17 When the lovable but inarticulate piano salesman Cornish shows up at the Deacon home, he refers to the pleasure of Lulu's company on a previous evening with a reference that equates Lulu with her cooking: "Don't you think I 'd remember that meat pie?" (95) . Cornish is superficially benign, but, when he manages to complete a sentence, he offers the same old oppressive language. He is, as Dwight notes 17 Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1958), 83. INFELICITIES OF FORM 59 approvingly, "studying law evenings" (96). (Dwight is both a magistrate and a dentist!) Cornish, itself the name of a language, also may be a pun on the newly (in 1920) colloquial term "corny" to signify the "tiresomely or ridiculously old-fashioned or sentimental; hackneyed, [or] trite" (OED). His insensitive if solicitous comment understandably provokes the lonely Lulu, for apparently it was not her conversation that stuck in his mind. Cornish himself manifests embarrassment over the gaffe with an aside (''What the dickens did I say that for?''), yet conversation with a woman is regarded to have about as much lasting value as what she offers for dinner. And Cornish's remark, after Lulu leaves the room, leads to an extraordinary dialogue in which food and language are literally and absurdly conflated. Dwight: A most exemplary woman is Lulu. Ina: That's eggsemplary, Dwightie. Dwight: My darling little dictionary. (95-96) Making words and making meat pies have more in common than one might expect. Ina's malapropisms throughout the play indicate how little author-ity she really has. She later complains, "Nobody listens to me. Nobody" (108). Dwight accuses Ina of exaggeration, a tendency that he regards as bad for Monona (117), but her putative tendency to exaggerate indicates the constricting limits of the language. Moreover, the fact that Dwight himself is guilty of exaggeration indicates that he is limited by the same discursive/ideological forms. Yet Ina's quibbles about language, which are almost entirely phonological and not obviously semantic ("eggsemplary" for "exemplary"; "sheff'' for "chef''), reveal the complicity of conventional women in perpetuating the roles that subjugate them. She is full of words that are not of the standard lexicon. And, like a dictionary, she is inconsequential (asyntactic), not one who constructs sentences but a tool for those who do. References to texts (such as dictionaries) ultimately contribute to the play's concern with the phenomenology of language and the realization of social forms in linguistic performance. The marriage that is comedy's most conventional element and standard conclusion is the central event of this play, occurring at the end of the first act, and it provides the basis for a sustained discussion of the power of spoken language and the constitutive features of the speech event. Theatre, marriage, and conventional middle-class discourse are the deeply interconnected strands of the play. Ina and Dwight's conventionally rebellious elder daughter, Diana, is a coquette, deeply attracted to the commercial theatre. Diana's love of language resembles her mother's. She takes pleasure in words that only reinforce her subservient status. 60 ACKERMAN Urging her boyfriend to make something of himself, she relishes an inherited ideological and verbal structure. Bobby: Di, when you said that it sounded just like a- a, you know. Di: Like what? Bobby: Like a wife. Gee, what a word that is! Di: Isn't it? It's ever so much more exciting word [sic] than husband. (100) Diana has a predilection for certain forms, habits of thought that originate outside herself, and she internalizes these already authored texts. When her elopement with Bobby falls apart in the end she laments, "You're about as much like a man in a story as-as papa is" (137). She is excited by a title (wife) whose "objectivity" she does not question; ready-made linguistic and narrative structures are the preconditions of her reality. Diana's seemingly subversive modes of discourse (teasing and lying) are reactive and not creative. She does not work with language. When she makes fun of Bobby in front of her friends it is only to stop from being teased herself: "I had to make them stop [teasing] so I teased you. I never wanted to" (99) . Her "love" is utterly banal. The same cannot be said of Lulu, who is deeply suspicious of the metaphorical content of language because she has a sense that language is powerful and can be not only misused but also abused. For example, Uncle Ninian waxes poetic to the gullible Monona: "Some day I'm going to melt a diamond and eat it. Then you sparkle all over in the dark, ever after. I'm going to plant one too, some day. Then you can grow a diamond vine." Lulu cuts him off: "Don't do that .. . To her. That's lying" (105). Ninian replies that it's "just drama." But Lulu believes, at this point, that truth exists apart from interpretation. What she will come to learn is that life is drama and that truth is contingent. Lulu's ultimate recognition and reversal will be accomplished by going to another space, gaining another perspective, and assuming another form of expression. Ninian, the traveler and outsider, will teach Lulu the necessity of achieving a personal poetics and, with it, the possibility of realizing herself as a character. In this sense, though without breaking the illusion of the fourth wall, Lulu Bett anticipates Pirandello's Six Characters in Search of an Author, which Brock Pemberton, the director of Gale's play, directed in New York in 1922. But even at first Lulu appears to recognize the constructed nature of identity, questioning language that other family members take for granted. Unlike Diana, Lulu challenges the ideological basis of standard titles of address. She rebukes Ninian for addressing her as "Mrs." INFELICITIES OF FORM Lulu: ... What did you call me then? Ninian: Mrs. Bett-isn't it? Every one says just Lulu, but I took it for granted .... Well, now-is it Mrs.? Or Miss Lulu Bett? lulu: It's Miss . ... From choice. Ninian: You bet! Oh, you bet! Never doubted that. Lulu: What kind of a Mr. are you? Ninian: Never give myself away. Say, by George, I never thought of that before. There's no telling whether a man's married or not, by his name. (102) 61 Ninian, Dwight's older brother, takes Lulu's title for granted. To do so is to deprive her of the capacity for self-definition, as she plainly asserts. But it is not clear to what "choice" Lulu refers. Presumably she means the choice not to marry, but the plain meaning of the line is that the choice is to be called "Miss." Yet the idea that Lulu chooses her title or name is playfully deconstructed, as Ninian appropriates her name (homonymically) in the next line with a pun that can also be read as naming: "You bet!" So after asserting her choice of her own name, Lulu is confronted with a man who humorously yet forcefully asserts what is heard as "You Bett!" And the fact that names determine identities is overtly contextualized here in the history of sexual double standards, a staple topic of realist dramas. Ninian, whose own name may be ironic (ninny is the familiar form of innocent, and a "ninny" is a simpleton), realizes that his title (Mr.) will not "give him away," just as "husband" is less "exciting" than "wife." Indeed "Mr." does not give him away, and his ambiguous marital status is the crux of the play's action, for, explicitly and deceptively, he aims to turn Lulu from Miss to Mrs. Men are the namers and it is in their ability to name, to define, to turn language into action, that their power finally resides. And in the absence of her father, it is Lulu's title (Miss) and her maiden name that may be said, in another sense, to give her away, to authorize her to be married. Insofar as conventional dramatic speech and Dwight's pompous logocentrism are reduced to absurdity in this farce, writing becomes an especially contested site, for the written text signifies the absence of the author. Miss Lulu Bett features the crucial letter containing the information that will resolve the central conflict. Dwight, who denies women access to important and literally powerful forms of spoken discourse (e.g., he complains about women "generalizing''), is even more adamant about forbidding women access to his mail. While the final conflict over a significant letter will, in fact, prove anticlimactic, Gale does all she can to prepare the audience for a conventional climax. In the first act, Ina and Lulu both misplace a 62 ACKERMAN letter for Dwight. The letter will introduce what proves to be the play's complication, the visit of the outsider, Dwight's brother Ninian. The pleasure and power in a letter (its relation climax) have specifically phallic connotations. Yet Dwight's inability to police access to the letter, his mail/male, will be a key to the unraveling of both his authority and the plot. It is the spoken word through which the play dramatizes the power of men to shape the experience of women. Ninian follows his letter in person in Act 1, and it is his speech, not his writing, that provides the plot's complication. In what appears to be a paradigmatic performative utterance, he and Lulu are married (or seem to be) before they realize it. It is now commonly understood that performatives do not describe an event; they enact or make a reality. "The act of marrying," J. L. Austin famously writes, may best "be described as saying certain words, rather than as performing a different, inward and spiritual, action of which these words are merely the outward and audible sign."tB Spoken language has transformational power. It is the economical presentation of this crucial theme, the semantic function of the phonological by virtue of the particularity of its pronunciation, that renders the play of much more lasting value than the novel. The central section of dialogue must be quoted at length: Dwight: Got to amuse ourselves somehow. They'll begin to read the funeral service over us. Ninian: Why not the wedding service? Dwight: Ha, ha, ha! Ninian: I shouldn't object. Should you, Miss Lulu? Lulu: 1-1 don't know it so I can't say it. Ninian: I can say it. Dwight: Where'd you learn it? Ninian: Goes like this: I, Ninian, take thee, Lulu, to be my wedded wife. Dwight: Lulu, don't dare say that. Ninian: Show him, Miss Lulu. Lulu: I, Lulu take thee, Ninian, to be my wedded husband. Ninian: You will? Lulu: I will. There-1 guess I can join in like the rest of you. Ninian: And I will. There, by Jove! Have we ts J. L. Austin, How to Do Things with Words, ed. J. 0. Urmson and Marina Sbisa (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1962), 13. INFELICITIES OF FORM entertained the company, or haven't we? Ina: Oh, honestly-! don't think you ought to-holy things so-what's the matter, Dwightie? Dwight: Say, by George, you know, a civil wedding is binding in this state. Ninian: A civil wedding-oh, well- Dwight: But I happen to be a magistrate. (113) 63 Ninian confuses a performance with a performative, and, though no one realizes it at first, there has been a misinvocation of the procedure of marriage. Theatrical and social forms are conflated in part "to entertain the company." The action is performed because of a trip to the theater. The ritual is initiated when Dwight demands some sort of amusement as they wait to depart because he is afraid that in the meantime his wife will "make a scene.'' The slippage between theatrical and domestic life, however, quickly assumes "real" importance. Lulu and Ninian have not, in fact, been married, but an act has been performed, because, as Austin remarks, "Despite the name, you do not when bigamous marry twice.'' However, " 'without effect' does not here mean ' without consequences, results, effects.' " 19 And the performance of this doubly fictional (metatheatrical) marriage will precipitate Lulu into another world in several senses. She will for a time be propelled both out of Dwight's orbit and, equally important, off the stage. Gale, like Austin, recognizes that "truth" is theatrical, but, for that very reason, individuals must act responsibly, i.e., not exploit the faith of their listeners. To elide theatricality, to depend on the willing suspension of disbelief of one's interlocutors is to exercise social power. The problem is not in social power per se; it is in denying certain persons access to that power. Ninian, the fabulist, is dangerous, but it is also from Ninian that Lulu learns her most important lessons. Ultimately the discovery of "facts," such as the "truth" about Ninian's prior marriage, which characters, including Lulu, insist are crucial, turn out to be largely unimportant in themselves as Lulu agrees to conceal them from the community. The self- consciousness of Gale's play about performing actions with words (to joke, to scold, to pray, to prove, to lay down the law, to curse) signifies how the truth of utterances may be constituted through the temporal process of uptake. Several levels or contexts of performance complicate the marriage between Lulu and Ninian, an event that 19 Ibid., 17. 64 ACKERMAN happens so unexpectedly that the participants themselves are taken by surprise. "He isn't in earnest," Lulu says. "I am in earnest," Ninian replies, "hope to die" (114). Ninian's earnestness is theatrical. Ninian already has defended lying as a form of "drama" (105). Yet in its advocacy of a self-conscious realism, the play shows how the power of Ninian's kind of artist/liar depends on the suspension of disbelief and hence the disempowerment of his interlocutor. In this critique of the liar in conjunction with the hasty wedding ceremony, Gale demonstrates not that there is a single or fixed form of truth but, as she says in an article, that "new conventions immediately arise, no less shackling than the old."20 The idea that truth is performative can be both liberating and dangerous. In this concern for the damage that one can do with words, Gale's formalist and reformist impulses combine, leading her to demand what might otherwise seem paradoxical : "new forms" and "fundamental honesty."2t In the forward to her collection Old-Fashioned Tales (1919), Gale herself had distinguished between two forms of expression: "that which says something" and that which " does not say anything, it does something to you." The latter is "essentially an utterance, a mode of activity, a path for energy."22 Gale's play may be suggesting that what for Austin seems an " infelicity" is for feminine discourse the very opposite-that balanced speech and listening must accommodate the non-ends-directed utterances, rather than mourning them as infelicities. In many ways Ninian is a benign alternative to Dwight, and Lulu learns important lessons from Ninian. But newly learned words will not free Lulu. And four particular responses to the apparent marriage are important. Ninian exclaims, when it looks as if they really have been hitched, "Well, I'll be dished." It is an odd line that reiterates the food motif at the moment of theatrical and verbal consummation. As it happens, the marriage will not stand the test of time but is simply the confectionery of the evening. Second, Lulu, referring to the ceremony (such as it is), exclaims, "I ought not to have done this. Well, of course, I didn't do it-" indicating not only her self-effacing modesty but also a profound intuition that an action has not been performed if the words have not all been said and received seriously. And the lack of seriousness implied by Lulu is made explicit by her blunt mother, who says, "This is what comes of going to the theater," a remark that refers not only back to this particular farce but also to 2o Gale, " New Form of Play Coming," n.p. 21 Ibid. 22 Zona Gale, Old-Fashioned Tales (New York: D. Appleton- Century Company, 1933), vii-viii. INFELICITIES OF FORM 65 the commercial theatre in general. Fourth, and finally, Ina blurts out, as they all head off for the train to the city and the theatre, "Oh, I'm so flustrated!" And that typically irrelevant outburst is, in fact, of central significance to the scene and the play as a whole. Ina is making her scene, responding to the performance of a marriage ceremony, the constrictions of the institution of marriage, her own unsatisfying marriage, and in conjunction with all of the above, the inability of conventional English to allow her adequate expression of her experience. Ninian knows the wedding service because he has performed it before. After a month of married life, Lulu returns to the Deacon home, having learned not only that Ninian was previously married but also, and more important, that his first wife may still be living, making him a bigamist. Terrified that the family honor will be tainted when rumors begin to spread, Dwight demands that the "business" be kept secret, though Lulu, concerned that she will be regarded as a bad wife, insists on telling the "truth." This insistence provokes Dwight to question just what the "truth" is, and he demands "proofs": Dwight: ... Did he give you any proofs? Lulu: Proofs? Dwight: Letters-documents of any sort? Any sort of assurance that he was speaking the truth. Lulu: Why-no. Proofs-no. He told me. Dwight: He told you . . .. I may as well tell you that I myself have no idea that Ninian told you the truth ... (123) In the absence of the Truth, figured as the Letter, authority legislates silence, but the key to Lulu's reversal and recognition is the discovery of discursive multiplicity. She has traveled to another region with Ninian, specifically to Atlanta. And from Southern ladies she learned both a new grammar and a phonetics. She has heard another dialect and learned that there are varieties of spoken language or acceptable ways of varying from a generally recognized standard. Gale published the two endings to the play together. But both endings feature the same key exchange between the two sisters, Lulu and Ina. Lulu: How good of you to miss me! Ina: Lulu, you don't act like yourself. Lulu: That's the way I heard the women talk in Savannah, Georgia. "So good of you to miss me." (151) It is clear to all, not least to Ina, that speech is a form of action. And 66 ACKERMAN this way of talking could only have come from elsewhere, another province of language. Language is fundamental to the ontology of the self, and if there is no truth that is not circumscribed by cultural practices, the most fundamental of which is language, there is also no self outside of language. One is always already represe.nted. Butler has written that in being named one is constituted by a discourse, "but at a distance from oneself." To