SEEP Vol.14 No.2 Summer 1994

volume 14, no.
2
summer 1994
SEEP (ISSN # 1047-0018) is a publication of the Institute for
Contemporary East European Drama and Theatre under the auspices of
the Center for Advanced Study in Theatre Arts (CAST A), Graduate
Center, City University of New York. The Institute is Room 1206A,
City University Graduate Center, 33 West 42nd Street, New York, NY
10036. All subscription requests and submissions should be addressed to
the Editors of SEEP: Daniel Gerould and Alma Law, CASTA, Theatre
Program, City University Graduate Center, 33 West 42nd Street, New
York, NY 10036.
EDITORS
Daniel Gerould
Alma Law
ASSOCIATE EDITORS
Patrick Hennedy
Jay Plum
ADVISORY BOARD
Edwin Wilson, Chair
Marvin Carlson
Leo Hecht
Martha W. Coigney
CAST A 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.
Copyright 1994 CAST A
SEEP has a very liberal reprinting policy. Journals and newsletters that
desire to reproduce articles, reviews, and other materials that have
appeared in SEEP may do so, as long as the following provisions are met:
a. Permission to reprint the article must be requested from SEEP in
writing before the fact;
b. Credit to SEEP must be given in the reprint;
c. Two copies of the publication in which the reprinted material
has appeared must be furnished to the Editors of SEEP
immediately upon publication.
2 Slavic and East European Performance Vol. 14, No.2
Editorial Policy
From the Editors
Events
Books Received
TABLE OF CONTENTS
"Mrozek's Chekhovian Tragicomedy
Stirs Mixed Emotions"
Daniel Gerould
"Moving in New Directions:
The Class of Expressive Plastic Movement"
John Freedman
"Chekhov in Ottawa"
Daniel Gerould
"SEEP Reviews of Chekhov Productions, 1981-1994"
" 'Polish Theatre: From the Shadows of the Communist
Past to the Challenges of the Democratic Future'
A Lecture by Kazimierz Braun, April 28, 1994,
Bruno Walter Auditorium, Lincoln Center"
David A. Goldfarb
PAGES FROM THE PAST
"Liviu Ciulei's 'Restoring Theatricality
to the Art of Theatre' "
Herbert C. Rand
"Restoring Theatricality to the Art
of Theatre"
Liviu Ciulei
4
5
6
11
13
16
24
27
29
32
34
3
REVIEWS
"Clown Wanted by Romanian Playwright
Matei Visniec"
Jane House
"Bulgakov's 1be Master and Margarita
at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia"
Marcia L. Ferguson
"The Museum of Modern Art Presents
Rarely Seen Soviet Films"
Daniel Gerould
Contributors
Playscripts in Translation Series
Subscription Policy
EDITORIAL POLICY
42
47
50
52
53
55
Manuscripts in the following categories are solicited: articles of
no more than 2,500 words, performance and film reviews, and
bibliographies. Please bear in mind that all submissions must concern
themselves either with contemporary materials on Slavic and East
European theatre, drama and film, or with new approaches to older
materials in recently published works, or new performances of older
plays. In other words, we welcome submissions reviewing innovative
performances of Gogol but we cannot use original articles discussing
Gogol as a playwright.
Although we welcome translations of articles and reviews from
foreign publications, we do require copyright release statements. We will
also gladly publish announcements of special events and anything else
which may be of interest to our discipline. All submissions are refereed.
All submissions must be typed double-spaced and carefully
proofread. 1be Chicago Manual of Style should be followed.
Transliterations should follow the Library of Congress system. We
encourage submissions on computer disk. Submissions will be evaluated,
and authors will be notified after approximately four weeks.
4
Slavic and East European Performance Vol. 14, No. 2
FROM THE EDITORS
Contemporary East European and Russian theatre, once an exotic
species to be sought out, sometimes with much difficulty, in its native
habitat, has become an important element of world culture. Its impact
has been recognized and its achievements assimilated. An example of this
canonization is noted in the current issue of SEEP. Jerzy Grotowski, who
started his laboratory theatre in Wrodaw more than a quarter of a
century ago and has lived in the West since 1982, came to New York
recently to receive an honorary doctorate (see the "Events" column in
this issue as well as our special features on Grotowski in vol. 13, no. 2,
Summer 1993).
Since its beginnings in 1981, SEEP has kept pace with the
innovative developments in Slavic and East European theatre on stages in
both the East and West (as an instance, see pages 26-27 for a listing of
Chekhov reviews that we have published). It has been possible for us to
provide such wide-ranging coverage of the dissemination of East European
and Russian theatre because of the industry and imagination of our many
resourceful correspondents. We urge them to continue to provide new
material, and we invite newcomers to become contributors.
--Daniel Gerould and Alma Law
5
EVENTS
STAGE PRODUCTIONS
Anton Chekhov's Ivanov was presented by the Independent
Theatre Company from March 30 to May 4. The production was
directed by Rasa Allan Kazlas and took place at the House of Candles
Theatre in New York City.
Rajmund K.lechot, a Polish pantomimist, performed his one-man
show, The Wanderer on April 14 as part of the Performing Arts and
Artists of Poland Theatre Programs at The New York Public Library for
the Performing Arts.
Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita was dramatized by the
Steppenwolf Theatre Company of Chicago and ran through April23. Co-
produced with The Lookingglass Theatre, the play was directed by David
Catlin and Heidi Stillman.
The Strange Life of Ivan Osokin, by P.D. Ouspensky, was
performed at La Mama E.T.C. in New York City from April14 to 24.
Peter Gordon wrote the music, Constance Congdon wrote the libretto,
and Lawrence Sacharow directed.
The Dallas Theatre Center presented Chekhov's The Cherry
Orchard, directed by Richard Hamburger, April 21 to May 15.
Chekhov's Uncle Vanya, translated by Constance Garnett and
directed by Eve Shapiro, was performed by the Drama Division of the
Juilliard School, April 30 to May 2.
From May 1 to 18, the International Istanbul Theatre Festival in
Turkey featured performances by the Teatr Ekspresji of Poland in Zun,
staged and choreographed by Wojciech Misiuro. The Teatrul National
Craiova of Romania performed Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus, directed
by Silviu Purcarete, and King Ubu and Scenes from Macbeth, adapted from
Shakespeare by Alfred Jarry and directed by Purcarete. Russia's Taganka
Theatre presented Phaedra by Marina Tsvetaeva and directed by Roman
Viktyuk.
6
Slavic and East European Performance Vol. 14, No.2
Chekhov's The Seagull, directed by Timothy Near, was performed
at the San Diego Repertory Theatre from May 15 to June 12.
Russia's Limpopo children's theatre group traveled to Canada to
perform Russian Folk-N-Roll at the Edmonton International Children's
Festival, May 17 to 21, and Russian Rhythm and Dance Party at the
Calgary International Children's Festival, May 23 to 28.
A staged reading of The Passage to Rome: A Play on Carravagio,
a new Slovenian play by Viii Ravjnak and translated by Vesna Jurca, was
produced by the Ensemble International Theatre in New York, May 18.
U ros T refalt directed.
The Mark Taper Forum in Los Angeles presented Chekhov's The
Wood Demon, translated by Nicholas Saunders and Frank Dwyer, through
May 22.
From May 25 to June 18, The Medicine Show presented the New
York premiere of Vaclav Havel's latest play, Slum Clearance (1987). The
production was directed by Arnold Bratov, the sets were designed by Paul
Gugliotta with costumes by Aimee Grube!. The play was translated by
Marie Winn.
BRACE UP!, the Wooster Group's version of Chekhov's Three
Sisters, toured to the Israel Festival, May 28 to 31.