speak in a new way is to assume a new identity position. In the revised, more sentimental and conservative ending, in which Ninian returns, Lulu forgives, and they live happily ever after, Mama Bett moralizes: "Plain talk won't hurt nobody around here." But Mrs. Bett's plain talk deconstructs not only in the larger context of the play but also in its own grammar. Of course, the line is to be read colloquially to say that plain talk is good for everybody, for the non- standard grammar, or this particular form of the double negative, is itself a sign of plain talk. But Mrs. Bett has hardly been a practitioner of plain talk herself in the rest of the play. And the literal meaning of the sentence, with double negative, is that plain talk will hurt somebody. Or perhaps there is no such thing as "plain talk." Yet in both endings the curtain falls with Lulu still on stage, implicitly compromised by the oppressive theatrical milieu that she claims to want to escape. Lulu's subjectivity does not reside in Lulu but obscurely in the diverse ways in which her utterances are received by listeners, onstage and off. Form is also thematized in the publication of multiple endings and appreciation of that aspect of the play may lead to a re-reading of the play's two endings. Gale's substitution of a second ending shortly after the play's premiere need not be read simply as evidence that she " capitulated to popular tastes and betrayed her earlier intentions,"23 though the exigencies of the popular theatre doubtlessly played a role in that decision. But it is possible to see the writing and publication of two endings as perfectly consistent with the play's deep preoccupation with form itself. As we have seen, closure-as in a completed sentence-is associated with masculine power. In her 1921 article advocating new forms of plays and defending her own, Gale concluded, "Perhaps the new drama is going to face the truth that there is no 'ending,' happy or unhappy, anywhere in living. Perhaps it will be free to use its episodes so long as they convince, without labelling [sic] them.''24 The ability to imagine diverse solutions to particular problems is beyond the ken of anyone who has accepted the 23 Judith E. Barlow, introduction to Plays by American Women, xxiv. 24 Gale, "New Form of Play Coming," n.p. INFELICITIES OF FORM 67 limitation of the Deacon family's worldview. In the opening stage directions, those limitations are named in historical or socioeconomic terms: The time is "the present." Place is "the middle class." Within those constraints even the seemingly subversive Monona is bound by the ecriture-feminine model of expression. Gale, unlike the Gertude Stein of, say, Tender Buttons or Stein's own 1922 play, Ladies Voices, is, paradoxically, radically practical. And ultimately Lulu's sensible mixing and accommodating of discourses suggests a parallel with Gale's own market-sensible writing of the second ending. Gale's play(s) is/are radical not only because it/they privilege(s) a kind of feminine expression but also because the openness to revision acknowledges producing it/them in audience-accessible form. A year after Gale won the Pulitzer Prize for drama, Eugene O'Neill won it for Anna Christie, yet O'Neill too found himself struggling to justify a "seemingly facile happy ending."2s Unlike Gale, however, O'Neill did not change the ending of his play. Anna may escape the fate of the nineteenth-century "fallen" woman. But, because she lacks self- consciousness, she falls into prescribed social and theatrical forms at crucial moments. The only ways in which she can imagine herself are derived from cultural forms that are deeply inscribed by an ideology of gender and, in particular, one that links women to affect not intellect. Responding to what critics described as an unsatisfying ending, O'Neill wrote: "I have a conviction that with dumb people of her sort, unable to voice strong, strange feelings, the emotions can find outlet only through the language and gestures of the heroics in the novels and movies they are familiar with-that is, that in moments of great stress life copies melodrama."26 The dumb gestures of melodrama frequently bring O'Neill's plays into tension with the detailed social realities that he admires in the media of movies and books. But Miss Lulu Bett, the drama unlike the silent film, never enters the domain of melodrama. Lulu may begin as one of O'Neill's sort of dumb people but silence does not express her. The achievement of her character is to discover not a transcendent voice of her own but a world of voices. And unlike O'Neill's play, in which different accents are sounded by the Swedish Chris Christopherson, the Irish Mat Burke, and the Midwestern Anna, or Wedekind's in which Lulu speaks German, French, and English, Gale's play questions modes of discourse. Gale has written, as her 2s Brenda Murphy, American Realism and American Drama, 1880-1940 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 118. 26 Isaac Goldberg, The Theatre of George Jean Nathan (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1926), 154. 68 ACKERMAN subtitle suggests, "An American Comedy of Manners." At the end of the original third act, all the characters assemble on stage, demanding an explanation of Lulu's extraordinary behavior in the overdetermined terms of spoken language itself. "What ridiculous talk is this?" Dwight asks rhetorically. Lulu responds that she is going "to work at I don't know what. But I'm going from choice!" The freedom to work, or the very question of what constitutes work, is the play's ultimate, loaded, yet ambiguous motif, an idea connected fundamentally to talk. "If I don't talk, how'll they know I'm there" (149), Monona demands of her grandmother in the penultimate scene, after being shushed. In the end, it is not speaking alone which guarantees one the full status of human being. Unlike making cakes or babies, making a reality requires an awareness of the action of making itself and, specifically, of the binary oppositions of language: sound/sense, speaker/listener, active/passive, subject/object. Only upon recognizing the formal quality of language can one appreciate the structure and constructedness of a whole reality. Miss Lulu Bett does not suggest that one reality may be as good as any other but that each person must construct through what she says, and in choosing to whom she says it, the reality that will be the best for her. Journal of American Drama and Theatre 16, no. 1 (Winter 2004) "STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER!-BY FORCE!": BLANCHE AND THE EVOLUTION OF A RAPE JOHNS. BAK Arise and fly The reeling Faun, the sensual feast; Move upward, working out the beast, and let the ape and tiger die. Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam, CXVII.25-28 69 Despite its successful run on Broadway, A Streetcar Named Desire was not immediately optioned, as most profitable Broadway plays were, by any of the Hollywood studios.l Hollywood had never before attempted a film of such an adult nature and failed to see how Streetcar could be "retooled into a family movie," packaged, that is, for a mass audience. 2 As R. Barton Palmer explains, With its revelation and dramatization of sexual misconduct, its delineation of a horrifying descent into madness, its portrayal of women driven and even controlled by desire, the play, in fact, offered themes that could not be accommodated to any Hollywood schema.3 When Streetcar was finally optioned by Warner Brothers, Williams was thus not entirely surprised by the demand for scriptural changes that 1 A shorter version of this article first appeared in a collection of essays prepared for French students taking the CAPES and Agregation exam. 2 Gene D. Phillips, The Films of Tennessee Williams (Phi ladelphia: Art Alliance, 1980), 81. See also his "Blanche's Phantom Husband: Homosexuality on Stage and Screen," Louisiana Literature 14, no. 2 (Fall 1997) : 36-47. 3 R. Barton Palmer, "Hollywood in Crisis: Tennessee Williams and the Evolution of the Adult Film," The Cambridge Companion to Tennessee Williams, ed. Matthew C. Roudane (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 214. 70 BAK were to become, as Nancy Tischler describes, "the crux of the conflict involving numerous individuals and organizations, from the producers, directors, and advisers to the Hays office and the Roman Catholic Church."4 Whereas the theatre venue-where Streetcar proved its staying power-had already contained the seeds of its own "censorship" through the high cost and limited availability of tickets, the cinema, which was more democratic by nature, had to rely on less economic forces to police its moral character. The Production Code of the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA), then headed by Joseph Breen, exercised that force by demanding that Williams and Kazan expurgate from the film version "the homosexuality of Blanche's late husband, her evidently aggressive sexual appetite, and Stanley's violent rape of his wife's sister."s This history of Streetcar's censorship has been well documented, with Tischler, Palmer, and Phillips among others describing in various ways how Williams and Kazan effectuated Breen's demands in altering the play for the screen, particularly the rape scene. As their research has shown, Williams, all too familiar with the economics of Hollywood morality (he had, after all, been recently "sold" there by his agent Audrey Wood for $250 a week in April 1943), was ready to accept some of the necessary changes to the script and therefore did little to derail efforts to remove references to homosexuality (these could be reinserted anyway through a queerly encoded language of private allusions and metaphors) or to keep Stanley from being punished for his act by the film's end, which he is when Stella apparently leaves him.6 Williams refused, however, to budge on the rape. In his letter to Breen, for example, Williams explained his reasons for maintaining the integrity of the climactic rape 4 Nancy Tischler, "'Tiger-Tiger!': Blanche's Rape on Screen," Magical Muse: Millennia/ Essays on Tennessee Williams, ed. Ralph F. Voss (Tuscaloosa and London: University of Alabama Press, 2002), 52. Tischler devotes her entire essay to precisely the problems of the rape scene on film, comparing it first to its "conjugal rape scene" (54) predecessor in the 1939 film Gone with the Wind, then providing more detailed information about the behind the scenes maneuvering to bypass the Hays office and the Production Code censors, including an analysis of playwright Lillian Hellman's requisitioned revisions of the film's script. s Palmer, in Roudane, 215. 6 Stella leaves Stanley at the end of the 1951 film version, fleeing to Eunice's flat as she had done the night of the poker party. Yet in Streetcar's 1994 director's cut Kazan restored the Production Code's expurgated footage of the original ending, which intimates that Stella's flight might again be short lived. STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER 71 scene, which, if excised, would decenter Streetcar not only dramatically but, more importantly, thematically. "The rape of Blanche by Stanley is a pivotal, integral truth in the play, without which the play loses its meaning . ... "7 To soften it under censorship laws, then, would be to diminish, if not lose entirely, Streetcars and Williams's souls, for as Palmer posits, "the rape was the plot's central event"- remove it and "the story, and the characters whose development it traced, would no longer make any coherent sense.''8 None of these critics, however, has convincingly treated the reasons why Williams felt the rape was so essential to the film in the first place. There were, to be sure, potentially dozens of ways Williams and Kazan could have had Stanley exact his vengeance on Blanche in the film, dozens of ways they could have articulated Blanche's tragic suffering at the hands of her executioner. Given that Williams had fought less over removing references to Allen Grey's homosexuality, and with it much of the evidence of Blanche's guilt, it would appear that he was less concerned with getting across to his film audience why Blanche was in New Orleans than he was with what had forced her to leave. So what was it about the rape that Williams felt could not be compromised?9 The answer, I believe, lies more in Blanche than it does in Stanley, and more in Williams's esoteric understanding of the word "rape" than in his audience's collectivist definition of it. We (readers, 7 Qtd. in Phillips, 82. a Palmer, in Roudane, 218. 9 Nearly half a century's academic criticism on Streetcar has repeatedly asked this question, which often led to two other perennial questions: with whom, then, are we to sympathize at the end, and, because this question is so difficult to answer, is the resultant ambiguity an artistic failure on Williams's part? The majority of scholarship on Streetcar addresses one question, the other, or both. Simply put, Streetcar criticism had become bifurcated between those who saw Streetcar as a social play about the struggle between Blanche and Stanley, and those who saw it as a psychological play about Blanche's sole contention with herself. In terms of the social reading of the play, critics have felt that the rape was a metaphor of the North's ravenous assault on Southern agrarianism during Reconstruction, Stanley, an obvious mouthpiece of the New South, destroying the Old South's false pretensions and literally fertilizing it with a new breed of carpetbagger mercantilism. For those reading Streetcar psychologically, the rape was the destructive culmination of all realistic social forces against the nonrepresentational imagination of one of Williams's famed fugitive kind. 72 BAK viewers, and critics alike) have perhaps focused too much on Stanley and the reasons behind his actions than we have on Blanche and why Williams felt her rape was inescapable.to One of the reasons behind this truth lies in our having been visually influenced by performance, particularly Branda's in Kazan's interpretation of the play as it moved from the ephemeral stage to eternal celluloid. As Gene Phillips posits, "When he finally assaults her in the play's climax ... , it is the action of a desperate man equipped with more brawn than brains to cope with a calculating creature who declared war on him when she first stepped across his threshold."ll Once the rape was acted out on stage or on screen by a real Stanley, it forever left the realm of the symbolic, which is what Williams had envisioned from the start, and irrevocably entered the mimetic. In other words, as Stanley passes from Williams's literary tool to the audience's dramatic antihero/antagonist, we are forced into either decriminalizing the rape (as Kazan had effectively done) or acknowledging its tragic consequences (which Harold Clurman, director of the road version of the play, had enacted) because we are naturally incapable or unwilling to recognize or accept any of the private, metaphysical intentions Williams might have attached to the heinous act. There exists, then, a continental divide between Williams's epistemology and our positivist/phenomenological readings of the rape, and to transcend the mimetic we would be obliged to read it in a way entirely unorthodox (if not simply dangerous) to social order and convention: as an act of symbolic liberation of a trapped spirit (represented by Williams's ubiquitous bird imagery) locked within the confines of a sexual body (his cat or tiger, in perpetual war with the bird). It is precisely this reading of Blanche's rape that I wish to undertake here. To understand fully the polemics of the rape in the film, however, necessitates our returning first to the manuscripts themselves, whose story testifies to the struggle Williams had first in understanding who Blanche was-the sexual predator or the spiritual victim-and then, once having found her, determining what to What, for instance, motivates him, since an objective correlative for his sexual impropriety was never established earlier in the play, and since (and more importantly) his wife was simultaneously giving birth to their child, of which he felt earnestly proud? n Though he does not wish to "justify Stanley's rape of his sister-in-law" but rather "to explain it" (73), Phillips in a significant way echoes what essentially Kazan himself had initiated more than half a century earlier. STANLEY MADE LOVE TO H ER 73 consequences that dialectic would generate in her (madness) and on those around her (social warfare). The complex evolution of Streetcar would prove the rape to be more a working through of one person's metaphysical debate than a climatic end to a dramatic pas de deux- less victim/aggressor and more warrior/facilitator, which is wholly the reason why Williams allowed no substitution when the play was adapted to the screen. This essay, then, examines how Williams arrived at the rape as the sole means of providing dramatic closure to his morality play, though, once chosen, moved the play irreparably from the symbolic toward the mimetic; a future essay will attempt to explain why Williams chose rape and how the play's potential message became distorted once the signifier left the page and found itself first on the stage and then on the screen.t2 "LOOKING FOR MRS. GOODBAR": BLANCHE IN THE EARLY MANUSCRIPTS When Williams began drafting scenarios that would eventually become Streetcar, there is little doubt that he was concerned with Blanche's thematic development before her dramatic one, for in his Memoirs Williams writes, Almost directly after Menagerie went into rehearsals I started upon a play whose first title was Blanche's Chair in the Moon. But I did only a single scene for it that winter of 1944-45 in Chicago. In that scene Blanche was in some steaming hot Southern town, sitting alone in a chair with the moonlight coming through a window on her, waiting for a beau who didn't show up. I stopped working on it because I became mysteriously depressed and debilitated and you know how hard it is to work in that condition.B That was not, research has since proven, Williams's first version of Streetcar or of Blanche. Several critics have in fact traced the evolution 12 This essay, entitled " A Streetcar Named Dies Irae: Williams and the Semiotics of Rape," is nearing completion. 13 Tennessee Williams, Memoirs (Garden City: Doubleday, 1975), 86. 74 BAK of Streetcar and Blanche from the one-act plays in the 1945 collection 27 Wagons Full of Cotton-which were written as early as 1941-three or four years prior to Williams's recollection-through to the manuscript drafts of Streetcar, which Williams had begun as early as 1944.14 While Vivienne Dickson argues that Streetcar developed through the manuscripts-with changes in locale, character name, and nationalities-from a romance to a tragedy,ts Deborah Burks posits that Williams created Blanche first but that the play did not find its strength until Williams had heard Brando read for the role, discovering for the first time a humanism in Stanley that would counter his antagonistic bestiality.t6 Despite their individual conclusions, both studies suggest that, while factually inaccurate concerning dates in his Memoirs, Williams was precise in his assessment of Streetcar's conception: Blanche drew the focus of his attention first, and Stanley second, with Williams inverting the story of Genesis in having his Adam created only to seduce Eve. Being more holistic in their approach to explaining the genesis of Streetcar, however, neither of these studies attempts to trace how Blanche was conceived or why Williams labored so intensively toward her inevitable rape, two ideas essential to comprehending the play's final moments. Williams was often, more consciously than not, a revisionist concerning facts about his own past, which (like many of his characters) he viewed in equal balance between pleasure and pain. Yet, while the facts may have changed, the truth behind them invariably remained. So even if his Memoirs do not recount the first version of Streetcar, he remembered it as such probably because it 14 Lyle Leverich suggests that even by November 1939, when Williams was completing Battle of Angels, he already had Streetcar or, more accurately, Blanche, in mind: "have an idea for a new long play-rather, a character for a new long play-in New Orleans-Irene-." See his Tom: The Unknown Tennessee Williams (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1995), 332. 1s Vivienne Dickson, "A Streetcar Named Desire: Its Development through the Manuscripts," Tennessee Williams: A Tribute, ed. Jac Tharpe (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1977), 154-71. 16 Deborah G. Burks, '"Treatment Is Everything': The Creation and Casting of Blanche and Stanley in Tennessee Williams' 'Streetcar,"' Library Chronicle of the University of Texas at Austin 41 (1987): 16-39. STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER 75 contained the essential truth behind Streetcar's meaning for him, or at least the initial message it purported to carry, as evidenced by the early manuscripts. There are five extant manuscripts of the early drafts of Streetcar, dating from the (ca.) 1944 "Scenario for a film" entitled "A Street-car Named Desire" (presumably written after Williams left M- G-M) to before the fall of 1946 with a draft called "The Primary Colors."17 In each of these five drafts, including the fragment "Electric Avenue" and "Go, Said the Bird!," the locus of change for Williams is not just that of Blanche, with Stanley developing simply from "a good- natured 'pretty-boy' to the potentially explosive 'strong silent type,"18 but more specifically her gradual progression from an anachronistic southern belle, whose gentility is accosted by the virile landscape of modernity, to a femme fatale whose sexual appetite is at once gilded with spiritual affectations and at other times sublimated by a puritanical superego. 17 Concerning all dates surrounding the composition of Streetcar, I refer to Sarah Boyd Johns's excellent 1980 dissertation, "Williams' Journey to Streetcar. An Analysis of Pre-Production Manuscripts of A Streetcar Named Desire," Ph.D. diss., University of South Carolina, 1980. Though a bit different from Burks's stemma of and commentary on the drafts, Johns competently traces the development of the pre-production drafts of Streetcar not to suggest Blanche's literary ancestry but to provide a chronology to and theory behind the play's construction. I also spent time at the Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center at the University of Texas at Austin studying the manuscripts and thus cite here from the manuscripts themselves, respecting all of Williams's spelling and grammatical conventions, as well as his dramatic use of punctuation (particularly ellipses and dashes). Any of Williams's deletions or emendations made in the text, either in type or in holograph, are surrounded by < > or { }, respectively. Any editorial changes I include are enclosed in square brackets. 1s Johns, 16. Stella and Mitch (called Howdy and George at various times) remain relatively consistent throughout these early drafts, acting only as foils to Blanche as she journeys through her psychological maelstrom. Only in the penultimate draft, "The Poker Night," is Stanley's character developed and his relationship with Blanche precariously balanced, suggesting from the start that Williams was concerned first and foremost with Blanche and her dialectic long before he began grappling with Stanley's character. 76 BAK In the three-page draft "A Street-car Named Desire," for example, Caroline Krause, a twenty-five-year-old junior high school teacher in New Orleans who suffers from an inferiority complex, is given advice from a doctor to go "away somewhere" and "get married."19 Marriage, he tells her, will stop her "insomnia- palpitations-acute and . unreasonable self-consciousness-feeling panic-nerves . ... All without any physiological basis" [2]. Learning that the school has lost five eligible bachelorette teachers already "to matrimony" [2], Caroline becomes so depressed that by the end of the school year she does leave to "go away somewhere" [3] but not for reasons of matrimony. A stock character in the Williams canon (we find her equivalent in Miss Jenny Starling of a later Williams screenplay, All Gaul Is Divided, and in Dorothea Gallaway from A Lovely Sunday for Creve Creur), Caroline is distraught most by the fact that the marriage question itself is the cause of all of her problems: But there isn't anybody, there hasn't been. I don't see how there could be. I'm not attractive enough. And even if I were pretty-I'm dull-and stupid! I can't talk to people! I don't know how to laugh. [3] Lacking self-confidence and charisma, Caroline is more like Alma Winemiller than Blanche here, especially given that her nervousness and southern gentility signal the beginnings of a mental breakdown. Sexual desire is, of course, present here, though only alluded to in the title of the scenario, as well as in the novel Caroline reads while riding the streetcar: Forever Amber, Kathleen Winsor's scandalous 1944 19 Unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "A Street-car Named Desire (Scenario for a film)," n.d., pp. 2, 3, Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center (hereafter HRHRC), University of Texas at Austin, Texas. Further page references to this draft are cited parenthetically in the text. Page numbers given within square brackets indicate that no page number appears on the manuscript page. STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER 77 novel about sixteen-year-old Amber St. Clare's sexual prowess in seducing and sleeping her way to becoming Charles II's mistress.20 However, innocent romance is not yet sexual desire and Caroline only resembles Blanche in her occupation and in its relationship to her virulent fear of spinsterhood. Similarly, in another early draft, "Electric Avenue" (whose composition is also ca. 1944, around the time of The Glass Menagerie's short run in Chicago from December 1944 to March 1945), Blanche, Stella Landowski's sister, simply "has suffered."21 Because the three pages constitute the "LAST SCENE" of this playlet, we are not sure as to what has caused her suffering. All that Williams makes clear is that Eddie Zawadski, ignoring his best friend's Stanley's demand that he abandon Blanche, has come to end Blanche's suffering by taking her as his wife, making this one the only draft to end happily: "You need somebody. I need somebody, too" [3] . Eddie eases her mental unrest by accepting whatever dastardly deed she is guilty of. "In spite of- <all>-? {-even with-?}" [3], she says and goes to the window and tells Eddie that she is looking for "God's face in the moon!" [3] to thank Him for Eddie's forgiveness: "I didn't know there was-going to be so much-pity ... " [3]. What would eventually develop full-blown into Blanche's flesh/spirit dialectic, however, is only inchoate here, despite our never knowing what prompts it. The implication, both in the electricity of the title and in Blanche's demureness in revealing all that prompts Stanley from having his best friend stoop to accepting 20 Forever Amber was so popular in America that, despite (or because of) being banned in Boston for its raciness, it was the best- selling novel of the 1940s. Blanche reads this, along with Mitchell's Gone with the Wind, in a very late fragment of scene five in Streetcar. See unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire: Scene V]," n.d., pp. 1, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. At other times, Blanche tells Stella she wants a man "who has read a couple of books, not just <only the Mother Goose book and> Forever Amber." See unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire: Scene]," n.d., pp. 1, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas; cf. unpublished typed manuscript, "A streetcar named desire (A play)," Teems, with A inserts [2 pp.], T inserts [15 pp.], and A emendations on 15 pp., n.d., pp. 62, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. 21 Unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire] Electric avenue: last scene," n.d., pp. 3, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. Further page references to this draft are cited parenthetically in the text. 78 BAK Blanche as his wife, is simply sexual indiscretion; but Williams makes Blanche here appear to be nothing more than a fallen woman who is given, as this draft's epigraph from Prometheus Bound by "Aeschuyles" [sic] prepares us for, "blind hope .. . " [3]. After establishing Blanche's fear of spinsterhood in these first two drafts, Williams begins experimenting more fully with her potent sexuality. "Go, Said the Bird!", written in December 1945, has Blanche Shannon and George (Mitch) discuss, among other things, her superiority complex, her tenuously hidden strip-tease behind the open portieres, her gay lover, and her affair with the high school student. Yet the locus of Blanche and George's conversation is on sex: how Blanche was once promiscuous at Blue Mountain High School but is now frigid toward George: "You're lily white? ... So is mud!"22 Despite her coyness, Blanche's sexuality is latent, as George denotes in his description of her undressing in full view before him: When I met you the night of the poker party and you took off your shirt with the portieres open and turned around and smiled at me with the light on Y ou- thought, My God-This woman is a tiger! . .. The tiger was a sweet young English teacher, visiting her sister for her summer vacation. Butter wouldn't melt in that sweet mouth of hers. [2] In this fragment, Blanche acquires the nature of the tiger she will embody in Streetcar-vibrant sexuality. She is not ashamed of her past encounters and tells George, "what people do with their bodies is not really what makes good or bad people of them!" [3] She will not give in to George's sexual desires, though, until he asks her to marry him, which he won't now because "laid end to end" Blanche's lovers would "stretch all the way from here to Frenchman's Bayou!" [5]23 To further 22 Unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire: Scene IX]," n.d., pp. 2, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. Further page references to this draft are cited parenthetically in the text. 23 In an even later version of "The Poker Night," Williams uses this reference again, though altered, to show not only how prodigious were Blanche's lovers, but also how proud she is of her sexual exploits. For when Mitch says that Stanley told him that if he laid "every mother's son" she seduced from "feet to forehead, they'd stretch all the way from here to Lake Pontchartrain," in other words "about three miles." Blanche, now drunk, laughs and replies, "No, further! ... Further than that. his estimate is too modest. The men who've enjoyed me, the strangers to whom I gave pleasure, would pave a glittering highway from here to-Mobile!" See unpublished typed manuscript, "A streetcar named desire (A play)," Teems, with A inserts [2 pp.), T inserts (15 pp.), and A emendations on 15 pp., n.d., pp. 109, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER 79 connect her sexuality with the cat, Williams writes in the closing scene just before the curtain descends: "( .. . ON A FENCE NEARBY A CAT SCREECHES. BLANCHE LEANS SUDDENLY FORWARD AND IMITATES THE SCREECH)" [6]. Although no real reference to the bird exists in the fragment that makes up "Go, Said the Bird!", there is one in its title, where the reference to the bird indi rectl y suggests Blanche's spiritual side, one which Williams would repeatedly use throughout his canon, especially in Streetcar. Moreover, Williams often used epigraphs, as he did colorful and informative titles, to provide clues to decoding his cryptic plays, just as he does here.24 Therefore, the title and epigraph to this draft, "Go, said the bird, go, go, go, said the bird! Human I kind cannot bear very much reality" (a misquote ofT. S. Eliot's "Burnt Norton" that was later dropped and then found its way instead into Ten Blocks on the camino Real and camino Rea{), further recall the spiritual fight Blanche encounters with her sexually feline side evidenced in the script, with the indirect reference to reality here denoting that such a struggle often implies a rupture between the rational and irrational mind.25 Within these first three drafts, Williams apparently shifted his view of Blanche away from the spiritually distraught teacher and more towards the sexually vibrant siren. And yet the dialectic is always somehow present, with Williams simply inverting the spiritual/sexual subtext through the titles of his drafts. If, for instance, spiritual piety 24 As Delma E. Presley and Hari Singh write, "The epigraphs to Tennessee Williams' plays provide insights usually ignored in critical discussions of his works" and are "helpful clues for the interpreter of each play" (2). Since epigraphs to Williams's plays always suggest the work's major theme, the theme of the final version of Streetcar has allusions to Hart Crane's poem, "The Broken Tower." As this is the case here, early epigraphs to Streetcar allow us to trace Williams's reworking of his theme, displaying for us that his sympathies in Streetcar obviously lay from the start with Blanche and her spiritual nature. See Delma E. Presley and Hari Singh, "Epigraphs to the Plays of Tennessee Williams," Notes on Mississippi Writers 3 (Spring 1970): 2-12. 2s Unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire] Go, said the bird! (A play)," T title page, pp. 1, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. Johns believes this separately filed title page is meant to accompany the six-page fragment entitled "Scene IX" discussed above, presumably because both cite the character name "Blanche Shannon," one not found elsewhere in any of the other manuscripts. 80 BAK is caroline's lot in life in the film scenario "A Street-car Named Desire," Williams informs us that a burning sexuality inevitably lurks unconsciously behind that identity, just as the licentious Blanche Shannon in "Go, Said the Bird!" belies a liminal purity. Within each of these fragments, however, that duality is inscribed solely in reference to Blanche. The various characters who incarnate Stanley Kowalski either support or judge Blanche's many avatars, but do little beyond providing advancement in the plot. Williams was closer to writing a medieval morality play here than he was a twentieth-century tragedy, with little to no dramatic conflict vehicling the philosophic import, as it does in Streetcar. Nor is there any significant sexual or spiritual struggle between the Stanley and the Blanche in the fourth, untitled draft, though for the first time Stanley's character begins to signify a sexual presence in the story. Set in Chicago, this three-page manuscript (the third page has only "Rosa:" at the top) begins exploring more recognizably the conflict of Streetcar, especially the love triangle and the marriage question, though the most significant changes are found only in the character names (Lucio, Rosa, and Bianca for Stanley, Stella, and Blanche, respectively) and nationalities.26 Lucio (the "light" that will eventually attract/burn Blanche the moth), Rosa, and their visiting relation Bianca, Rosa's "older unmarried sister" [1] from Baton Rouge, are Italian, and Williams makes much of this fact in his stage setting, the first of its kind here to make any significant literary contribution to the story. The scene is described as a claustrophobic two-room "south side flat of an Italian American menage in Chicago" with a "Latin- Catholic richness of color contained in such items as a painting of the Virgin, prayer candles in crimson glasses, a silk kimona [sic] sprinkled with red poppies hanging on the chair . . . " [1]. In addition to the symbolic setting, we are finally given insight into Lucio's (Stanley's) character, who halfway through the fragment becomes Ralph (which, Johns notes, suggests that Williams was already working through the conflict of nationalities). Despite his "weakly good-looking" appearance and "playful tenderness" amounting to "effeminacy if he were not Italian" [1], he wears a sexually-signified "silk bowling shirt with the name of his firm's team, The Busy Beavers, applied in scarlet" [1]-a prurient detail Williams no doubt adds to foreshadow Bianca's past. 26 Unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[Streetcar named desire (early form)]," n.d., HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. Further page references to this draft are cited parenthetically in the text. Johns also dates this fourth draft from around December 1944 to March 1945, during the Chicago run of The Glass Menagerie. STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER 81 Bianca, however, again an "old maid school teacher" [2] who cannot secure herself a husband, resembles Blanche only in what she is and not really in who she is. Though the characters are still nothing more than tools to work out plot and locale, and Blanche's inner dialectic is suggested only in Bianca's failing beauty and desire to be married,27 the stage signification of sexual tension between Blanche and Stanley is explicit and begins preparing for their conflict. In each of the subsequent drafts, in fact, Williams moves closer and closer to exploiting their mutual sexuality, with Blanche's spirituality all but getting pushed aside. Williams quickly abandons the locale and characterization of Lucio, Rosa, and Bianca in his fifth draft, now set in Atlanta and comprising thirty-two pages of similar character traits and interaction between Stella and Ralph and between Blanche and Howdy/Mitch. Though the first two fragments of this draft reflect a nonsequential revision process (using Mitch in one and Howdy in the other) and have some variance in plot, the third fragment of this draft is cohesive and entitled "The Primary Colors." Blanche's surname is now Collins, like Lucretia Collins in Portrait of a Madonna (Streetcar's closest one-act predecessor), and although there are several noteworthy changes in the series of these early drafts that are important to Streetcar, the one of significance here is Blanche's clearly established sexuality and direct promiscuity toward Ralph (Stanley). Though Blanche falls prey to Stanley in Streetcar, Ralph here is the victim of Blanche's overt sexual aggression. Still an "old maid school-teacher," Blanche is preparing for a date with Mitch. Though not entirely Blanche's ,ideal suitor, Mitch at least "isn't <Irish> {common!