Yara's Forest Song was presented in New York City by La Mama
E.T.C. from June 10 to 26. The work was created by Virlana Tkacz with
the Y ara Arts Group, based on The Forest Song by Lesya Ukrainka, and
translated by Tkacz and Wanda Phipps. (For a review of Yara's Forest
Song as a work-in-progress, see SEEP vol. 14, no. 1, Spring 1994.)
The Fourth International Theatre Festival, MALTA '94, the
largest open-air festival in Eastern Europe, took place in Poznan, Poland
from June 29 to July 3. Many famous European street and outdoor
performers participated. There was also a MALTA-OFF Festival for
young, independent, and experimental theatre groups. MALTA '94
included an international conference of directors and organizers of open-
air festivals that took place from June 30 to July 2.
7
The Shaw Festival will present Tadeusz Bradecki production of
Witold Gombrowicz's luana, Princess of Burgundia in the Court House
Theatre, July 30 to September 24.
The Passions According to Bumbarash, written and directed by Kim
and Dashkevitch, will by performed by Russia's Oleg Tabakov Studio at
the Tampere International Theatre Festival in Tampere, Finland, August
12 and 13.
From August 11 to September 3, Chekhov's Three Sisters, directed
by Lisa Farrell, will be performed at the Chichester Festival Theatre in
West Sussex, England.
FILM
The New York Kunsthalle's exhibition entitled "Sarajevo:
Witnesses of Existence'' featured several films and videos on Sarajevo. On
March 17 there were screenings of Witnesses of Existence, When Something
Terrible Happens People Don't Wake Up, and Burnt Legs by Srdan Vuletic;
A Man Called Boat by Pjer Zalica; Message for My Friends by Zlatko
Lavanic; and Confessions of a Monster by Ademir Kenovic. On March 31,
Mizaldo by Denjamin Filipovic, Semexdin Mehmedinovic, and artistic
collaboration by Sanjin Jukic was shown along with Witr1esses of Existence.
Ivan and Abraham was shown March 23 and 24 as part of the
New Directors/New Films series of New York's Museum of Modern Art.
Written and directed by Yolande Zauberman, the film is set in a shtetl
near the eastern border of Poland (shot in a real shtetl in Ukraine) before
the first World War. It is in Yiddish, Polish, Russian, and Romany with
English subtitles.
Thanks to the Theatre on Film and Tape Archive of the New
York Public Library for the Performing Arts, two works of Tadeusz
Kantor were shown as part of the Performing Arts and Artists of Poland
Programs. Both Let the Artists Die, originally performed at La Mama
E.T.C., and Dead Class from the Cricot
2
Theatre, Cracow, were screened
on April 4.
8
Also part of the Performing Arts and Artist of Poland Programs,
The Silent Touch, a film by Krzysztof Zanussi, was screened on April 11.
The Human Rights Watch International Film Festival, held from
April 29 to May 12 in New York City included films from and about
Sarajevo and Romania. SA-LIFE from SAGA is a collection of short films
chronicling life in the besieged and war-ravaged city of Sarajevo. Members
of SAGA (Sarajevo Author's Group) were present for discussion after the
screenings. Also shown was another look at the ravages of war in
Sarajevo, The Living and the Dead in Sarajevo. Betrayal (Trahir), directed
by Radu Mihaileanu, depicts an imprisoned and abused dissident writer in
Romania who gets an offer: he may leave jail and continue to write if he
informs on his friends to the secret police. The film was a winner of the
Audience Award at the Sundance Film Festival, 1994, and Best Film at the
Montreal Film Festival, 1993. The screening was followed by a reception
and discussion with the director.
LECTURES
"Performances of (Bosnian) Genocide," billed as a "panel
discussion/presentation," took place on April27 at New York University.
Sponsored by the Tisch School of the Arts and the Department of
Performance Studies, the panel was moderated by Richard Schechner and
included Turkar Coker, Elinor Fuchs, Izeta Gradevic, Mandy Jacobson,
Sanjin Jukic, Karen Malpede, and Erika Munk.
On April 28, director/author Dr. Kazimierz Braun presented a
lecture, "Polish Theatre: From the Shadows of the Communist Past to
the Challenges of the Democratic Future," sponsored by the Billy Rose
Theatre Collection. The lecture was part of the Performing Arts and
Artists of Poland Theatre Programs of the New York Public Library for
the Performing Arts. (See David A. Goldfarb's report in this issue for
more details.)
A panel on "The Yiddish Theatre in Poland" was presented as
part of the 52nd Annual Meeting (A Multidisciplinary Conference) of the
Polish Institute of Arts and Sciences of America, Inc., June 3 and 4 on the
campus of American University, Washington, D.C. The presenters on the
panel were Faina Burko of New York; Maya Peretz of Washingon, D.C.;
9
and Nahma Sandrow of the Bronx Community College, CUNY. Peretz
also served as the panel's chair.
AWARDS
Jerzy Grotowski was in New York City to accept an honorary
degree of Doctor of Fine Arts from the New School for Social Research
at their graduation ceremonies, May 22.
10
BOOKS RECEIVED
Clayton, J. Douglas. Pierrot in Petrograd: Commedia dell'Arte/Balagan
in Twentieth-Century Russian Theatre and Drama. Montreal and
Kingston: MeGill-Queen's University Press, 1993. pp. 369.
Claytou examines the tradition of commedia as adopted by the
Russian modernists and shows how, in the form of the popular
balagan, it influenced the development of avant-garde theatre and
Eisenstein's theories of film. Included are chapters on topics such
as "Pierrot Comes to St. Petersburg: 1903-17," "Pierrot or
Petrushka? Russian Harlequinades," "Russian Pirandellos: The
Balagan as a Dramatic Genre," and "The Empty Throne:
Theatre as Metahistory." Clayton includes in the Appendices his
translations of six short plays, none of which has previously
appeared in English: Elena Guro, The Beggar Harlequin; Nikolai
Evreinov, Today's Columbine and Fiametta's Four Corpses;
Vsevolod Meyerhold, The Lovers; Vladimir Solov'ev, Harlequin
the Card Lover; and Lev Lunts, The Apes are Coming!
Golub, Spencer. The Recurrence of Fate: Theatre and Memory in
Twentieth-Century Russia. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press,
1994. pp. 277.
Using Chekhov's Cherry Orchard, Blok's Little Showbooth,
Charlie Chaplin, productions by Meyerhold and Tairov, and
Hamlet at the Taganka Theatre as case studies, Golub explores
the relationship between theatrical memory and the sense of
history constructed by the Russian state and intelligentsia
between 1900 and 1980.
Kott, Jan. Still Alive: An Autobiographical Essay. Trans. Jadwiga
Kosicka. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994. pp. 291.
Autobiography of Polish theatre critic Jan Kott.
11
Lawrynowicz, Julian, ed. "The Theatre on the Turn of the Twentieth
Century." Bulletin de Ia Societe des Sciences et des Lettres de L6di
n!III (1993/94). pp. 202.
Conference proceedings of a 1993 seminar organized by the L6dZ
Society of Sciences and Arts, L6di University and State School
of Cinema, Television, and Theatre in L6dz.
Schechter, Joel. The Congress of Clowns and Other Russian Circus Acts.
12
Pleasant Hill, CA: Small Poetry Press, 1994. pp. 13.
Monograph about Vladimir Durov, Yuri Nikulin, and the 1959
Congress of Clowns.
MROZEK'S CHEKHOVIAN TRAGICOMEDY
STIRS MIXED EMOTIONS
Daniel Gerould
When Slawomir Mrozek's new drama, Love in the Crimea, had
its world premiere at the Stary Theatre in Cracow on March 26, 1994-
followed a month later by its Warsaw opening-both the play and the
playwright were already embroiled in controversy. First published in the
December 1993 issue of Dialog, Poland's prestigious theatre journal, Love
in the Crimea was accompanied by an author's afterword containing ten
injunctions forbidding directors to make even the slightest departure from
the printed text. In a characteristically deadpan fashion, the Polish
satirist, known for stories and plays that push logic to paradoxical
extremes, has entered the lists in the current jousting between writers (and
their heirs and agents) on the one hand and theatre artists on the other,
which has been highly publicized in the case of Beckett's Endgame at the
American Repertory Theatre in 1984 and the Comedie in 1988
and Footfalls at the Garrick Theatre in 1984.