} like Ralph.2B She sees her sexuality fading, however, and realizes that this will be her last attempt at marriage, an institution which she feels will at once secure her reputation and preserve her innocence (that is, sexual intercourse is 27 For a brief analysis of how the characters here compare with Shakespeare's Bianca in The Taming of the Shrew and Lucio in Measure for Measure, see Joan Wylie Hall's" 'Gaudy Seed-Bearers': Shakespeare, Pater, and A Streetcar Named Desire," Notes on Contemporary Literature 20, no. 4 (September 1990): 9-11. 2s Unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire] The primary colors (A play)," n.d., pp. 22, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. Further page references to this draft are cited parenthetically in the text. 82 BAK sanctioned through marriage and thus eliminates any sense of religious guilt). And yet, at the end of this first fragment, after Stella and Ralph (whose antagonism toward Blanche in Streetcar is here mere cajolery) have left for the evening, Blanche sits patiently for Mitch to arrive, waiting to tell him that she will marry him (though she is still hesitant about her decision). As Blanche goes to the window to sit in her chair, (RIGHT OUTSIDE AN ALLEY-CAT RAISES A LONG NOCTURNAL HOWL.) (BLANCHE LEANS SLOWLY FORWARD, HER WHOLE FIGURE TAUT LIKE A CAT ABOUT TO SPRING. THEN SHE TWISTS HER MOUTH DOWN AND IMITATES THE CRY OF THE CAT.) (LONG AND HIDEOUSLY!) [24; cf. 13] This stage direction, and Ralph's earlier jibe that Blanche leaves the apartment smelling like a "cat-house" [24] after she primps for her date, clearly signifies her latent feline sexuality, though Williams returns to the Blanche of before-the prudish spinster afraid of sexual commitment. Sex, the flesh, is for her only a means to ensnaring a husband, which is now indirectly a way for her to preserve her delicate spirit. But her artistic refinement and haughtiness only further ostracize her from a potential mate. This sexuality becomes more pronounced when, in the second fragment of this fifth draft, Williams continues the scene with Blanche and her suitor (now called Howdy) after Stella and Ralph have left. Blanche's nervousness is again poignant here as she tells Howdy, "I'm out of my mind" [28], though her mental capacity is far more stable here than it will be in Streetcar. After some uncomfortable laughter about his new job on the "precision bench of the spare parts department" [25]-a position Blanche feels is beneath her desire for social status-they start into the Southern Comfort, "a lick-cur" [27], as Howdy says, which gets them drunk. Released from her inhibitions through the effects of alcohol, Blanche winds up in bed with Howdy, and the scene ends with Stella and Ralph discovering them in the apartment. What Williams was searching for here, it seems, is the balance between Blanche's sexuality and femininity: she is not as coarse as Howdy but realizes that at twenty-seven (and this is her birthday), her chances at marriage are diminishing. While she learns that sexuality need not be conditional, we are still left wondering how her desire for social status will accommodate Howdy's blue-collar status. STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER 83 Blanche's sexuality, couched in her mimicry of the cat before Mitch's/Howdy's arrival, becomes less obtuse in the third fragment of the fifth draft (the only fragment that contains the title "The Primary Colors," wherein his stage directions themselves Williams refers clearly to Blanche's sexual overtures to Ralph Stanley, as he is now called). "Pale, refined and delicate," though "charged with with [sic] plenty of that blue juice which is the doves of Aphrodite's or anyone's car!" [2], Blanche is slowly integrating her flesh and spirit. As she had done in the previous fragment, Blanche takes a bath to cleanse away her fleshly corruption; afterwards, she demands white clothing and a white handkerchief [5], the purity of which also identifies her as the moth/soul of Streetcar. Moreover, Williams begins fleshing out Ralph here, having him rebuff Stella's sexual advances and behave uxoriously toward Blanche. The antagonism that will electrify Blanche and Stanley's sexual attraction is not yet apparent, however; instead, Williams chooses to symbolize that eventual encounter, albeit now mutual, through the signification of colors, hence the fragment's title. For example, after her bath and before the scene blacks out, Blanche enters wearing a "BRILLIANT SCARLET SILK KIMONA [sic]," while Ralph has on his "VIVID GREEN SILK BOWLING SHIRT" [6]. After some playful banter, Blanche says to Ralph, commenting upon the nature of the color of their clothing, "We're like a stop-light, aren't we? Red and green!" [12]. Just prior to this sexual play, however, Williams establishes the innocence of their attraction. With Stella preparing for a night out with Eunice and Blanche wanting into the bathroom to retrieve her "finger-nail scissors" (the tiger claws that the matron nurse in the final lines of Streetcar says need trimming), we next hear about Blanche's love for both Stella and Ralph and that she will be leaving them soon since Mitch has asked her to marry him (though she is still uncertain in accepting the offer since his job, still "on the replacement bench-in the spare parts department" [10], lacks the prestige she desires in life: "I don't want to slip in the world. I want to improve myself" [11]). Only once Stella leaves does Blanche utter her comment about their clothing. The effect here is of Williams working through the unconsciousness of Blanche and Ralph's attraction to show that nothing was premeditated (an important development toward the rape). In another version of the scene, Williams writes, Blanche: "What a charming costume . .. Green! And Red! Like a stop-light!" Ralph: "What's red?" Blanche: "My-Kimona [sic]." Ralph: "Like a stop-light?" 84 BAK Blanche: "Yes!" Ralph: "Or a go signal?" (Pause) [32] Blanche answers him silently as she lets him come up "VERY CLOSE TO HER, EXTENDING THE CIGARETTE" [33]. In this version, Williams attributes for the very first time to Ralph a hint of culpability in his attraction to Blanche, while continually maintaining Blanche's invitation to his advances. Moreover, we begin to see the dichotomy of Blanche sincerely emerging, where her talk of purity and higher aspirations seems in earnest despite her dominant sexuality. In these early five drafts, then, Blanche's sexual nature is clearly established, as is the cat imagery that will eventually accompany it in the final play. Again, near the end of third version of the draft, after Stella leaves her alone for the evening with Ralph and tells them to have fun, Blanche says, "Oh, I am sure to have some fun-that's all I'm sure of" [13]. As Blanche retreats to the window, (AN ALLEY CAT, JUST OUTSIDE, RAISES A LONG NOCTURNAL HOWL. (BLANCHE TWISTS HER MOUTH DOWN AND IMITATE'S [sic] THE CAT'S CRY, LONG AND HIDEOUSLY. [13] As for her spiritual side, Williams continually insists on her artistic nature, her repeated baths, and her need for things white and unsoiled. Though late in entering the storyline in these early drafts, however, Blanche's sexuality now far outweighs her spirituality. In the subsequent drafts, those coming from the penultimate version of Streetcar-"the Poker Night"-Williams would look to refining her spiritual side so as to make its dialectical relationship with her instinctive sexuality more pronounced. Yet Williams would be troubled by this dialectic: knowing now who Blanche was, and understanding Ralph's/Stanley's role within her dialectical struggle, Williams did not yet know how that dialectic would be worked out through their mutual attraction. STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER 85 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND: STANLEY AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE RAPE By late 1945, then, though not in the fashion that it would become, the cat and the bird imagery accompanies Blanche's budding southern dialectic29 (as Stanley's ape imagery would his primitiveness), which transforms this story from the Shakespearean romance of Bianca and Lucio in the slums of Chicago to the metaphysical battle between flesh and spirit in the sultry Vieux Carre of"The Primary Colors." Had Williams intended Streetcarfrom the start to end in Blanche's final submission to the one man who breaks her, then the rape could understandably be interpreted as the polemic that some critics have branded it. But the ending did not come easily for Williams, despite his experimentation with it elsewhere as a viable dramatic possibility. In fact, in the now-famous letter to his literary agent Audrey Wood, dated 23 March 1945---more than two years prior to completing Streetcar-Williams's proposal of three possible endings reflects his continued uncertainty: One, Blanche simply leaves-with no destination. Two, goes mad. Three, throws herself in front of a train in the freight-yards, the roar of which has been an ominous under-tone throughout the play.3o 29 Although the "southern dialectic" is my neologism, its traditions date back to the Fugitives from Vanderbilt and are encountered in nearly every significant southern hero/heroine of the writers of the Southern Renaissance. Drawing from what southern historian W. J. Cash called the "Cavalier thesis" in his The Mind of the South (1941; reprint, New York: Knopf, 1970), the southern dialectic adds a southern twist to the Platonic search for Truth through duologue and Hegel's essentialist science of synthesis. This dichotomous nature of the South had a lasting impact on how Williams viewed the world around him, for, as he wrote of himself in 1947, "there was a combination of Puritan and Cavalier strains in my blood which may be accountable for the conflicting impulses I often represent in the people I write about." See his Where I Live: Selected Essays, ed. Bob Woods and Christine R. Day (New York: New Directions, 1978), 58. 30 Tennessee Williams to Audrey Wood, 23 March 1945, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. 86 8AK This letter suggests Williams's conscious effort to resolve Blanche's dilemma, one that he had explored fully in the drafts of the past year or so as well as in the one-act plays from 27 Wagons Full of Cotton and Other Plays; and just as he had found it difficult to resolve the dialectic there, Williams would struggle to find that resolution in the drafts of Streetcar for the next two years. Only by strengthening Stanley's sexuality and instilling fear in Blanche of her own potency did Williams recognize that the rape was the only dramatic solution to the thematic dilemma he had confronted in Blanche. Williams had explored his first proposed ending in "The Primary Colors," then again in a few early fragments of Williams's next draft, "The Poker Night" (what Johns calls the "morning after" scenes), where Williams experiments with the result of this attraction. Whereas before it was Blanche who was the aggressor, here it is finally Stanley, though Blanche's disinterest in fighting him is evidenced through her lackluster attempt to keep him at bay and in her eventual (and even passionate) response to his advances. In one three-page sketch, for instance, after having had a sexual encounter that is closer to sexplay than rape, Ralph says, "I can't see you and me and Stella all in two rooms together after last night.''31 Blanche agrees and decides to leave so as not to create unnecessary tension between the two of them. Then, Ralph congratulates Blanche on putting up a good "fight <that any man could be proud of>," and Blanche responds, "A trapped human being will always put up a fight" [2]. What sounds like rape, though, soon blurs into seduction, for Blanche brings to the surface her unconscious desire for Ralph to take her sexually: Blanche: "Yes? -What about last night [sic]" Ralph: "In fifteen years of experience-" Blanche: "I stand alone?" Ralph: "Like nothing-a man-could dream of-" Blanche: "Ha! Since we're exchanging bouquets, let me add this one. Everything's been a preparation for you in <what else> what I've gone through, also! I am really surprised the walls are still standing. There was one moment when I thought we were lying out-doors halfway between this crazy old world and the moon! (THEY BOTH ALUGH [sic] 31 Unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire: Scene]," n.d., HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. Further page references to this draft are cited parenthetically in the text. STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER 87 A LITTLE.) I guess that was the moment when I- scratched you .. . . " [3]32 Even in this repeated attempt at the first ending, albeit more fully realized than the innuendo which closes "The Primary Colors," the rape is still less an act of Ralph's sexual violation and more their liminally- desired mutual attraction, with Blanche being only predictably coy to his sexual advances. Williams must have soon recognized that this recipe for desire was more melodramatic than tragic, and needed to submerge Blanche's desire more so as to make her not only theatrically believable for an audience but also morally acceptable. Thus, in another two-page fragment from scene ten of "The Poker Night," Blanche now expresses her disgust for Ralph, though her words, then her actions, belie her conscious desires. Ralph, equally irate with and sexually charged by Blanche's elitist reproaches, begins advancing toward her threateningly, saying, "<Didn't you know that?> We've had a date with each other from the beginning! .. . Didn't you know that!"33 Ralph's "(EYES AND TEET <C>H CATCH THE GLARE" while Blanche "RETREATS TOWARD THE WINDOW)": (SUDDENLY SHE THROWS HER FISTS UP IN THE AIR AND SHAKES THEM CRAZILY WITH A SHRILL, TORMENTED OUT-CRY) . . Yes, ~ ' ~ , ~ , ~ [2] 32 This long speech by Blanche is marked between brackets in ink with the word "cut" handwritten in the right margin. On the verso of page one is handwritten the following dialogue: -What is the matter with my back? -Scratches! -Scratches all over like [sic] tyger [sic] clawed me! -[illegible] -Now, I just want to get dressed and get out of here. -That's an old story, my dear. [verso 1] 33 Unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire: Scene X]," n.d., HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. Further page references to this draft are cited parenthetically in the text. 88 BAK As Johns points out, Blanche in this scene, as in several others, is "evidently aroused to erotic heights by aggression and violence": "Ralph overcomes Blanche with physical force, but she responds passionately after a fierce struggle against him."34 As with the last fragment discussed above, there is some driving force bringing Blanche and Ralph together, and that destiny is not entirely unwanted or undesired by either, but since Williams moves it out of the plot and into the realm of the symbolic or at least the subconscious, he begins opening the play up to higher levels of artistry. That destiny, which perhaps also begins hiding Williams's stronger social message in the play, is realized only once in all of the extant manuscripts. On the verso of two title pages entitled "The Passion of a Moth"-exhibiting once more Williams's insistence that Blanche carry a fragile, spiritual nature along side her sexual one-are various attempts at displaying Blanche's phantasm of being the Madonna of the Modernist Christ, one who successfully integrates the clash of opposing worlds (hers and Stanley's) and dialectical conflicts (flesh and spirit certainly, but also past and present, time and timelessness, etc.). In this fragment, Blanche accepts Stanley's gift of a bus ticket for her birthday, as well as "a couple of ten-spots on the dresser."3S It is the morning after their love-making, and Blanche is preparing to leave, though she has "no plans whatsoever!" [verso 1]. After delivering her "unwashed grape" monologue (in holograph, thus Williams's first draft of her speech, though here it is delivered romantically to Stanley whereas in the play it will be spoken to Eunice and Stella at the end to signal her madness), Blanche pontificates on what her life might bring her. Though Stanley has left the room without her knowing it, Blanche continues to tell him: 34 Johns, 102-03. 35 Unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire] The passion of a moth (A play in ten scenes)," n.d., verso p. 1, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. Further page references to this draft are cited parenthetically in the text. The trouble in reading and citing from this fragment is that Williams reused typing paper liberally, even if there was something already written on one side, which might have nothing to do with what he was at present writing. That is the case here. Williams experimented frequently with various versions of the same scene, and all of this was done on the verso of a title page of previous draft. HRHRC catalogued both the title pages and the fragments as it deemed them independently relevant to discerning Streetcars evolution. STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER (Suddenly laughing) You know what I've just thought of? This unholy union of ours may not have been fruitless. I may bear you a son. That strikes me as being in the realm of probability. (Laughs) I'll bear you a son. I'll creep in some lightless corner or drop in a ditch somewhere and bear you a child that will be more beast than human.