Jokingly referred to as Mrozek's "Decalogue," the ten
commandments attached to Love in the Crimea specify that: 1) nothing
will be cut from or added to the text; 2) there will be no change in the
sequential ordering of events; 3) the stage design will be executed as given;
4) there will be no additional music beyond that indicated; 5) the songs
sung by the performers will be those referred to by the author; 6) the age
and gender of the actors will correspond (age approximately, gender
absolutely) to the age and gender of the characters whom they are
portraying; 7) the passage of time between Acts I and II and between Acts
II and ill will be marked only as the author has made explicit-some
characters age, others do not, and all are played by the same performers
throughout; 8) the action will take place only on stage and the actors will
not enter or exit through the auditorium; 9) the acts will begin and end
with the rise and fall of the curtain, and scene changes will occur behind
the lowered curtain; 10) the theatre must print the above items in the
program under a title such as "The Author Has Gone Mad" or "The Last
of the Mohicans."
Subtitled a "Tragic Comedy," Love in the Crimea views the
collective traumas of European social upheaval through parody of cultural
stereotypes. Even more panoramic than Tango or On Foot (see SEEP vol.
10, no. 3, Winter 1990, "The Mrozek Festival: Cracow, Summer 1990"),
the play, which runs four hours in performance, covers eighty years of
13
modern Russian history, starting with a prerevolutionary first act in 1910,
going through a Bolshevik second act in 1928, and ending with a
postcommunist third act in 1991. The setting always remains a seaside
resort in the Crimea--a place that Mrozek regards as crucial in Russian
history, culture, and self-imaging. Through the passage of time and the
succession of different regimes, the playwright poses the problem of
identity in dissolving structures. As the social fabric unravels, love is the
only source of constancy. Although some of the characters age, the hero
and heroine remain unchanged according to the dictates of the heart.
The importance of the stage directions in Love in the Crimea is
immense; the playwright's indications of the spatial and visual aspects of
the drama take up almost one third of the text. Because he presents the
social history of Russia through a history of its styles, costumes, and
conventions, both cultural and theatrical, Mrozek must insist that his
precise notations be followed to the letter.
A master of parody and "quick change," Mrozek is able to "put
on" the different costumes and styles of dramatic discourse in such a way
as to lay bare the theatrical conventions and their underlying systems of
meaning. The point of departure for the Polish playwright is Chekhov.
In Act I of Love in the Crimea Mrozek adopts the scenic codes and
linguistic signs of Chekhovian drama. "Nothing happens, and yet
everything takes place .. . we sit and drink and our hair grows," observes
the merchant Cheltsov. Obsessed by a loaded gun hanging on the wall,
he eventually cannot keep from pulling the trigger. A ubiquitous samovar
constantly makes its appearance, and as the old servant Anastasia brings
in the lamp, an ineffable mood descends upon the assembled characters-a
bit too early at that point in the action--she must exit and bring the lamp
back later on cue. "Guess who we met at the train station?" asks the
hero Ivan. "The Prozorov sisters." Later, from the balcony, the sisters
are seen returning; they did not take the train after all.
The entire play is a complex web of allusions to Russian
literature, history, and culture. Intertextuality and metatheatre abound,
especially in Act II, where scenes from Midsummer Night's Dream, Hamlet,
and Othello (in Mrozek's translations) are acted out. In Act III Russian
"reality" has degenerated to a mishmash of American pop culture,
featuring the mafia, thugs, and whores.
Because of the authorial restrictions imposed on his autonomy,
Jerzy Jarecki of the Stary Theatre-a friend of long years and the director
of many outstanding Mrozek premiers--resigned from the planned
production. Maciej Wojtyszko, a well-known stage, film, and TV
director, took over the challenging task, which in the opinion of the
critics he executed admirably, aided by the brilliant performance of Jerzy
Trela in the role of the comic and despairing everyman hero, Ivan--first
14
decadent intellectual, then Soviet cultural apparatchik, and finally former
Gulag prisoner.
In Warsaw at the Wsp6lczesny Theatre on April23, Erwin Axer,
the veteran Polish director responsible for many Mrozek premiers
(including Tango in 1965), unveiled his version of Love in the Crimea. By
making a few cuts and modifications in the staging he seemed to the
critics to have improved on Mrozek's text, with the help of Zbigniew
Zapasiewicz as Ivan and an excellent cast. In the struggle between author
and director, the latter appears to have triumphed to the advantage of the
former.
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16
MOVING IN NEW DIRECTIONS:
THE CLASS OF EXPRESSIVE PLASTIC MOVEMENT
John Freedman
Gennady Abramov seems to enjoy nothing quite so much as
talking about how his fledgling Moscow theatre, the Class of Expressive
Plastic Movement, confounds the public. And the more people crowd
into the tiny, basement room that serves as the theatre's auditorium, the
more stories he has to tell.
There's the one about the animated group of French producers
who supposedly had to be pulled apart when they couldn't agree on the
genre of the production they had just seen. Then there's the one about
the two Russian directors visiting Moscow from the provinces: they
reportedly got into a fist fight back at their hotel when they couldn't
agree to what extent the performances of Abramov's actors were
Brechtian. But Abramov's favorite story is about the critics. "Nobody,"
he says with relish, "has broken as many critics' pens as we have. They
all want to write about us, but they don't know how to describe us."
If asked for an explanation, the first thing Abramov does is refer
you back to his theatre's name. "It's an exact name," he says. "It is both
a program and an explanation of what we do."
The Class of Expressive Plastic Movement was founded in 1991
as an affiliate of Anatoly Vasilyev's Moscow laboratory, the School of
Dramatic Art.
1
Abramov, 55, is a former ballet dancer with degrees in
choreography from the Belorussian Institute of Choreography (1960) and
the Russian State Institute of Theatre Arts (formerly GITIS, 1976). From
1960 to 1972, he danced more than thirty-six leading parts in various
provincial ballet companies throughout the Soviet Union. More recently,
he has choreographed and staged movement for many top theatre and film
artists, including Nikita Mikhalkov, Maximilian Schell, and Johann
Kresnik. His especially close relationship with Vasilyev goes back to 1976
when the two collaborated on a production of Hello, Dolly! in Rostov-on-
the-Don. Subsequently, Abramov choreographed the movement for
Vasilyev's renowned stagings of A Young Man's GrownUp Daughter,
Cerceau, and Six Characters in Search of an Author, and he was a founding
member of the School of Dramatic Art.
17
-
18
The idea to create a theatre of movement under Vasilyev's roof
came during an European tour of Cerceau. Abramov and Vasilyev took
in a local movement performance that impressed them with its mastery,
but they both agreed it could have been done better yet. Certainly,
another impulse was the creative crisis which has afflicted Vasilyev since
the end of the 1980s. Aside from a controversial production of Mikhail
Lermontov's The Masquerade at the in 1992, and a
production of Dostoevsky's Uncle's Dream in Budapest in April1994, the
90s have not been a productive time for him, at least by any traditional
measure. Since Six Characters in 1987, he has not completed a single
production in Russia.
2
Much of his dissatisfaction has been aimed at
what he feels is the degradation of the actor's art in Russia.
As the leader of the new movement class, Abramov's task was to
turn a group of novices into a crop of actors who would be as attuned to
the physical and demonstrative requirements of performance as to the
emotional, intellectual, and interpretative aspects. In an interview in
January 1993, just as the Class of Expressive Plastic Movement was
gaining its first international attention, Abramov enthusiastically noted
the advantageous side of his differences with Vasilyev. "Vasilyev exerts
total control," he said, "while I have a theatre of actors. By moving
towards one another, we will give birth to a third idea."