-Because our collision, that awful crashing together, could not result in anything more than a beast or less than an angel. And this, this angelic monster coming to be, will rise out of smoke and confusion to clear it away. He will clear it all away. He will clear it all, all away. All the confusion, all the brutality, all the sorrow, [sic] will be washed off and we will be shining again!-What shall we call him? We'll call him Le Fils de Soleil-the Sun's child! [ ... ] And I, the anonymous drab who was his mother- will be lost in the crowd about the-colisseum! [sic] Ha-ha!-Proudly smiling with tears on her ravaged face .... [ ... ] But now I've got to get packed- and be going-somewhere .... [verso 2] 89 As this is the end of the fragment, with the curtain falling just after a final stage direction describes the forces of modernism in the form of the locomotive outside the window, it reveals in shocking clarity how Williams saw Blanche and Stanley's sexual encounter not in mimetic terms but rather in symbolic ones, not as theatrical movement but rather as divine (or at least determinist) intervention. This ending, like each of the attempted endings prior to it, suggests that Williams labored to resolve Blanche's dialectic through an act of the flesh, though it was her spirit that preoccupied him the most. Yet rape was simply not within the realm of possibilities Williams imagined his play would likely end; Blanche desired, first consciously then not, her and Stanley's encounter too much for it to prove licentious. He would begin experimenting more with Blanche's unconscious desire, brought to the surface only after Stanley awakens it through his conscious lust for her. In another four-page fragment of "The Poker Night," for example, written on the verso of the typescript for the 1943 story "The Angel in the Alcove," Blanche describes precisely what Johns says of all of these early drafts, that is, what "started as rape ended in satiety"36: 36 Johns, 17. 90 Remember you took me, [sic] It wasn't I that took you. So if you got somewhat more than you bargained for, Mr. Kowalski-If you hadn't suspected a lady could be so <awful> {violent}- (could give such a wild performance when aroused)-try to remember the way it started, not I but you, putting dynamite under the tea-<pot> {kettle}.J7 BAK The reason why the rape had not yet become what it would be in Streetcar is that Blanche, simply put, is still the stronger of the two sexually, and therefore could not be "broken" by Ralph's/Stanley's first passive then active advances. Williams's difficulties in "The Poker Night" would continue until the moment he recognized that his answer to ending Blanche's dialectic lay in a sexually stronger Ralph/Stanley and a more frightened Blanche. The third option stated in Williams's letter to Audrey Wood, in which Blanche throws herself in front of a passing train, is never realized in writing. Williams must simply have known early on that Blanche's inner-strength was life-affirming and not life-terminating, which is partly why she is helpless in resolving her dialectic by herself. In the second ending, though, Williams would find his solution and would work arduously to achieve it. In a world of illusion, one Blanche tried to make New Orleans into with her candles, paper lanterns, and liquor, one where all Stanley Kowalskis become Shep Huntleighs, creatures like Blanche DuBois can flourish. And the perfect illusion is one that only the mind can create for itself. Blanche, incompatible with either world, must coexist in both. But since she cannot deny Stanley's reality (which holds that wildcat in her, that animus of her spirit, in chains), she cannot wholly accept Shep's illusion either (despite all that it promises for her). If she could permanently cleave in her mind these contradictory worlds, leaving her wholly the bird, the anima forever freed from the harsh realities of the Kowalski world (for she never could exist solely as the wildcat, not in her time anyway, nor would her guilt allow for it), then she could live forever in stasis, which for her is not an undesirable existence. All that was left for Williams to decide was what, thematically and dramatically speaking, would finally push an already demented women further into madness-the rape. 37 Qtd. in Johns, 108. STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER 91 Not until he began envisioning Stanley's raw sexuality, then, did Williams see what sex could do with respect to Blanche, how Stanley's character could function beyond being her dramatic foil. Once he discovered this, Williams began weaving Stanley's sexuality into the fabric of his dramatic tapestry. Therefore, in subsequent attempts to find the right balance between them, Williams increased Ralph's liability in the rape and further removed Blanche's conscious duplicity. Their attraction is still there, but Blanche is now more frightened by him than before. In one late sketch of "The Poker Night," for example, after she and Ralph had their torrid encounter, Blanche comments about the scratches she has left on his back, to which Stanley responds, "Scratches all over like a tyger [sic] clawed me!"3B It is at first ambiguous as to whether these marks were due to her passion or her repulsion. In another fragmented dialogue on the verso of this same sketch, it is now Stanley who declares sole responsibility for the result of their desire: You know, I admire you, Blanche. You got into a tight corner and you fought like a wi ld-cat to get back into the open. I was a son of a bitch to stand in your way. Protecting Mitch? Hell, I didn't care about Mitch. I wanted you for myself is the truth of the matter. Did you know that?39 Similarly, in a late version of scene eleven, which Williams crossed out and then left directions, either to himself or to a typist, to insert an emended page of new dialogue, Eunice and Stella are talking about Blanche's claim that "Stanley made love to her!-[ . .. ] . .. by force!"4o In that inserted page, Williams added that Stella does not want to believe Blanche's story, but she cannot deny that his "pyjamas [sic] are 38 Qtd. in ibid., 105. 39 Unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire: Scene X]," n.d., p. 2, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. Further page references to this draft are cited parenthetically in the text. 40 Unpublished typed manuscript, "A streetcar named desire (A play)," Teems (132 pp.) with A inserts (2 pp.), T inserts (15 pp.) and A emendations on 15 pp., n.d., pp. 120-21, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. Further page references to this draft are cited parenthetically in the text. 92 BAK torn to shreds and his shoulders and back are covered with scratches as if a wild-cat had clawed him" (121). Whereas Williams had in these last fragments unquestionably strengthened Stanley's role in the rape, there was still missing something in Blanche to counter Stanley's aggression: to remove her sexuality entirely and make Stanley the dominant aggressor and her the helpless victim would be to undo all of the complexities Williams had been building up in her character. In other words, to replace Blanche's sexuality with Stanley's would be to simplify her nature and to privilege melodrama over tragedy. Williams had found his missing element, curiously enough, again in Blanche's spirituality. Whereas Williams had first envisioned Blanche as a nervous, man-hungry spinster whose genteel sensibilities aspired toward the spiritual, and then only gradually developed her strident sexuality (shaping her into a femme fatale) all the while increasing Stanley's, Williams could no longer make Blanche truthfully repel the encounter with her nemesis for purity's sake alone: she simply desired Ralph/Stanley too much to be repulsed by his advances. Yet if the answer to the play's resolution lay precisely in Blanche's fear of sexuality all the while proselytizing it (but, as we have just seen, dramatizing that fear solely through its relationship to Stanley's strength would diminish the play's tragic overtones), then making Blanche afraid of her own sexual nature to the point of desiring its elimination would satisfy the needs Williams had in both establishing her tragic stature and justifying Stanley's role in finally bringing that stature about. By the time he began refining "The Poker Night," then, Williams exploited Stanley's new-found purpose and turned Blanche's fear symbolically inward and dramatically outward: whereas before she had openly celebrated her sexuality, she is now frightened by it and looks for ways in which to countefr control, and finally extirpate it. In a late fragment of "The Poker Night," for example, the same one that finally depicts Ralph as the "GAUDY SEED-BEARER" who "SIZES WOMEN UP AT A GLANCE, WITH SEXUAL CLASSIFICATIONS,"41 Blanche is now frightened by the screeching cat, as she would be in Streetcar, rather than imitating it, as she had done before. In another thirteen-page scene, a cat screeches outside; frightened, Blanche asks Stella what the cry was. Though Stella assures Blanche that it was "just-cats," Blanche shows disdain toward them: "(with distaste) 41 Unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire]," composite Tms/inc (57 pp.) with A emendations on 22 pp., n.d., HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. Citing page numbers from this composite series poses immense problems as the scenes and pages are mixed together without much order. STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER 93 Cats!"42 So averse now to the sexual force that controls her and is shaping her into the animal that she identifies Stanley as, Blanche gradually descends into madness. With this final twist in her character, Williams justified Blanche's paradoxical repulsion toward and complicity in Stanley's rape: since she is the "tiger," she cannot deny her desire towards his bestial kind, but as she now detests the fact that modernist man/woman is forever slouching toward Caliban rather than rising toward Belle Reve, she can equally feel repulsed by desire itself.43 Stanley appears, then, as her welcomed executioner, making her both victim and victimizer in her manipulation of Stanley into raping her, that is, in killing the sexuality in her that has hindered her aspirations of purity. Williams understood the dialectic he was developing in Blanche, for even in one of the last drafts of scene five of Streetcar (ca. 25 August 1947), he wanted to make clear how Blanche should be read. Here, in a stage direction following Stanley's discovery of Blanche's sordid past in Laurel (which would eventually be cut from the final version), Williams explains the balance in her character that he was seeking: This scene is a point of balance between the play's two sections, Blanche's coming and the events leading up to her violent departure. The important values are the ones that characterise [sic] Blanche: Its function is to give her dimension as a character and to suggest the intense inner life which makes her a person of greater magnitude than she appears to have [sic] on the surface.44 42 Ibid. 43 Benjamin Nelson writes, for example, "If Blanche is a moth woman in the tradition of Laura Wingfield and Matilda Rockley, she is also a tiger" (143). Nelson, though, is referring to Blanche's "fierce desire . . . for life" and not to any dual nature in her character (143). See his Tennessee Williams: The Man and His Work (New York: Obolensky, 1961). In an interview later with Joanne Stang in 1965, Williams commented specifically on Blanche's feline nature: "Blanche was much stronger than Kowalski. When he started to assault her, he said, 'Tiger-Tiger!' She was a she had much more strength than he, and she surrendered it to him out of desire. These fragile people-they're always spiritually sometimes physically stronger, too." See Conversations with Tennessee Williams, ed. Albert J. Devlin (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1986), 110-11 (emphasis added). 44 Unpublished manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire]," Tms/mimeo, 136 pp., n.d., p. 64, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas (emphasis added). 94 BAK So conscious was he of Blanche's struggle between flesh and spirit, past and present, and desire and death (Stanley's job was at one time a mortuary goods salesman) that Williams devoted the majority of his attention to developing her character. Thus when Blanche and Stanley have their infamous confrontation near the end of Streetcar-considering all that Williams attempted, discarded, then refined in the drafts-we begin to see that it is less the case of Blanche fighting Stanley, and more the manifestation of her sexual energy, threatened with extinction, struggling for its survival all the while her spiritual nature is looking skyward.4S With respect to this interpretation, Blanche in this final 45 cat and bird imagery, to be sure, fills Streetrar. In the first scene, for instance, Williams immediately establishes his cat imagery. While Blanche is introdudng herself to Eunice, "a cat screeches"; Blanche "catches her breath with a startled gesture" (1.250). Williams then introduces his bird imagery: Stanley enters ''with the power and pride d a ridlly feathered male bird among the hens'' (1.265). Williams finishes this first scene with the cat again, having Blanche spring up at the screech of a cat, yelling 'What's that?" with Stanley responding, "cats" (1.267). By placing the bird imagery between these two cat references, Williams successfully achieves the necessary tension that foreshadovvs the tightening of Blanche's relationship with Stanley and with herself. Later, when Blanche is not frightened by the cat, she becomes the cat, for during her later attempted seduction of Mitch, he calls her a ''wild cat!" (1.383). And when Blanche is not the cat, she is the bird, "spending the summer on the wing, making flying visits here and there" (1.325). When Stanley finds Blanche's fake summer furs, for example, he says to Stella, "Look at these feathers and furs that she come here to preen herself in!" (1.274). This line explicitly foreshadows the rape when Stanley says to Blanche moments before he attacks her, "What've you got on those fine feathers for?'' (1.392). These are the same feathers that make Blanche the hen of Steve's joke during the poker party, as "light as a feather'' to Mitch (1.347), and "flighty" to Stella (1.364). Even Steve's ''joke" serves to portend the confrontation Blanche later has with the "male bird" Stanley: Stanley says to her and Stella, "You hens cut out that conversation in there!" (1.294). When Stanley calls Blanche the "canary bird" (1.359) for the first time, he does so to mock her bathroom airs, but his comment also desaibes her entrapment. He says to her again, "Hey, canary bird! Toots! Get OlJT of the BATHROOM!" (1.367), as if to strengthen her avian identification. Rnally, Blanche's spirit is a caged bird desperately seeking its freedom. Williams supports both confrontations when he combines the cat and bird images, which war unequivocally in Blanche, in scene seven: having uncovered Blanche's two diarnebically opposed lives in Laurel and in New Orleans, Stanley says to Stella, "now the eat's out of the bag! .. . Some canary bird, huh" (1.358-59). Tennessee Williams, The Theatre of Tennessee Williams, 8 vols. (New York: New Directions, 1971-92). Further page references to the play are dted parenthetically in the text. STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER 95 version of the rape sounds more like the bestial tiger that Stanley calls her, slowly backed into a corner, than a woman fighting to remain dignified in an incredibly demeaning situation. When Stanley says to her, "Come to think of it-maybe you wouldn't be bad to-interfere with," Blanche shouts, "Stay back! Don't you come toward me another step or .... [an] awful thing will happen!" (1.401) That "awful thing" becomes the cat in her lashing out with its symbolic claws-the jagged edges of the broken bottle. Curiously, Blanche, now armed, does not say that she is dangerous but that, as the raised hair and pinned-back ears of a cat alert to, she is "in danger!" (1.401) It is fitting here that Stanley should say moments before raping her, "Tiger-tiger! Drop the bottle-top! Drop it! We've had this date with each other from the beginning!" (1.402), for he is addressing Blanche the cat, whom he is about to kill and whom the doctor's nurse must eventually declaw with her scissors.46 CONCLUSION The rape that brings Streetcar to its climax, then, was certainly not an afterthought, nor did Williams envision it as a way to portray Blanche's innocent victimization at the hands of a nefarious individual or an indifferent society. Stanley does destroy Blanche in many ways when he rapes her, but Streetcar's controversial rape scene is more the thematic confluence of Blanche's inability to sequester her own sexual attraction toward Stanley than it is the dramatic climax of their visceral attraction. Since she fails to cope with her dialectical dilemma alone, Blanche must end it; since she lacks the inner strength to end it in denial and Mitch fails to provide her with that strength, Blanche turns to Stanley, whom she has known all along to be her executioner. The rape in the play frees as it demeans, extirpating for her all the desires 46 In Williams's frequent borrowing throughout the manuscripts of William Blake's spelling of "Tyger," lost in the final version of the play, we should recognize the Romantic implications of man's duality as Blake explored in Songs of Innocence and Experience. Given that Blake's two poems "The Lamb" (with the lamb suggesting the innocence of a child, like Stella to Blanche whom she calls "Precious lamb" [1.251] or the paperboy whom she calls "honey lamb" [1.339]) and the "Tyger" reflect the contrastive struggle between or "symmetry" of "Innocence" and "Experience," Stanley's calling Blanche a "Tiger" here only complements her own lamb-like nature. When Stanley insists that she did not pull "any wool over this boy's eyes" (1.398), we also get that complexity now intermingling the boy/lamb with man/wolf duality (Shep/Sheep Huntleigh/Hunter) that Williams exploits throughout the play. 96 BAK of the flesh so that her needs of the spirit can be actualized. Therefore, while the rape functions dramatically as a horrifying act of violence (the point upon which most critics have focused), Williams presents it thematically as the neutralizer to Blanche's personal struggle brought on by the debilitating effects of her southern dialectic. To be sure, by the time he completed the abundant sketches that constitute "The Poker Night," Williams had refined Blanche's dialectic and Ralph's role in ending it. Having traveled a long way from the "weakly good-looking" and "playful tenderness and vivacity which would amount to effeminacy" of Lucio to the Ralph of "The Poker Night" who possesses "TRAITS OF AN INDIVIDUAL TOTALLY ANTIPATHETIC,"47 or the psychologically fragile and socially inept caroline Krause to the metaphysically divided Blanche, Williams succeeded in constructing a play that delicately balances social with psychological readings. From Lucia/Ralph came Stanley, the ignorant savage of the animal kingdom who kills out of instinct. We can hate him no more than we can the fox for breaking into the hen house. From Caroline/Bianca came Blanche, the sexually divided neurotic of the spiritual kingdom whose loss of her cat-like nature is celebrated in the release of her bird-like spirit.4B 47 Unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire]," composite Tms/inc (57 pp.) with A emendations on 22 pp., n.d. See note 41 regarding problematic pagination. 