But as it became increasingly apparent that Vasilyev's experiments
were bogging down in a rarified theatre of the spoken word, Abramov
and his students found themselves heading in the opposite direction. By
early 1994, when his theatre had become something of a mecca for anyone
interested in avant-garde performance, Abramov admitted he and Vasilyev
were "moving towards a separation."
"I didn't want it," said Abramov, "but after Pina Bausch attended
one of our performances, Vasilyev said we had to go. He's probably
right. We've grown and we're already so independent that, like grown-up
kids, it's time for us to leave the family."
Actually, the arrangement that was eventually worked out leaves
Abramov the best of both worlds. The School of Dramatic Art still
houses and financially supports his troupe, while Abramov retains total
artistic autonomy. He has the right to develop his ideas as he sees fit, and
to tour and perform when and where he wishes.
Abramov, ever evasive and ever suggestive, compares his
productions to a musical composition. "There is a sort of divertimento-
like quality to what we do," he explains:
19
N
0

The Persecutor, Class of Expressive Plastic Movement, Moscow
I consider the divertimento a great discovery. After all, that is
what gave rise to the symphony. The divertimento developed
into the suite, which developed into the symphony. We are on
the level of the divertimento which is on the verge of
transforming into a suite. Further along, I hope we will achieve
the level of the symphony. However, all of the instruments, all
of the bodies, must co-exist independently and freely.
Abramov and his actors collaborate on nonverbal, improvisational
performances that combine elements of dramatic theatre, mime, and
dance, but defy simple categorization. They scorn received notions of
plot. They have rejected words, except in rare instances when they are
used primarily as sounds that tend to challenge rather than make sense.
If Abramov is to be taken at his word, they have done away with the
ideas of direction, scripts, librettos, or even planning, except in the most
general and technical ways. They evolve rather than create their
improvisational productions, of which there are now five. Each consists
of fifteen to twenty independent episodes in which the language of
communication is the highly trained movement of the human body. The
often vague themes of various episodes are unified loosely under the
suggestive titles of Ibe Persecutor, Ibe Barrier of Isolation, Between Seasons,
Nota Bene, and 7bey Come and Ibey Go.
The ideas for the episodes originate with Abramov, who suggests
the basic themes he would like to see his actors explore. But artistically
the results are the product of the vision, talents, capabilities, and daily
moods of the individual performers. Aside from the rigorous physical
training and exercises which are conducted strictly according to
Abramov's own system, the director's main interference is to weed out
the episodes he feels are not ready to be shown, and to arrange the order
in which the remaining episodes are played.
"I can't demand a single gesture," he says of his preparatory
work with his actors. "Even when I make a suggestion, I tell them that
I'm only offering an alternative so that they'll offer me back another
alternative."
Naturally that doesn't mean that Abramov sits by idly while his
pupils do whatever they want. He is a disciplinarian who locks actors out
of rehearsals if they are late by as much as a few seconds. And when he
sets a task, he expects to see it carried out to the letter. But he flatly
rejects the notion of absolute directorial control. His goal is not to
extract a specific result from his actors, but to enable them to express
21
their own creative ideas to the fullest extent. He admits that the power
he wields is "enormous," but immediately adds that he applies it in
unorthodox ways.
The troupe currently consists of ten actors, the core of which has
been with Abramov from the start. Only one had previous professional
training as an actor. And while there is a considerable difference in talent
and capabilities among the members of the group, each has achieved a
remarkable level of technical excellence. In terms of style, some are
partial to acrobatics, while others tend to explore the possibilities of
emotional communication through abstract movement. Like the
dedicated and fiercely loyal teacher that he is, Abramov refuses to evaluate
his pupils in judgmental terms.
"We have to understand their improvisations from their point of
view, not from ours," he insists. "I don't make them express my visions.
I try to draw out their visions, their impressions, their images, and their
perceptions of movement."
Performances are conducted on a bare, hardwood floor, usually
without special lighting and usually with the accompaniment of music
played on a cassette player. The rare, very basic props might include
some chairs, a bottle, some scarfs, or an empty picture frame. Reflecting
the youthful concerns of the actors--most are in their early twenties--the
motifs of the short, improvisational segments often revolve around the
discovery of love or the states of awkwardness, sexual attraction and
jealousy. They can be repetitive or even somewhat infantile at times, but
the actors' technical execution is always impressive. The best episodes
achieve strikingly coherent intellectual and emotional planes.
This is especially true of Yevgeniya Kozlova's etudes. Not only
does she have an extraordinarily graceful command of her body, she has
the remarkable ability to fuse her movements with the thoughts or
impulses that guide her. Highly introspective and teasingly enigmatic, she
seems to enter another world on stage, making that transforming
experience tangible to her audience. In those rare moments when her
attention suddenly fixes on a concrete object--the floor, a window, a
spectator--the effect of her transition from one level of consciousness to
another is almost startling.
If other of her colleagues, particularly Vladimir Belyaikin and
Vasily Yushchenko, create performances of breathtaking agility which
skillfully combines elements of the circus and drama, Kozlova invariably
finds physical means to evoke the aura of poetry. Her manner is slow
and fluid, and her performances are suggestive. They never tell a story or
22
illustrate a situation; they imply the paradoxes and complexities of specific
states of mind or being.
So, how does one describe what Gennady Abramov is up to?
He talks about "zones of improvisation in space," "levels of
emotionality," "fields of thinking," the "depth of abstraction," and
spectators who are "consumers with their own cliches." In short, he isn't
about to be pinned down. But he will tell you this: his actors have
achieved such freedom, and have developed such physical intuition within
the framework of their teacher's system, that they can improvise an entire
program to music they have never heard before.
"You don't know a theatre like that yet," Abramov says with
visible satisfaction. "But we can already do that."
NOTES
1
The Class's original fifteen members were selected from three
hundred applicants who auditioned in November 1990. Their first public
appearance took place January 6, 1991.
2
Around 1991, Vasilyev staged some Platonic dialogues that were
filmed for, and broadcast on, television. They were occasionally
performed, unannounced, as works-in-progress at the School of Dramatic
Art. Abramov's 1993 production of Nota Bene, subtitled "Notes in the
Margin for joseph and His Brothers," was originally intended as an
experiment to give Vasilyev ideas for his planned production of Thomas
Mann's novel, joseph and His Brothers. Vasilyev did not use any of the
elements from Nota Bene and subsequently seemed to abandon the idea of
finishing the Joseph project. For a brief account of his work on joseph, see
John Freedman, "A Glimpse Into Anatoly Vasilyev's School of Dramatic
Art," SEEP 13 (Summer 1993): 19-22.
23
CHEKHOV IN OTI A WA
Daniel Gerould
On May 5, 6, and 7, 1994, the University of Ottawa hosted an
International Symposium, "The Reception of Chekhov in World
Culture," attended by scholars, critics, and writers from Canada, Russia,
France, England, Australia, Israel, and the United States. The more than
thirty papers presented dealt with Chekhov's stories as well as with his
plays and covered topics as diverse as "Chekhov and Christianity as
Viewed by the Critics" Gulie de Sherbinine, Grinnell College) and "Post-
Freudian Interpretations in Chekhov's Biographies" (Anna Makolkin,
University of Ottawa). There were also studies of problems of translation
and of transmission into foreign cultures, such as "Stanislavsky's Cheny
Orchard in the U.S." (Sharon Carnicke, University of Southern
California), "Chekhov in Japan" (Evgeny Steiner, Hebrew University of
Jerusalem) and "Chekhov in China" (Lian Shu Li, Lincoln University).
But the primary focus of the conference was on Chekhov the playwright
and particularly on his plays in contemporary "revisionist" performance.
It is this aspect of the symposium that I wish to discuss as of special
interest to our readers since over the years we have published in SEEP a
number of articles covering new stage versions of the major Chekhov
plays (a list of these reviews comes at the end of my report on the
conference).
In an elegant overview, the keynote speaker, Laurence Senelick
(Tufts University), set out in broad outline the interpretive shifts
underlying almost a century of Chekhovian stagings. The process of re-
evaluation has been largely reactive, later productions attacking the
Moscow Art Theatre's tradition of a tearful, sentimental Chekhov. Once
the author of The Seagull became elevated to the level of Shakespeare,
directors felt the need to shake audiences out of their complacent,
nostalgic view of Chekhov as the poet of twilight Russia. In Senelick's
view, two decisive reactions to the wistful, weepy Chekhov promoted by
Stanislavsky came with Otomar Krejca's Three Sisters (Prague, 1966) and
Giorgio Strehler's The Cheny Orchard (Paris, 1973). Subsequent revisions,
both conceptual and deconstructive, have all been in the direction of
comedy, the genre claimed by Chekhov in his protests against
Stanislavskian solemnity. The most radical rereadings of the present day
have simply pushed Chekhov's comedy to previously unimagined
extremes in order to reveal the violence and disorder lurking in the heart
of these supposedly gentle souls. Within the framework established by
24
Senelick's opening remarks, speaker after speaker attempted to explain, if
not justify, some of the most unconventional stagings.
Ronald LeBlanc (University of New Hampshire) described as a
postmodern farce Joel Gersmann's raucously vulgar production of The
Cherry Orchard at the Broom St. Theatre, Madison, Wisconsin, in January
and February of 1986. Set in the Ronald Reagan 1980s, this production
frustrated audience expectations and undermined the play's dramatic
foundations. It was the fastest of all possible Cherry Orchards, played in
just 90 minutes without pauses or intermissions. There was no time for
pathos, only humorous antics. Lopakhin attacked the orchard with a
chain saw, while Firs fell asleep watching television. The breaking string
was the one on Yepikhodov's guitar. In fact, "22 Misfortunes" provided
the key to the entire play. The orchard was sold on August 22; its loss
was just another pratfall.
Nick Worrall (Middlesex University) examined the largely hostile
critical reaction to the Georgian director Robert Sturua's 1990 Three Sisters
as it appeared in London featuring the Redgrave family, sisters Vanessa
and Lynn and niece. By transforming the play into a slapstick nightmare,
Sturua in the opinion of most of the critics had vandalized Chekhov's
text. The characters were self-consciously aware of their own absurdity;
inner and outer became inverted. The three sisters seemed to be manic
depressives, alternatingly furious marionettes or passive rag dolls
undergoing violent shifts of emotion causing them to sit, collapse, or lie
on the stage. This was a production that emulated the arts of vaudeville,
fairground, and circus and drew on the theories of Mikhail Bakhtin for its
view of the world as carnival, a festive and liberating occasion where all
fixed hierarchical values are temporarily subverted. In Sturua's reading of
the play it was made explicit that Chebutykin, the old regimental doctor
who once loved the girls' mother, had in fact fathered Irina for whom he
now showed more than paternal affection.
Christine Hamon (Universite Lyon II), who described the wide
choice of French Chekhov translations now available and new versions
being prepared for specific productions, pointed out that in the latest
Parisian production of Three Sisters directed by Matthias Langhoff the
friendship between Tuzenbach and Solyony is overtly sexual, making their
duel a matter of homoerotic jealousy. Richard Borden (Independent
Scholar, Moscow) characterized recent Russian Chekhov productions as
part of a deliberate desovietizing of the classics in which revered
masterpieces are treated irreverently and subversively. Astrov in Sergei
Solovyov's Uncle Vanya becomes a drunken, lustful, hypocritical egotist
and cynic, and in Yury Pogrebnichko's Three Sisters, Vershinin is revealed
as a ridiculous figure and the sisters as zombies.
25
Klara Hollosi (Brock University) presented a survey of different
stage versions of Platonov, starting with the Provincetown Playhouse's
adaptation in 1940 (as Fireworks on the James) and concluding with two
Hungarian productions in the 1980s and 1990s. John Tulloch (Charles
Stuart University) and Tom Burvill (MacQuarie University), who are
carrying out a research project on the reception of Chekhov, discussed the
television dramatization of The Cherry Orchard that they will be using in
their experiment. This version, adapted by the British playwright Trevor
Griffiths and directed by Richard Ayre, is grounded in British Marxist
Raymond Williams's theories of high naturalism and is therefore social in
orientation. Charlotta is seen to be edging toward statelessness, losing
connection to class. Trofimov and Lopahin are outsiders with a vision of
the future, whereas Firs is associated with the word freedom. The
wandering figure who appears in Act ll is comparable to the underclass
characters from Chekhov's peasant stories; such a stranger, never before
present in the plays, menaces and destabilizes the word of The Cherry
Orchard.
The impact of Chekhovian drama on contemporary playwriting
also came under scrutiny. Peter Christensen (Marquette University)
looked at Edward Bond as a Chekhovian playwright. Early in his career
Bond studied Chekhov closely and created a version of Three Sisters in
1966. His own Sea and Summer reveal the Chekhovian influence in the
conception of social interaction. Serafima Roll (McGill University) found
in the contemporary Russian dramatist Nina Sadur a continuation of
Chekhov's non-eventfulness and subversion of realism. In Sadur's work
estrangement and the elimination of action lead to the collapse of
representation and mimetic structure.
J. Douglas Clayton (University of Ottawa), who organized the
conference and delivered a paper on "Chekhov in Canada," was acclaimed
by all the participants for the stimulating conference and the gracious
hospitality of t he host university.
26
SEEP REVIEWS OF CHEKHOV PRODUCTIONS, 1981-1994
Berkowitz, Joel. "The State Theatre of Lithuania's Uncle Vanya." SEEP
11.3 (Winter 1991).
Carlson, Marvin. "Observations on the Moscow Theatre: January, 1989
[Cheny Orchard and Three Sisters]." SEEP 9.1 (Summer 1989).
----= "The St. Petersburg/Irondale Collaboration [Uncle Vanya],"
SEEP 10.3 (Winter 1990).
Curtis, James. "The Triumph of Hamlet: Some Thoughts on the
Moscow Art Theatre's Current Production of The Seagull."
SEEP 8.2-3 (December 1988).
Freedman, John. "First Anton Chekhov International Theatre Festival."
SEEP 13.1 (Spring 1993).
"Recreating a Tradition: Moscow's Sibilyov Studio
[Platonov]." SEEP 12.3 (Spring 1992).
Grossman, Elwira M. "Jerzy Grzegorzewski: The Power of Images
[Uncle Vanya]." SEEP 13.3 (Fall 1993).
Hecht, Leo. "Chekhov and Gogo! in Great Britain." SEEP 5.3
(December 1985).
___ . "A Seagull." SEEP 6.1 (February 1986).
House, Jane. "Chekhov at the Festival des Ameriques, Montreal
May/June 1993 [Platonov and Three Sisters]." SEEP 13.3 (Fall
1993).
Jones, Everett. "The Cherry Orchard at the Folger." SEEP 6.2 Gune
1986).
Peter, Marina J. B. "Seagull at Arena Stage." SEEP 11.3 (Winter 1991).
Swain, Elizabeth. "Ivanov and Others, Moscow." SEEP 13.3 (Fall 1993).
27
White, Hallie Anne and John Freedman. "Four Plays in Boston [Uncle
Vanya]." SEEP 8.2-3 (December 1988).
White, Hallie Anne. "Platonov by Anton Chekhov." SEEP 9.1 (Summer
1989).