48 It is not coincidence that until very late in the revision process, Blanche's surname was not DuBois but Boisseau, with the French /'oiseau clearly being echoed. In fact, in an earlier version "The Poker Night," Blanche recalls how, when she and Stella were young, the "chattering of birds" would descend by the thousands upon Columns (an early rendering of Belle Reve) like "a big black fan," lulling Blanche to sleep. See the opening of scene two in the unpublished typed manuscript fragment, "[A streetcar named desire]," composite Tms/inc [57 pp.] with A emendations on 22 pp., n.d. Judith Thompson also traces Streetcar's mythological roots where bird imagery plays an important role: In the legend .. . Procne and Philomela are saved from Tereus' revenge by being turned into birds: Procne into a nightingale, Philomela into a swallow, . .. and Tereus into a hawk, a bird of prey .... Bird images, Jungian symbols of psychological transcendence from "any confining pattern of existence," are also present in Streetcar, but their significance is ironic, testimony to the characters' earth-bound natures rather than symbols of liberation. (47) See her Tennessee Williams' Plays: Memory, Myth, and Symbol (New York: Lang, 1987). STANLEY MADE LOVE TO HER 97 In his 1963 essay "T. Williams's View ofT. Bankhead" for The New York Times, Williams all but declares this when he writes, "I don't suppose anyone reads 'Streetcar' anymore, but if they did, they would discover that Blanche is a delicate tigress with her back to the wall."49 That "wall "-the rape-necessitates its direct association with the sexual nature she possesses that put her there. Remove the "wall," and we remove not only the sense of how she got there but also the why of its necessary transgression. In closi ng his letter to Joseph Breen in a final attempt to convince the censors not to cut the rape scene from Kazan's film adaptation of Streetcar, Williams wrote, But now we are fighting for what we think is the heart of the play, and when we have our backs to the wall-if we are forced into that position-none of us is going to throw in the towel! We will use every legitimate means that any of us has at his or her disposal to protect the things in this film which we think cannot be sacrificed, since we feel that it contains some very important t ruths about the world we live in.so Being backed into a corner is an essential part of life; having the strength to fight one's way out, no matter what the reason, is not just a sign of strength but also of resolve, be it one's metaphysical trauma or one's commitment to delivering the truth. The rape in Streetcar, however we are understand it for ourselves in our world, was for Williams Blanche's truth. 49 Tennessee Williams, "T. Williams's View of T. Bankhead," New York Times, 29 December 1963, sec. 2:3; reprinted in Where I Live: Selected Essays, 148-54. It is worth nothing that Williams had dedicated his early draft " Go, Said the Bird!" to Tallulah Bankhead because he thought it "exciting to imagine her in the part" of Blanche Shannon. See unpublished typed manuscript fragment, " [A streetcar named desire] Go, said the bird! (A play)," T title page, n.d., pp. 1, HRHRC, University of Texas at Austin, Texas. so Qtd. in Phillips, 82. Journal of American Drama and Theatre 16, no. 1 (Winter 2004) AN AMERICAN MEDLEY FOR NEW HAVEN? OR, WHY TONY ASTON DIDN'T GO TO YALE JUDITH MILHOUS Long before purpose-built theatres existed in the American colonies, performances of various kinds took place in "found" spaces, for audiences at various levels of sophistication. Documentation of such events is scanty in the extreme, and even where they are documented, we seldom have any idea what was actually performed. Early eighteenth-century New England was famously inhospitable to ungodly entertainments of any kind, but we may certainly inquire whether any proto-theatrical entertainment might have been available in New Haven in 1701, when the institution that became Yale University was founded, or shortly thereafter.! No theatrical performances are recorded in the port city until after the middle of the century, but Tony Aston,-a minor professional actor from London, was doing some acting in New York in 1703 and could imaginably have contemplated trying New Haven. As a tavern performer and stroller in the English provinces, he was accustomed to working in found spaces. A full -dress play would have been well-nigh impossible under the circumstances, but back in the United Kingdom Aston was performing his celebrated Medley in gentlemen's homes or in taverns at "Marts, Fairs, Horse Races, and Cock Matches" as early as 1710 or 1712.2 He continued to tour versions of this entertainment until 1737, but never published it. We can, however, construct an impression of it from various sources, and if we contemplate the Medley in an American setting, where parts of it might well have originated, the exercise 1 An earlier version of this essay was delivered as a talk at Yale University at a conference on "Theater and Anti-Theater in the Eighteenth Century," 16-18 February 2001, celebrating the university's tercentenary. I would like to thank Professors Joseph Roach and Ruth Yeazell for inviting me to participate. 2 Aston was already claiming to have played "at several Noblemen's Houses" in the 11 January 1717 Daily Courant. He mentions the other venues in Tony Aston's Petition and Speech (With his Deportment Before the Honb!e H-se of C-ns In Behalf of Himself and the Actors in Town and Country (1735), reprinted in Vincent J. Liesenfeld, The Licensing Act of 1737 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1984), 174-79, at 177 and 178. AMERICAN MEDLEY 99 illuminates Aston's work and the theatre it depended on, as well as the preconditions for theatre to develop in America. For a variety of reasons, even so minimal a production as the Medley turns out not to be very feasible in the conditions obtaining in New Haven just after the turn of the century. Aston is the first professional English actor we can name who set foot in America. We know of the trip from "A Sketch of the Author's Life" attached to his Fool's Opera (1731), though few of the details recorded there can be verified.3 He does not explain why he embarked on this adventure, but behind him he left, among other careers, two failed apprenticeships at the law; what he claims was a successful engagement acting at Drury Lane; and a stint of uncertain length as a strolling actor in the English provinces.4 The years immediately after Jeremy Collier published A Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage (1698) were not propitious for beginning a career in theatre, and Aston never bore authority well. In his youthful restlessness, the New World may have seemed more attractive than it proved to be upon close acquaintance. 3 Watson Nicholson made the basic identifications of people and places mentioned in the "Sketch" in Anthony Aston, Stroller and Adventurer (South Haven, MI : for the author, 1920). See also Thornton B. Graves, "Some Facts about Anthony Aston," JEGP 20 (1921): 391-96, which corrects Nicholson on some points; and R. H. Griffith, "Tony Aston's Fool's Opera," JEGP 21 (1922): 188-89, which establishes 1 April 1731 as the publication date for that play. Mary A. Nickles, "Tony Aston's 'Medleys,'" Theatre Notebook 30 (1976): 69- 78, summarizes information from The London Stage, 1660-1800, 5 parts in 11 vols., ed. William van Lennep et al. (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1960-68). See also the entries for Aston and his family in Philip H. Highfill, Jr., Kalman A. Burnim, and Edward A. Langhans, A Biographical Dictionary of Actors, Actresses, Musicians, Dancers, Managers and Other Theatrical Personnel in London, 1660- 1800, 16 vols. (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1973- 1993), 1:151-61. 4 The only possible appearance of his name in the sparse records for London in the 1690s occurs under the deformation "Ashton" in the cast list for George Farquhar, Love and A Bottle (acted by December 1698). 100 MILHOUS Figure 1. Frontispiece to Aston, The Fool's Opera, 1731. AMERICAN MEDLEY 101 He left England in 1701, when he was about twenty-one. He arrived in Jamaica, moved on to Charleston, South Carolina, to Philadelphia, and then New York, before shipping out for home from Virginia in August 1704. During his wanderings, he dabbled in various occupations. He says he passed himself off as a lawyer; he spent some time as a soldier; twice he claims to have acted, but gives no details, except to mention a play he wrote about America, which was lost. After he returned to England, he "marry'd a Bartholomew-Fair Lady,''S and his subsequent career is known chiefly through newspaper advertisements for his Medley, which he played up and down the country with his nameless wife and their son, Walter. Although Aston is the best known tavern performer of the time, he was not the only one. The Observator of 1-5 January 1703/4 refers to playbills distributed in coffee houses with the offer that "Any Gentlemen or Ladies may have a private Play any time of the Day, giving Notice an Hour before-hand; Perform'd by Ann Wood.''6 Aston appeared briefly at Lincoln's Inn Fields between 13 January and 17 May 1722, when Christopher Bullock became too ill to complete the season. Playing nine comic roles, not all of them previously Bullock's, Aston enjoyed only moderate success. His salary is unknown, but a benefit at the end of his engagement brought only 54, about a third of the highest gross receipts that spring/ I deduce that the mature Aston was not an enormous success as a "regular" actor. Although he was in and out of London until 1744, he never appeared at a patent theatre again. To get a sense of why the Medley was successful for him, I want first to set out the three elements that went into it and then consider the viability of his performing a version of it in the New World. To make the situation particular, I am going to indulge in a counterfactual fantasy, related to the circumstances for which this essay was originally written: the location will be New Haven; the time a Friday in May 1704, and Aston, touring from New York to Boston, will s "Sketch," 21. 6 Nothing further is known about Wood, who may be a fiction created by Daniel Defoe. However, the circumstances must have been plausible for his denunciation of the playbills to be effective. 7 Unless Aston negotiated a free benefit, 30 or more of the gross was probably owed to management. Exact charges for Lincoln's Inn Fields at this time are not known. For charges earlier in the century, see The London Stage, Part 2, 1700-1729, 1:xcvii. 102 MILHOUS be on his way home.s Afterwards, I will point out a variety of impediments to such a tour, which have implications for theatre in the colonies at this date. A low comedian, Aston knew his limitations as well as his strengths and tailored the Medley accordingly. Evaluating himself "in plain Terms," he said, "I acknowledge I know not much, [but] affect a little of every Thing." He claimed to be really good at "Acting Prologue, &c., writing and Face-making, Song-making, and Singing them with any Man."9 Note the physicality and interactivity built into his list. The Medley was extremely flexible in performance: advertisements record that Aston often invited the audience to call for favorite scenes or routines, and no doubt they sometimes joined in the songs. In 1735, when he participated in a campaign against a forerunner of the Licensing Act, he spoke before Parliament and bragged that his show was "void of Immorality, Scurrility, Prophaneness, and all ill Manners."lO Since this protestation may itself have been a jest, it cannot be taken as proof of the tone of the Medley. However, it does show that Aston was acutely aware of both censorship and potential audience disapproval. The long-term survival of the Medley is proof that it was rigorously apolitical. A Prologue and Epilogue of his own composition framed the performance, which lasted about two hours.ll The substance of the evening was a series of contrasting low comedy scenes from popular plays, on which more below. They were interspersed with animal imitations, songs, and sung dialogues. The texts of some of his songs can be found in his Fool's Opera and The Coy Shepherdess (1709), but many more are lost. This "hodge-podge"-his word-had no inherent connections, but apparently Aston segued from one piece to the next with patter that either manufactured connections or joked about there being none. The last page of his autobiographical "Sketch" consists of s On such envisioning of history that did not happen, see Niall Ferguson, Virtual History: Alternatives and Counterfactuals (1997; rpt. London: Papermac/Macmillan Publishers, 1998). 9 "Sketch," 18. 10 Aston in Liesenfeld, 178. 11 Daily Courant, 9 March 1717: "Beginning exactly at 7, and ending before 9 a-Clock." AMERICAN MEDLEY 103 a curious, disjointed passage, ignored by commentators, which I believe is Aston's attempt to set down on paper a bit of such a routine.12 In the transcription that follows, the spelling, punctuation, and italics follow the original. Boldface type has been added, to set off the points at which he addresses his audience directly. To alert the reader that the autobiographical narrative in his "Sketch" is over and a performance is about to begin, Aston opens with a short boast, "Force of my undaunted Genius." Then he launches into a mock sermon with a classical text as its base: For, look'ee Brethren, it is appointed for all Men once to die, and (as Adrastus13 says) Who would grieve for that which in a day must pass?-and again, Whose Knowledge from the Depth of wisdom I springs, Nor vainly fears inevitable Things. If the Sun shines by Day, and the Stars by Night, &c.- I take the "&c." to mean that he could spin this passage out or cut it off, as the occasion dictated. Changing gears, he contrasts the former highflown, positive outlook with a vernacular philosophical statement: "Life's a Bite"-that is, a hoax; then, checking to be sure his audience is still with him, he runs through a series of very different "characters": You have it, have you?- The Wife liv'd Yesterday- You snotty Dab of a Puritan!- Siing your Gob, and sob your Guts out- Its all a-case, there's still a Hole in my Kettle- The lines may be from familiar routines of his, not pursued in the "Sketch," which could be expanded as the occasion permitted. The words matter less than the instant vocal and presumably physical transformations differentiating one character from the next. This section is designed to show off Aston's ability as a "Face-player and 12 His speech before Parliament in 1735 has elements of patter, but the patter is balanced by an attempt at a serious argument against limiting the number of theatres. 13 Adrastus, the only one of the Seven Against Thebes to escape that clash, was slaughtered at Troy (Iliad, Book 6). 104 MILHOUS Gesticulator," his term for marking changes of character as much by physical means as by words.14 Paired with the opening "sermon," they function to set up a debate. He then speaks for putative objectors in the audience, only to assert that disagreeing with his philosophy leads nowhere. Ay, but says another, Why I'le get another shall contradict him-and another him-Mankind are all Quakers; there's no convincing of 'em- Here he may be following a pattern in some of Plautus's prologues, where a particular customer is recognized and chivvied.lS Returning to his own character, Aston prompts the audience to laugh and invites them to make the speaker himself the subject of their amusement. "Let me see you laugh now! Why look at me: Ha! ha! ha!" His next philosophical statement-"You're a Fool "-is comically insulting, but presumably defused by the audience's having already laughed at him. Lest anyone respond directly to the slur, in an aside, he takes refuge in the familiar stupidity of commedia dell'arte characters: There are but two Sorts of Men, Scaramouch and Harlequin. If you're grave, You're a Fool; if trifling, you' re a Fooi:-Ergo, You're a Fool; be what you wi/1!-Is that Logic or no?-1'11 bring a Clown from the Plough shall talk better. While far from flattering in content, the words were presumably delivered with nods and winks and chuckles that kept them amusing. Aston goes on to complain about the difficulties of technical vocabulary and then focuses on individuals in the audience resisting his philosophy. Anyone who was really offended would surely have walked out by now, so these "victims" are just being kidded for effect, not really resisting his performance. However, the focus is no longer on the whole audience but on individuals or small groups, whose expressions and postures he perhaps mimicked. They are singled out for more joking insults: 14 Aston applies these terms to his mentor Thomas Doggett in A Brief Supplement to Colley Cibber, Esq; his Lives (1747), reprinted in Colley Cibber, An Apology for the Life of Mr. Colley Cibber, 2 vols., ed. R. W. Lowe (1889; rpt. New York: AMS Press, 1966), 2:297-318, at 310. 