Woods, Jeannie M. "A Providential Chekhov: A Review [Cherry
Orchard]." SEEP 9.1 (Summer 1989).
28
"POLISH THEATRE: FROM THE SHADOWS OF
THE COMMUNIST PAST TO THE CHALLENGES OF
THE DEMOCRATIC FUTURE"
A LECTURE BY KAZIMIERZ BRAUN, 28 APRIL 1994,
BRUNO WALTER AUDITORIUM, LINCOLN CENTER
David A. Goldfarb
Kazimierz Braun arrived alone at Walter Auditorium about
twenty minutes in advance of his lecture and sat in the last row, reading
a newspaper, waiting for things to happen. The moderator, who
apparently did not know Braun by sight, found a seat in the front row,
then walked out to the foyer to await the featured speaker. Meanwhile,
the appointed time arrived, so Mr. Braun-no stranger to matters of
staging-folded his newspaper and overcoat, walked to the front of the
auditorium, and introduced himself from the auditorium floor in front of
the stage. There were only about twenty-five guests in the hall, so he
asked that all move forward so that he could speak directly, without a
microphone. By this time, the surprised moderator returned to protest
that the microphone was necessary for recording purposes, so that persons
who could not attend would be able to hear the talk, but Braun insisted
that for the persons who were actually there, amplification would only get
in the way. The moderator agreed to record from the air mikes without
piping the sound back into the theatre, so that Kazimierz Braun could
address his public face-to-face with technology on the outside gazing into
the closed circle of audience and speaker.
It was clear from this lecture that the phenomenological notion
of "the face-to-face" is central to Kazimierz Braun's theories, historical
understanding, and practice of performance.
Braun divided the history of Polish drama into two traditions:
the theatre of independent Poland prior to the partitions at the end of the
Eighteenth Century and from 1918 to 1939, and the theatre of "captivity"
covering the partitions, the Second World War, and the age of "homo
sovieticus," from 1939 to 1989. Expanding the metaphor of his title,
Braun viewed the "captive" periods as times of "shadow," both in the
sense of dark repression and in the sense of shelter. The challenge now
is to maintain a lively, independent artistic tradition during the shift to a
decentralized economy. Braun identified the most significant dangers to
29
culture as commercialism and the tendency to "follow the crowd," the
goal of entertainment overtaking the goals of art, and the emergence of
tendencies that Braun called "barbaric," namely the attitudes that it is
right to "rob the foreigners" and that wealth is simply a matter of
"claiming" what one deserves as repayment for years of oppression, no
matter how one came by such wealth.
The current situation Braun described as a conflict between
"culture" and "civilization." "Culture" is "direct inter human personal
communication," for Braun, or "the face-to-face" in a meaning that
probably has its roots in Emmanuel Levinas, and likely came to Braun by
way of the Polish Christian phenomenologist, Father J6zef Tischner.
"Civilization" is communication mediated by artifice. Braun offered
shaking hands and spiritual life as examples of culture, and the telephone
and materialism as examples of civilization. Theatre, for Braun, is "an
interhuman process, artistically conditioned," therefore within the realm
of culture. It is "interhuman" by virtue of the relation of the artist to the
public, conditioned by certain institutional or organizational structures
which facilitate an artistic expression. Such a schema might take on many
forms. But for Braun, the nature of the immediate contact between artist
and public can best be exemplified by Tadeusz Kantor who is, in his
opinion, the greatest Western theatre artist of the latter half of the
Twentieth Century. Kantor was physically present in all phases of a
production, often engaging the public from the moment they entered the
theatre building. Kantor was immediately essential to his own theatre,
completely fulfilling the ideal of the face-to-face.
Braun does not agree with the popular notion that artistic theatre
is completely dead in Poland. Despite a general decline in attendance, the
rise of consumerism, and a loss of idealism as state funds for the arts
shrink and market concerns supervene, well-established directors like Jerzy
Jarocki, Andrzej Wajda, and Jerzy Axer are doing well at the major
national theatres. Braun noted that the culture of subversion has not
disappeared among the younger generation. He named several young but
experienced directors whom he believes are doing valuable work, among
them Warsaw director Maciej W ojtyszko, Krzysztof Babicki, and Andrzej
Dziuk, creator of the S. I. Witkiewicz Theatre in Zakopane. According
to Braun, most of the hundred or so state theatres in Poland are still
operating, and the administrative structure has not significantly changed.
With the notorious exception of the company that produced Metro, which
seems to have found a Warsaw following despite its failure on Broadway,
there do not seem to be any truly private theatres emerging.
30
Slav ic and East European Performance Vol. 14, No. 2
As a posmve example of someone survtvmg the economic
changes, Braun told an anecdote about Jerzy Gudejko, formerly an actor
in Braun's theatre. Gudejko, conducting Solidarity chants, led a
countermarch against the traditional May Day parade in 1982 during
martial law. The demonstrators planned to collide comically with the
parade in front of the reviewing stand where military and local officials
were watching. One of the Soviet generals lost his hat as he and his
colleagues were evacuated from the podium, and Gudejko put it on as he
conducted with ever more extravagant gestures. He was sentenced to
eighteen months in prison, despite Braun's attempts to intervene, but was
released in a general amnesty before the completion of his prison term.
Today Gudejko applies his talents and courage as the director of the
leading actors' agency in Warsaw, playing what Braun sees as an
important role in the transition to a more independent theatre.
Braun, born in 1936 in Mokrsko Dolne in Poland, has been
teaching at SUNY Buffalo since 1985, a year after he was fired by the
Communist government from his position as Artistic Director of the
Contemporary Theatre in Wrodaw, for his activism in Solidarity. When
asked whether he had any directing plans, Braun stated that he felt
academic life in the United States left little room for a professional
directing career, and he chose the university for the security it could
provide him and his family. He did indicate, however, recalling with
nostalgia his "adventures" in the theatre, that he was open to the
possibility of returning to Poland for occasional productions, if there were
any credible offers.
31
PAGES FROM THE PAST
UVIU CIULEI'S RESTORING THEATRICAliTY TO THE ART
OF THE THEATRE
Herbert C. Rand
Editors' Note: The following is a translation of Liviu Ciulei's
"Teatralizarea Picturii de Teatru," Teatrul 1.2 (1956): 52-56. The
original article was translated by Herbert C. Rand with help and
advice from Liviu Ciulei.
In 1956 the Romanian theatre remained under the rigid control
of Russian censors. Everything-even stage design--was subject to their
scrutiny. Not only was political dissent impermissible, but artistic and
aesthetic content could be censored as well. During this era, Socialist
Realism was to prevail in dramatic content and style as well as
scenography.
Liviu Ciulei has told me how he once submitted a scene design
to the censors nineteen times before the design was finally granted official
approval. This was during the same years the Czechoslovakian theatre
had been nurturing the innovative scene designs of Frantisek Troster.
Seeing the excitement of theatre elswhere in the Eastern Bloc--not only in
Czechoslovakia, but also in Poland and in East Germany-Ciulei chafed
under the constraints of rigid and irrational censorship in his own
country.
According to a Romanian proverb, "He who sticks his neck out
gets his head chopped off." It is truly fortunate that Ciulei's 1956 article
generated widespread discussion and support from within the Romanian
theatre community; otherwise, his career in the Romanian theatre might
have ended prematurely. By writing this article, Liviu Ciulei initiated the
modern age of Romanian theatre. This was to be the Romanian theatre's
most exciting era, a time in which Ciulei himself was to play a leading
role. Before Ciulei's article was written, the Romanian theatre played it
safe: afterward, the power of the Russian censors was curtailed, if not
eliminated. Theatre in Romania, as elsewhere in Eastern Europe, became
virtually the only tolerated outlet for political commentary as well as a
laboratory for artistic experimentation.
32
The artistic and political implications of this new tolerence were
generally understood and accepted by the new Romanian censors, who
tended to be much more liberal with regard to both artistic and political
content. Plays could even incorporate dissident political material as long
as it was not too pointed. Dissent was evident in a number of
unmistakedly political interpretations of the classics. This was arguably
a reasoned policy on the part of the government and its censors, rather
than simple incompetence. Through the Romanian theatre, the
government was apparently trying to cultivate a new image of tolerance
toward freedom of expression. This image of tolerance was, of course,
only relatively valid, because the previous regime had been even more
repressive. By democratic standards censorship remained stringent.
As Scott Shattuck reported in his 1988 article in Theatre Studies:
Ciulei's manifestO' sparked a movement which led to the
installation of new directors in several of Romania's
state-controlled theatres. The dramatist Horia Lovinescu took
over the Nottara Theatre in 1965, and Radu Beligan, one of the
most famous actors of the Romanian Stage, introduced new
staging methods and a fresh repertoire at the Sala Comedie.
In 1963, Ciulei himself was named Director of the
Bulandra Theatre, where he also continued to act and design
scenery.
This new independence for the Romanian theatre paralleled the
conditional political independence sought and eventually achieved by the
Romanian goverment.
It was during this new era that Liviu Ciulei gained international
prominence. The views stated in Ciulei's 1956 article do not represent
Ciulei's current views and opinions. Nevertheless, the article stands as a
compelling aesthetic statement as well as a landmark in the history of the
Romanian theatre.
33
RESTORING THEATRICAUTY
TO THE ART OF THE THEATRE
Liviu Ciulei
The need to restore theatricality to theatrical performance-as a
whole or in any one of its artistic components--has been evidenced, in
most cases and most of the time, through an inconsistency in the form of
expression that properly belongs to the art of the theatre.
Although in many cases such inconsistencies have elicited
protests, the remedies suggested have not been any less problematical:
either excessive or else overly rigid and! or contrived.
That is why the title of this article must be clearly explained.
Why is it necessary to argue for the importance of a "theatrical"
theatre? Why is it necessary to do so now, considering the present
development of our scenography? Indeed, what do we mean by
"theatricality" in theatre?
Examining the history of art, scenography has closely followed
the general trends of the other arts, especially painting. There are too
many examples for me to cite them all.
This endeavor has resulted in many successes and real evolution
in scenography: progress in scenography is much more conspicuous than
progress within the other artistic disciplines that culminate in
performance. For example, directing and its dependent discipline, acting,
have not progressed to the same extent. Without doubt, this unequal
development has lowered the overall artistic value of theatrical
performance--especially because the growth has been in the quantity,
rather than the quality, of ideas.
These components of the performance need to be adjusted with
modesty and respect toward one another, in such a way as to take into
account the integrity of the whole. This enables the scenographic action
to unfold along with the dramatic action so that the principal idea of the
work can be placed within the spectator's grasp.
On many occasions, overly prominent stage decoration has
suffocated the actor.
Foreigners who have visited our land and were guests in our
theatres have often criticized us for this.
34
Slavic and East European Performann Vol. 14, No. 2
In contrast, our own critics have not assumed a leading role with
regard to scenography. In periodicals dealing with drama, scene design
elicits only formal and perfunctory observations, and is never discussed on
its own.
At the beginning of our campaign toward realism, the critics
made the same mistake as many directors and scenographers. Without
reflection, they labeled as "formalist" any setting that was not made of
three firmly enclosed walls with a ceiling. There was no further
explanation given. Let us consider, for example, my setting for Lascar
Sebastian's play With Bread and Salt at the Municipal Theatre. The design
represented a roadside inn from Giurgiu [a small, provincial port on the
Danube], in the time of Tudor Vladimirescu's revolt [1821]. It suggested
reality through fragmented elements, avoiding a complete structure based
on the strict rules of architecture. My roof was only partial, and the walls
were cross sections, not connected to the wings. The decor was declared
to be formalist. Such a critical decree, without reasoning, frightened me.
But other scenographers have had similar experiences. That is why,
naturally, we have adhered to a familiar and comfortable aesthetic: in
order to take refuge from censorious criticism.
We have limited ourselves to representing concrete and immediate
aspects of reality: in other words, objective representation. This process
has caused scenography to wander away from using its own language,
which is unique to itself and to the stage, and discouraged theatricality in
scene design. That which was valid in the evocative conventional aspect
of our art was condemned and eliminated by some, and replaced with a
kind of photographic distillation; although we have spoken emphatically
about the necessity, in theory, of capturing the true meaning and essence
of the dramatic text.
Besides this shortage of competent critical commentary on
scenography in our periodicals (a thing I would like to see remedied), we
could also sense a lack of public concern among scenographers. We ought
to close out every season with a critical balance sheet of our scenographic
activity.
Likewise, the problems of scenography have been aggravated by
the lack of meaningful dialogue with directors.
There is no doubt that this situation has caused our
scenographers, despite their remarkable achievements, to pursue a
mistaken interpretation of true realism: in other words, to stray onto the
path of naturalism.
35
In truth, I consider naturalism to be a false, unpoetic, and clumsy
interpretation of reality.
To be sure, when it first appeared (in 1887 at Antoine's Theatre
Libre), naturalism had a positive effect. It developed as a protest against
the methodology of traditional stagecraft and a timeworn academicism.
But despite its worthwhile objective, it merely replaced one error with
another. The archaeological precision with which naturalism was so
infatuated contradicts the essential quality of drama: drama's power to
evoke. And so despite its precision, this kind of setting does not mark
any real progress in the art of drama.
Critic Leon Moussinac mentions that the following conditions
determined the birth of naturalism in decor: "scenographers were satisfied
with a few historic notions, with theatrical perspective, ignoring the fact
that creators like Manet, Carriere and Monet endeavored to unmask the
mysterious beauty of light and glorify nature itself with the ardor of their
magnificent youth. Professional scene painters continued this false
tradition, painting everything with virtuosity, loading their works with
poor but pretentious ornaments, with useless details, in which Wagner's
great vision, for example, was smothered."
Antoine fought against this musty "theatricality," trying to find
the truth hidden among the stage decorations. He wanted to move the
theatre towards "a more humane truth," but did nothing--or almost
nothing--for the poetry of theatre. Antoine fought his battle with a
focused but limited talent. In the end his stubbornness saved the day,
because by the time this great stage director had finally established his
style, everyone was already bored to death with it. In this case, in
theatre, as in other forms of art, the antagonism that sometimes exists
between exactness (identity) and the truth was made apparent.
Against this artificial and impossible objective imposed upon itself
by naturalism-that of creating a mirror image of reality--many vehement
and passionate protesters sprang into action, disputing error with error.
Symbolism, for example, promoted ornamental, purely fictional decor,
with the intent of developing a complete dramatic illusion through
analogies of color and line reinforcing the dramatic theme.
Gordon Craig proselytized for the introduction of stylization:
form and rhythm specially adapted to the stage; a theatre of pure art.
Appia, Fuchs, Reinhardt, and later Piscator and Bragaglia, all rose
against naturalism, all arguing, as those before them, for their own schools
or styles.
36
Although Meyerhold and Tairov also predicted a "theatrical
theatre" and "conventional mise-en-scene," they did it in an eccentric,
abstract, and excessive way. Likewise proletcult, together with cubism,
constructivism, and expressionism, emancipated the decor and pushed it
into the forefront of the production, thereby subordinating the actors,
director and author_
All these movements, despite their distortions, could be justified
as fighting against this unpoetic reality on the stage: against naturalism.
Their hostility toward this sort of unpoetic reality also contained
valid elements that fueled, through a sort of natural selection, the realism
advocated by Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko.