1s See, for example, the Prologue to Captivi. AMERICAN MEDLEY 'Tis silly, that People can't like a Thing unless they know the Name on't.-Hamlet's Munchin Maligo, is a better Answer than any other to so trifling a Querist. What then, say you, we are not to be banter'd by a frothy Fellow, and lay out our Money for such Stuff.- Why, do not be angry, Friend: If I mock you with your own Face and Gesture, then you'll see what a Fool you are.- 105 Having again delivered his chief message, Aston indulges in an editorial comment, "That makes Comedies useful." The observation is thrown away, but literary criticism, however off-hand, is quite unexpected in this context. He returns to prompting audience response, first in general, then teasing an individual for having resisted him: Come, laugh again now: Why you came crying into the World; go out laughing, do Jack, for Variety's Sake-What! You're asham'd to look such an Ass.- To conclude this joking attack, he switches into what I take to be his "Serjeant Kite" mode, after a favorite role from The Recruiting Officer.16 By changing into one of his best-known characters, Aston withdraws from direct engagement with his victim to a stage persona: Come, frown and strain hard, as if you were at Stool, and look like a Lion.-There's a brave Boy! you shall be Captain of the Train-bands- And having made that transformation, he speaks again to the whole audience, concluding his performance (which is also the end of his book), with a reminder of his hungry, dependent status: I'll wait on you to Morrow about Dinner-time- and, 'till then, I am your humble Servant, A. ASTON. 16 See Kite's patter at the beginning of George Farquhar, The Recruiting Officer (1705). Aston's 1716-17 season in London included "Serjeant Kite and Mob," which he had already played at Bath. 106 MILHOUS On the printed page, the logic of this material is difficult to follow, but presumably it reminded readers of Aston's performances. Such patter formed only the connections in an evening's program. The second category of material in the Medley was songs and other varieties of entertainment. For a performance at the Globe and Marlborough's Head Tavern in Fleet Street, he advertised in the Daily Courant of 5 December 1718: from Wales, an admirable Curiosity, viz. A Mock-Voice, never heard in London before. He imitates with his Voice domestic Animals, as Cocks, Hens, Ducks, Turkey-Cocks and Turkey-Hens, Swine, Horses, Dogs; also Ravens, Lapwings, Sea-fowl, Sheep, Lambs, Bulls, Cows, Cats, &c. and that too after a comical Manner, following them thro' their different Passions, as Surprise, Fear, Anger, &c. in their Eating, Walking, Converse &c. Perhaps because he was competing with the established imitator Mr Clinch of Barnet, Aston offered to do this routine on the spot "at a Minute's Warning, from 9 in the Morning to 9 at Night," and no doubt parts of it turned up in his patter. He proudly advertised Purcell's comic dialogues, which suggests that he favored English music, traditional or modern, over Italianate. Aston brought his show to town from Bath, where he could count on well-to-do, theatre-hungry Londoners for custom. His advertisement of"Two New Songs on Tunbridge and Bath" in the Daily Courant of 18 February 1717 is a clue to the sort of mild social satire he purveyed. The note on 29 March that "Any Person may bespeak what Scene, Song, or Soliloque they please" implies a large repertoire.ll Aston continued to add to it: a 17 May 1722 performance included "A New Song by Mr Aston, representing a Hide Park Grenadier," and he wrote "A Ballad, Call'd A Dissertation on the Beggar's Opera," which cannot be earlier than 1728 and which featured as the refrain the phrase, "0 brave Gay!"lS He appears to admire and envy Gay's daring, since, to maintain his welcome, Aston always had to avoid politics. Near the end of his career, on 26 17 Daily Courant, 29 March 1717. 1a Reprinted in Church Music and Musical Life in Pennsylvania in the Eighteenth Century, 3 vols. (Philadelphia: Society of the Colonial Dames of America, 1938), 3:126-28. This edition includes music, where identifiable, inserted into the text of The Fool's Opera. AMERICAN MEDLEY 107 December 1743, he began an engagement at the Temple Punch House in London, offering "his learned comic demonstrative Oratory on the Face, with English, Irish, Scotch, and Negroe Songs, in proper habits."t9 He may have picked up the Negroe songs in the colonies. The musical dialogues would lend themselves to little production numbers; other songs might be simple covering devices, played while other members of the company prepared the next scene. I turn now to the question of what scenes Aston could have played if he had toured the Medley to New Haven. Let us imagine that some of the young men of the Collegiate School, which is temporarily housed at the rectory in Killingworth and will later become Yale University, have come into New Haven for the fair on a May afternoon in 1704. One of them hears that Tony Aston from England will perform his Medley at a tavern on the edge of town this very evening at 7 PM, admission 1s. In a spirit of science the students pool their money and attend what has to be the first performance they will ever have seen by a professional English actor. What do they see? The heart of the Medley was several scenes from recent plays. No evidence shows conclusively whether Aston played single scenes or compiled them into "drolls/' fitting together scenes from a comic subplot, a strategy used in the provinces during the Commonwealth period.20 Aston may have done both. In any case, by limiting choices to plays written before 1700 that he advertised in his first extended engagement in London, we can construct a program he could have presented at the imaginary New Haven fair.2t For the most part Aston worked with only his wife and their son (who was advertised as 10 years old in 1716), boasting that 19 The London Stage, Part 3, 1729-47, 2:1,080. 2o For such scripts, see the drolls collected in The Wits or, Sport upon Sport, ed. John James Elson (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1932). 21 My list derives from his advertisements in the Daily Courant, 27 December 1716 and 18 January 1717. 108 Three, more Diversion can show, Than 20 that do little know; We shift the Dress, and change the Theme, We skim the Milk, and take the Cream.22 MILHOUS He could not legally present whole plays, even if he undertook to sustain a company of more than three. For 26 February 1717, at the Globe and Marlborough's Head Tavern, he advertised "a Contiguous Entertainment, beginning with a New Farce," to be performed by his family and "4 People capable to discharge" the other characters. This and "The whole Spanish Fryar" on 2 March seem to have raised questions about the degree to which he was challenging the theatres. Unsurprisingly, he returned to the Medley and, for safety's sake, on 11 March took refuge behind a censorship dodge routinely employed by others later in the century: "N. B. Mr. Aston performs to divert his Friends Gratis, and hath Toothpickers to sell at 1s. each."23 His basic show was set up to make efficient use of limited resources. In New Haven in 1704, the evening's scenes might include: (1) Sailor Ben and Miss Prue, from Congreve's Love for Love (1695): a perverse courting scene, since, though Ben has been urged to accept Prue, he is not eager; and she, infatuated with the fop Tattle, has no time for a mere sailor-and tells him so. Their mimed reactions to one another are as important as the words. The contrast between Ben's forthrightness and Prue's affectation is inoffensive, but the fact remains that both are defying parent figures. A more elaborate selection is the early scene in which Angelica mocks the astrological wisdom of her uncle Foresight and his friend Sir Sampson Legend. This scene pits youth against the authority of age and features many cuckolding jokes. (2) Teague from Sir Robert Howard's Committee (1662): probably the exuberant drunk scene in Act IV, when Teague sings and dances an Irish jig with the deeply inebriated Puritan clerk Obadiah. (For a later illustration of this popular play, see Fig. 2.) If this were a droll, it might also include the earlier scene in which Teague overpowers a bookseller and steals a pamphlet from him. Of course, Teague is meant to be laughed at and is not an exemplary character. 22 Daily Post, 20 March 1724. This is the unrecognized source of William Rufus Chetwood's report of how Aston treated competitors outside London. He would allegedlY' demand a benefit performance as the Rrice of his moving on, so Chetwood said that he "generally, like a Cat skimm'd off the fat Cream, and left the lean Milk lo those that stay' a behind." A General History of the Stage (London: for W. Owen, 1749), 90. 23 Daily Courant, 22 February and 1 March 1717. Aston's price in his next London tour was 1s. 6d., so he appears undaunted (Daily Courant, 5 December 1718). AMERICAN MEDLEY 109 Figure 2. Moody as Teague and Parsons as Obadiah in Howard, The Committee, Act 4, sc. 1. (Dodd ad viv. delt., Collyer sculp.; T. Lowndes, 8 November 1776) 110 MILHOUS (3) Jerry Blackacre and the Widow, from Wycherley's Plain Dealer (1676) : a droll might begin with the Widow browbeating her son early in the play, as she tries to teach him the law, and go on to the scene in Act IV where Jerry confronts his outraged mother in his new red breeches. He then joins his new-found "guardian," Freeman, in trying to bully the Widow into a second marriage. She resists and threatens to disinherit her son, a sobering thought. (4) Fondlewife and Laetitia, from Congreve's Old Batchelour (1693) : in which the impotent old banker berates his young wife for the cuckolding she has not yet managed to achieve (though she's working on it). When she answers to his satisfaction, they kiss and make up in babytalk. Aston acknowledged following the great comedian Thomas Doggett in his interpretation of this role.24 Assuming a second man were available, Aston could also do the scene in which Fondlewife comes back unexpectedly and finds Laetitia's would-be lover in the marriage bed (though still dressed). Rather than own himself a cuckold, Fondlewife agrees to believe Laetitia's protests of innocence instead of what his own eyes tell him. (Imagine his double takes.) This was intended to be amusing, but cannot be described as edifying. And finally (5) Antonio and Aquilina, the flagellation and shoe fetishist display from Otway's Venice Preserv'd (1682), which might be quite instructive, but is it what the Founding Fathers of Yale wanted their young gentlemen to learn? These are just the best known of the eight scenes Aston was offering in his 1716-17 London season. This review of a potential repertory marks the end of my counterfactual fantasy, which I will now proceed to undermine. The obstacles to this scenario range from the practical, which were perhaps soluble, to the legal/social/macro- economic, which were less yielding. Aston was obviously good at getting a tavern crowd to respond to him, and his pattern and songs would have been easy to adapt to the colonial environment. About the scenes, I am less sure. Early in The Haunted Stage, Marvin carlson notes that 24 Nicholson, 47. AMERICAN MEDLEY We are able to "read" new works-whether they be plays, paintings, musical compositions, or, for that matter, new signifying structures that make no claim to artistic expression at all-only because we recognize in them elements that have been recycled from other structures of experience that we have experienced earlier.2s 111 I am struck by how heavily the scenes Aston played depend on the assumption that the audience will bring a lot of knowledge of theatrical context with them to the performance. The extremes of behavior they portray were originally meant to contrast with the more restrained action in main plots, and in isolation they seem sketchier and more crudely written than they do within their respective plays, where the characters, or at least their foibles, have already been introduced. There is much scope for face-making, but at the level of ideas, I am not sure the detached scenes would be funny, if, like our imaginary Yale students, one had no experience at all of the conventions of theatre. Indeed, the students might not have been the only ones mystified, since by 1704 the original colonists had mostly died, and Aston would have been playing to a population almost none of whom could ever have been to the theatre. One feature that would probably have gotten across, however, is the misogynistic outlook that the scenes emphasize. I believe they anticipate a predominantly male audience, such as would be found in taverns, and a very broad playing style.26 Turning to practicalities, I want to ask whether Aston could have put together a show, or even a company, in the colonies. He was 2s Marvin Carlson, The Haunted Stage: The Theatre as Memory Machine (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2001), 4. 26 In his Supplement to Cibber's Apology, at the end of a discussion of "the grand Contest . . . whether Nature or Art excell'd," Aston offered himself as an example (2:311-13). He claimed that "all the best Critics," assessing his Fondlewife in The Old Batchelour against Cibber's, said, "If you wou'd see Nature . .. see Tony Aston-if Art, Colley Cibber." However, I find it difficult to believe that Aston could play this material "naturally" or at all subtly in tavern and fair settings. Perhaps he referred to a more conversational tone on his part and to his encouragement of direct interaction with his audience. 112 MILHOUS certainly qualified to do so: he had acted at Drury Lane; "strolled" in the provinces with Doggett; and he says that he spent the winter of 1703-04 in New York "acting, writing, courting, fighting" with friends he had known in England. (He does not claim they were actors.) So let us consider what would have been necessary to put together the Medley in New York and tour it to New Haven, on the way to Boston, whence Aston might seek passage home. Tony, who had lost all his possessions three times over, would have had to write out sides from memory. The best records available suggest that only about 25% of the books exported from England in the early days fell into the category of "romances," which I take to include plays, so his local bookseller probably couldn't have obliged.27 That might have limited the repertoire, but Aston no doubt remembered and was prepared to embroider his best roles, so texts were less of a problem than if he had contemplated doing whole plays. To perform scenes, however, he needed a second man and, preferably, a woman-or I suppose a boy might have done. Aston acknowledged no wife in the colonies, and though he may have found female companionship, one has to wonder how many such casual acquaintances would be willing to undertake the risk and labor to learn even a few scenes and then go on the road with him. Can we imagine that the friends in New York with whom he played scenes did so for profit, rather than for their own diversion? And would they, or one of them, be willing to play the women's roles? A company of any kind would not have come easily to hand. Nevertheless, Tony was perpetually optimistic and very persuasive. With the aid of a few books and a radically incomplete apprenticeship, he says he passed himself off as a lawyer in Jamaica. Teaching young hellions to act would surely have been no harder and would probably have been more fun. His endeavors took place before New York attempted to ban theatre in 1709, so that legislation would not have impeded his efforts.2s 27 See Lawrence C. Wroth, The Colonial Printer (Charlottesville: Dominion Books, 1931); Giles Barber, "Books from the old world and for the new: the British international trade in books in the eighteenth century," Studies on Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century 151 (1976): 185-224; and Stephen Botein, "The Anglo-American Book Trade before 1776: Personnel and Strategies," in Printing and Society in Early America, ed. William L. Joyce et al. (Worcester, CT: American Antiquarian Society, 1983), 48-82. 2s See Peter A. Davis, "Puritan Mercantilism and the Politics of Anti-theatrical Legislation in Colonial America," in The American Stage: Social and Economic Issues from the Colonial Period to the Present, ed. Ron Engle and Tice L. Miller (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 18-29, at 19. AMERICAN MEDLEY 113 The jingle about skimming the cream contains an important point about Aston's production method. A talented mime could manufacture the effect of costumes and props, but Aston was no Dario Fo. The visual impact of his miniscule company depended on "shifting the dress" for major transformations. Miss Prue can perhaps share a gown with Laetitia Fondlewife, but the Widow Blackacre and the prostitute Aquilina probably should not wear the same thing. Teague the Irishman cannot dress like Sailor Ben. Jerry Blackacre needs two sets of pants, one of them red, and a green baize bag of legal briefs. Aquilina must have a discipline of some kind-a riding crop, a cane, a handful of birches. Dresses and properties cost money, though of course less than scenery, which the Medley did without. Another potential limitation of the talent pool is that, ideally, each performer should be able to sing and to play some musical instrument, however simple-a pipe of some sort, a drum-to aid with the musical interludes. Our Tony was nothing if not persistent, so let us assume that after a winter's worth of preparation, the Medley is ready to tour to New Haven and points north. They will need at least three horses, which in Connecticut in those days might cost as little as 2. 7s. apiece, but of course had to be fed and preferably housed.29 Costs are adding up. When his company gets to a town-any town-a whole new set of problems arises: getting permission to play, finding a place to perform, publicizing the show, gauging when to leave. No doubt the formidable blue laws of Connecticut and the large Puritan majority in the population of New England, whose antipathy to theatre made Jeremy Collier look benign, were a factor in discouraging Aston from taking that route, even by himself. In relation to New Haven specifically, there were local ordinances against "strangers" living there for longer than a month without a license, lest they create disorder- and, like the three young men had up "for acting a play of ye Bare and ye Cubb" in Accomack County, Virginia, in 1665, disorder is surely what Puritan officials would have regarded Tony Aston as creating.3o 29 On horses, see Jackson Turner Main, Society and Economy in Colonial Connecticut (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985), 368. This price is listed for 1680, down from much higher in the 1650s, when horses were in shorter supply. 30 On the Virginia incident, see Odai Johnson and Willliam J. Burling, The Colonial American Stage, 1665-1774: A Documentary Calendar (Madison: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2001), 92- 93. 114 MILHOUS "Travellers, ... [and] such as resort hither in a way of merchandise or trade" were not "reached" by the law, but the immaterial and evanescent Medley would have been hard to define as a product, when it was so much more easily regarded as seditious speech, as it might be by local authorities in England who wished to prevent plays.31 Recent scholarship suggests, however, that New England society was not as monolithic as it has sometimes been portrayed. In 1704, New Haven was about to be named one of a handful of official Connecticut ports and was already more used to "strangers" than it had been in earlier decades. Although it included some slave owners, it was also "basically egalitarian," and included comparatively few people who were truly poor.32 Still, there were no doubt limits as to how quickly the authorities wished to embrace frivolous changes. So far as preserved records show, Yale College, as an institution, did not feel much pressure to combat theatre in this period, presumably because it was non-existent. Yet temptation lurked, at least as early as 1714, when a major donation of "above 800 Volumes of very valuable Books" arrived at the college library, gotten together by an enterprising colonial agent.33 The very first entry on the docket was "All the Tatlers and Spectators . . . in Royal paper, neatly bound and gilt," full of enticing references to actors and actresses, plays and playgoing. These volumes,- the personal gift of "Richd. Steele Esqr.," would have given questing readers one positive source of information about theatre to set against other acquisitions such as Prynne's Histrio- Mastix, the works of Tertullian, and "Mr. Collier's Essays on Several 31 See The Blue Laws of New Haven Colony [etc.] (Hartford: Case, Tiffany, & Co., 1838), 125, 213-14. On the immaterial product, see M. C. Bradbrook, The Rise of the Common Player (1962; rpt. London: Chatto & Windus, 1964). 32 See Richard L. Bushman, From Puritan to Yankee (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1967), 29, and Main, 82, 86, 97. 33 See Anne Stokely Pratt, "The Books Sent from England by Jeremiah Dummer to Yale College," and "The List of Books Sent by Jeremiah Dummer," prepared by Louise May Bryant and Mary Patterson, in Papers in Honor of Andrew Keogh (New Haven: privately printed, 1938). Technically, the school was not yet named Yale, though Dummer was instrumental in getting Elihu Yale to become a benefactor of the Collegiate School. AMERICAN MEDLEY 115 Subjects." How early the college authorities had to worry about the embodying of plays by students is unclear. According to the catalogue of an exhibition at the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, a "prohibition of theatrical activities" survives from 10 December 1754; and another "faculty judgment" of 2 July 1755 "reports that six students were fined for acting in an unnamed play the previous winter and two of them, who had dressed as women (an aggravating circumstance), were publicly admonished."34 But all this energetic imitation comes long after Tony Aston's projected visit. Looking for bright spots, I note that taverns were plentiful, and twice a year there was a fair, both of them Tony's natural venues.3s Publicity would have been difficult, though. The whole colony of Connecticut had no printer until 1709,36 so mass-produced posters and handbills for the Medley were not an option, though a few handmade notices could have been stuck up in key places, and an entry parade, had it been permitted to go ahead, would have alerted by-standers to the new arrivals. Who could afford to come to the Medley? In my view, this obstacle outweighs even censorship as an explanation for why the Founding Fathers did not have to worry about theatre as a distraction for the early students of Yale College. New Haven was comparatively densely populated, but is estimated to have had only 1,400 people in 34 Vincent Giraud, Theater and Anti-Theater in the 18th Century (New Haven: Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, 2001), 5. 35 On taverns, see Bushman, 111, and Bruce C. Daniels, The Connecticut Town: Growth and Development, 1635-1790 (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1979), 157-58, who estimates that "probably no Connecticut man was more than three mile from one, and most were far closer." New Haven had officially permitted markets in May and September as early as 1644, according to Albert E. Van Dusen, Connecticut (New York: Random House, 1961), 61. 36 See Robert J. Taylor, Colonial Connecticut: A History (Millwood, NY: KTO Press, 1979), 186. 116 MILHOUS 1748, and no doubt fewer earlier.37 The most intensive and elegant analysis of the economic structure of colonial Connecticut society I have come across is by Jackson Turner Main. Analysis of wills and inventories, as well as local tax and census records, leads him to conclude that "By the 1670s .. . the social structure of Connecticut had crystallized into its permanent form."38 The largest single block of the population, about a third, was young unmarried males. In principle, they included some who might have the time and inclination to attend the Medley. They made a fixed wage of 2s. per diem, country pay, for working long hours six days a week. In Main's view that amount was "probably twice the minimum for survival, permitting a margin against sporadic unemployment"-but not a large margin. If 10 or 12 worth of consumer goods represented sufficiency, these young men, on average, accumulated that and more, but it took them several years. They did not have much money to spend on frivolity. Main considers that 15 was the "bare subsistence level in consumption goods for a family with young children," again accumulated over several years, and "comfort needed several times that amount," so few young married couples were going to have money to spend on theatre. Then what could Aston charge? As much as a shilling? Connecticut at large does not appear to be able to afford Aston in 1704. One last factor is Aston's own expectations. He reminisced in his valuable Brief Supplement to Cibber's Apology that when he "had the Pleasure" of strolling with Doggett, "each Sharer kept his Horse, and was every where respected as a Gentleman."39 Just after Aston took off for the colonies in 1701, Doggett's people attempted to play a season at Sturbridge Fair, outside Cambridge, with the encouragement of the Lord Mayor. However, the university's Vice Chancellor, the great classicist Richard Bentley, then at work on his edition of Terence, ordered them arrested.40 Subsequent lawsuits 37 Rollin G. Osterweis, Three Centuries of New Haven, 1638- 1938 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1953), 102. Cf. Everett G. Hill, A Modern History of New Haven (New York: S. J. Clarke Publishing Company, 1918), 28, who considers that in 1720 the "rural community" (not just the town) consisted of fewer than 2,500. Daniels, 45, cautions that "there are few hard data antedating the 1750s." 38 Main, 369. Subsequent quotations from 90 and 91. 39 Brief Supplement, in Cibber, Apology, 2:310. 40 See Judith Milhous and Robert D. Hume, "Thomas Doggett at Cambridge in 1701," Theatre Notebook 51 (1997): 147-65. AMERICAN MEDLEY 117 reveal the scope of operation Aston had been used to, even in the provinces. Doggett's company numbered between fifteen and twenty- one, comprised of hirelings, one or more guest stars, and at least eight sharers (one of them a woman). Their repertory ranged from Hamlet to Behn's machine farce, The Emperor of the Moon. The company owned jointly a considerable quantity of scenery and costumes, and during that summer performed or attempted to perform in Norwich, Beccles, Bury St. Edmunds, Colchester, Great Yarmouth, and Sturbridge. The play booth contracted for at Sturbridge Fair measured 32' x 71' and cost 40 to build, a substantial structure, albeit temporary. If, during the eight days of the fair, just three hundred customers a day paid a shilling apiece for shows, the company could probably have amortized their construction costs and immediate living expenses at the rate of about 7 per day and made a profit of 8 a day. More customers would have fattened the profits considerably. Strollers had been playing at this fair for years. Doggett was unlucky that the university administration had recently changed, but otherwise, 1701 seems to have been a normal year for his company. Whatever performances Aston was able to arrange in New York in 1704 were probably on a very different scale. New Haven would have to wait decades to see amateur performances of modern plays by students, let alone any theatre as sophisticated as Tony Aston's Medley looks in this early American context. By 1767 there was at least one literary society at Yale that proposed to act plays regularly.41 The circumstances were, however, very different back in 1704. For all that Aston chose to go his own way, rather than hold a subordinate position in London, even the Medley as played in England represented a severe cut-back from his expectations of theatre.42 The patter and songs Aston could do anywhere by himself, but the substance of the Medley was the scenes, which distinguished him from other tavern performers, remained dependent for variety on that traditional source, the repertory of the London theatres. 41 Giraud, 5, and George Dudley Seymour, New Haven (New Haven: privately printed, 1942), chapter LXIV. 42 Graves, 392, notes that he set up a company of eleven in Edinburgh in 1726, "at the express invitation of the city magistrates," but was closed down the next year, after an election brought in new officials. 118 MILHOUS Aston's failure to go to Yale makes perfect sense, even if he had had reason to believe that the authorities would tolerate his performing there. In the first decade of the eighteenth century, New Haven had neither the economic base to support even a minimal set of strollers nor the cultural understanding that would have made such entertainments comprehensible and enjoyable. The Medley was minimal in its production demands, but Tony Aston visited America about half a century before he would have had any hope of making his expenses in the vicinity of Yale. 119 CONTRIBUTORS ALAN ACKERMAN is an associate professor in the Department of English at the University of Toronto. He is currently co-editing a volume of essays on modernism and antitheatricality (Palgrave Macmillan, forthcoming) and is the author of The Portable Theater: American Literature and the Nineteenth-Century Stage from Johns Hopkins University Press (1999). JOHN S. BAK is Maitre de Conferences (Associates Professor) at the Universite Nancy 2-c.T.U. in France where he teaches American drama and American Gothic. He has presented papers in both the United States and Europe, and his published work has appeared in such journals as Theatre Journal, American Drama, Eugene O'Neill Review, Tennessee Williams Literary Journal, Coup de Theatre, and Cercles. MARVIN CARLSON, Sidney C. Cohn Professor of Theatre at the City University of New York Graduate Center, is the author of many articles on theatrical theory and European theatre history and dramatic literature. He is the 1994 recipient of the George Jean Nathan Award for dramatic criticism and the 1999 recipient of the American Society for Theatre Research Distinguished Scholar Award. His book The Haunted Stage; The Theatre as Memory Machine, which came out from the University of Michigan Press in 2001, received the Callaway Prize. JUDITH MILHOUS is Distinguished Professor in the Ph.D. Program in Theatre at the CUNY Graduate Center. Her research specialty is seventeenth- and eighteenth-century English theatre, opera, and dance. Her most recent book, with Gabriella Dideriksen and Robert D. Hume, is val. 2 of Italian Opera in Late Eighteenth Century London: The Pantheon Opera and Its Aftermath (Oxford, 2001). ALISA ROOST, alisa@monm.edu, is an assistant professor at Monmouth College. She is writing a book on "The Other American Musical: Political Satire in American Musical Theatre" and has directed Flahooley and Bloomer Girl at the Theatre at St. Clement's (an off- Broadway house). She has a Ph.D. from the Graduate Center at City University of New York. MARTIN E. SEGAL THEATRE CENTER PUBLICATIONS THE HEIRS OF MOLIERE POUJ. PJ.BNCH COMEDIES OP THE 17TH AND 18TH CBNTUJ.JBS @ Rqnard: '111e Absent-Minded Lovft' @ DestouC"hee: The Count @ 1.11 Cbau.aaee: The Publonable Prejudtee (j) Laya: The Prlend of the l.awt TRANSLATED AND EDITED BY MARVIN CARLSON The Heirs of Moliere Translated and Edited by: Marvin Carlson This volume contains four representative French comedies of the period from the death of Moliere to the French Revolution: Regnard's The Absent-Minded Lover, Destouches's The Conceited Count, La Chaussee's The Fashionable Prejudice, and Laya's The Friend of the Laws. Translated in a poetic form that seeks to capture the wit and spirit of the originals, these four plays suggest something of the range of the Moliere inheritance, from comedy of character through the highly popular sentimental comedy of the mid eighteenth century, to comedy that employs the Moliere tradition for more contemporary political ends. In addition to their humor, these comedies provide fascinating social documents that show changing ideas about such perennial social concerns as class, gender, and politics through the turbulent century that ended in the revolutions that gave birth to the modem era. USA $20.00 plus shipping $3.00 USA, $6.00 International Please make payments in U.S. Dollars payable to: Martin E. Segal Theatre Center Mail checks or money orders to: Circulation Manager Martin E. Segal Theatre Center The CUNY Graduate Center 365 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10016-4309 Visit our web-site at: web.gc.cuny.edu/mestc/ Contact: mestc@gc.cuny.edu or 212-817-1868 MARTIN E. SEGAL THEATRE CENTER PUBLICATIONS Pixerecourt: Four Melodramas Translated and Edited by: Daniel Gerould & Marvin Carlson fOUR MELODRAMAS This volume contains four of Pixerecourt's most important melodramas: The Ruins of Babylon, or Jafar and Zaida, The Dog of Montatgis, or The Forest of Bondy, Christopher Columbus, or The Discovery of the New World, and Alice, or The Scottish Gravediggers, as well as Charles Nodier's "Introduction" to the 1843 Collected Edition of Pixerecourt's plays and the two theoretical essays by the playwright, "Melodrama," and "Final Reflections on Melodrama." A ICt TH RUINS or BABYLON CHIUSTOPHI!I COL MIIUS THr. Doc Or MONTAICIS TaANSLAT D AND EDI D BY DANIIL GlaOULD ll MARVIN CARLSON "Pixerecourt furnished the Theatre of Marvels with its most stunning effects, and brought the classic situations offairground comedy up-to-date. He determined the structure of a popular theatre which was to last through the 19th century ... Pixerecourt determined that scenery, music, dance, lighting and the very movements of his actors should no longer be left to chance but made integral parts of his play." Hannah Winter, The Theatre of Marvels USA $20.00 plus shipping $3.00 USA, $6.00 International Please make payments in U.S. Dollars payable to: Martin E. Segal Theatre Center Mail checks or money orders to: Circulation Manager Martin E. Segal Theatre Center The CUNY Graduate Center 365 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10016-4309 Visit our web-site at: web.gc.cuny.edu/mestc/ Contact: mestc@gc.cuny.edu or 212-817-1868 MARTIN E. SEGAL THEATRE CENTER PUBLICATIONS Contemporary Theatre in Egypt contains the proceedings of a Symposium on this subject held at the CUNY Graduate Center in February of !999 along with the first English translations of three short plays by leading Egyptian playwrights who spoke at the Symposium, Alfred Farag, Gamal Maqsoud, and Lenin El-Ramley. It concludes with a bibliography of English translations and secondary articles on the theatre in Egypt since 1955. (USA $12.00 plus $3.00 shipping. Foreign $12.00 plus $6.00 shipping) Zeami and the No Theatre in the World, edited by Benito Ortolani and Samuel Leiter, contains the proceedings of the "Zeami and the No Theatre in the World Symposium" held in New York City in October !997 in conjunction with the "Japanese Theatre in the World" exhibit at the Japan Society. The book contains an introduction and fifteen essays, organized into sections on Theories and Aesthetics," "Zeami and Drama," "Zeami and Acting," and "Zeami and the World." (USA $15.00 plus $3.00 shipping. Foreign $15.00 plus $6.00 shipping) Four Works for the .Theatre by Hugo Claus contains translations of four plays by the foremost contemporary writer of Dutch language theatre, poetry, and prose. Flemish by birth and upbringing, Claus is the author of some ninety plays, novels, and collections of poetry. The plays collected here with an introduction by David Willinger include The Temptation, Friday, Serenade, and The Hair of the Dog. (USA $12.00 plus $3.00 shipping. Foreign $12.00 plus $6.00 shipping) .Theatre Research Resources in New York City is the most comprehensive catalogue of New York City research facilities available to theatre scholars. Within the indexed volume, each facility is briefly described including an outline of its holdings and practical matters such as hours of operation. Most entries include electronic contact infonuation and web sites. The listings are grouped as follows: Libraries, Museums, and Historical Societies; University and College Libraries; Ethnic and Language Associations; Theatre Companies and Acting Schools; and Film and Other. (USA $5.00 plus $3.00 shipping. Foreign $5.00 plus $6.00 shipping) Please make payments in U.S. Dollars payable to: Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Mail checks or money orders to: Circulation Manager Martin E. Segal Theatre Center The CUNY Graduate Center 365 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10016-4309 Visit our web-site at: web.gc.cuny.edu/rnestc/ Contact: mestc@gc.cuny.edu or 212-817-1868