For example, symbolism imposes a number of positive
requirements on the visual aspects of theatre: the simplification of stage
decor and the creation of a unique artistic environment for each piece,
thereby imparting atmosphere, harmony between scenery and costumes,
and discarding trompe l'oeil. Appia considers the actor to be the most
basic element in creating scenic action and subordinates the mise-en-scene
and setting, necessitating a three dimensional set. Reinhardt places the
decor in the service of an overall evocative symbolism. These are
principles that actually promote true realism, and are essential to the
completion of realism's own intrinsic objectives.
At the Moscow Art Theatre, Stanislavsky succeeded in imposing
his realistic method. Helped by designer [Aleksandr] Golovin (who
created their production of Othello) and then by V. Dmitriev and others,
he promoted the same spirit in scenography. Dmitriev, who had worked
under the influence of constructivism beforehand, later confessed: "I had
new problems to encounter, and instead of formulating each spectacle
with the same sterile methods, it is here that I found a tireless and
permanent desire to search for new forms."
The Moscow Art Theatre rejected "false theatricality," rigidly
decorative and without artistic significance, just as it rejected the shallow
errors of naturalism.
This is exactly the spirit and meaning of my article.
Commenting on Toulouse-Lautrec, Francis Jourdain once said
"He was a realist, not a prisoner of reality."
Unfortunately, the naturalism that has appeared in our scene
designs was, and in part still is, the result of exactly such an imprisonment
in the face of reality.
The problem has not been the result of any lack of talent or
professional knowledge on the part of our theatrical artists. On the
37
contrary, enormous talent and work has been invested in our productions.
But most of the time, much of the effort has been excessive, as I would
like to make clear.
In their desire to obtain the most "realistic" design possible,
many scenographers have spent months researching a play, uncovering
numerous and exact details. The style of the respective epoch was
scrutinized meticulously and then reproduced flawlessly. But the reality
of the epoch, in all its meanings, was overlooked.
Rarely was it taken into consideration that the artistic message of
an image does not consist of numerous specific details, but rather is
contained as a potential value within them.
In their hope to reproduce reality to the last detail, even a poetic
reality, scenographers have often competed with nature, attempting to
beautify it.
A prime example was my own design for Oslin Vasiliev's play,
Those W'ho Seek Happiness. The stage was filled with everything that nature
could offer a romantic landscape-from the ruin of a Byzantine fortress,
with bricks covered in weeds and moss, and with its capitals cut off, and
light filtering through its cracks to the mountainous landscape looming
large on the horizon; a sky hidden from view by a heavy canopy of leaves
and thick and crooked trunks-this style is not in the least superior to the
life-like painting one could find in the theatre at the end of the last
century.
Dmitriev says that he uses the beauty of the Chekhovian
landscape not because it is an element by itself, but "because it plays the
role of a moral and aesthetic criterion: beauty that protests against the
misery and brutality of life, beauty that is an appeal for the truth--that is
the unequaled quality of Chekhovian plays; always dynamic and
penetrated by a poetic craving for happiness."
Another consequence of naturalism has been that, in its desire to
recreate the truth about life on stage, the means of expression unique to
scenography have been neglected, and other arts have been called upon.
This phenomenon has appeared even where valid scenographic
accomplishments have been made; that is, where the underlying idea of
the drama is made evident, and the setting resonates with poetic
overtones. Even on these occasions, scenographers have erred by avoiding
the vocabulary unique to their own art, and moving instead toward
architecture and interior decoration.
To be sure, every artistic discipline- including architecture and
interior decoration--can produce masterpieces. But the purpose of the
38
setting is not to serve as an artistic, harmonious, architectural, or
decorative piece. A stage setting does not have an immediate functional
role. Inside a dining room on stage, it does not matter whether there is
anything to eat; it is the location where a dramatic act takes place,
regardless of whether anyone actually eats or not.
The tendency to architecturalize the setting was brought about
by scene painters and architects alike, and this tendency is one of the
main flaws of our scenography.
The focus is on the sculptural and visual solution, on the style:
the dramatic and poetic meanings, of course, come second. But the decor
has to have more than a decorative purpose. The goal is not merely to
produce a pleasing picture, irrespective of the drama and its directoral
guidelines: neither is it to produce a visual image that displays balanced
composition, color harmony, subliminal meanings, and vibrancy-it is the
background for a drama. It must fulfill a dramatic function; it must
participate in the action-that is, the scenic suggestion of an action that
takes place in the lives of men and women: the characters of the play.
We might construct a room on stage with everything that is in
it, with harmonious shapes and colors, all correctly composed to fit
properly on stage. We might even suggest the characters' biographies
with neat fingerprints they left behind on the set and the objects which
comprise its decor. But unless there is a selection of the elements which
are truly essential, with such a multitude of details the possibility of
drawing immediate general conclusions is lost.
If we bring to a scene various evocative pictorial and atmospheric
elements-in a photo or literary description they would undoubtedly help
to reveal the lifestyle of the characters--yet if we do not make them
theatrically prominent, through visual emphasis or the performance of the
actors, then all that remains is dead stage properties.
Compared with other arts, the theatre is very generous with its
power of suggestion. A small detail, if emphasized, will stimulate the
viewer's associations and memories, and the spectator's excursion into the
imagination will be precise. Perhaps only music offers more freedom to
the imagination; to our receptivity. I once read-1 cannot remember
where--that fire was the first show on Earth. Around the fire, men sat in
silence, and under the protection of this silence, the inner world became
primordial: memories, thoughts, fantasy-all were stimulated. Setting off
this internal vibration is achieved in art through the power of suggestion.
I recall a performance by Marcel Marceau. The character he
portrayed entered a lounge where a party was in progress. He was alone
39
on the stage, but the audience could "see" thirty guests and what they
were doing, and discern whether they were fat or thin, good looking or
drunk, happy or sad. Their rhythms, their movements, the
groups-everything, even their noise-was transmitted through the
wonderful mute art of pantomime.
This is what we are talking about. Exactly this method of
communication, suggestion, must be borrowed by scenography, and
developed through means that are just as economic, artistic, and
"theatrical."
In the theatre, the wish to show everything can only limit the use
of the spectator's imagination. The skill of the artist consists of suggesting
an element, hiding the whole, and allowing the spectator to complete the
image with his own powers.
In the last act of The Setting of the Sun, the stage designer Marosin
succeeds in giving us the impression that the whole of Moldova is hidden
behind a small arched door, quaking with revolt. Actually seeing the
revolt on stage, performed by fifty actors would be nothing short of
ridiculous: this is the exact opposite of what I am trying to advocate.
Not theatricality for the love of theatricality, or for attracting
attention, or just to do something different--but rather the description of
reality through images unique to the art of scenography.
Not architecture miniaturized and cramped on a tiny stage, with
buildings constructed with unproductive effort out of cardboard--but
rather dramatic and poetic scenic images, made tangible through the
design.
"Is this realism?" Nemirovich-Danchenko once inquired about
the exterior form of the stage setting for Anna Karenina.
"Yes. However, what is important here is the presence of three
walls, a window on the right side, a door in the background, and another
on the left. Again, the form of exterior presentation of the production is
important-it must recreate an historic epoch; it must be a valid
background for the action, and it must help the actors express the ideas
of the drama. If the ideas of the play are firmly outlined, if everything is
imbued with simplicity--then it is alive and it will reach the spectator; and
in that case I would not mind having a piece of velvet on stage instead of
a complicated set of furniture."
Generally in the theatre, as in art, even the ugly must be
presented with good taste. Presenting ugliness or bad taste as it exists in
reality would only mean descending into naturalism.
40
Slavic and East European Peifonnance Vol. 14, No. 2
The recommendation to restore theatricality to scene design must
not be interpreted as dogma. The fact that I am against a closed
architectural setting with a ceiling does not mean that I exclude it
completely. It does have a role in the theatre- where it is necessary.
Also, architectural elements may be used to suggest a style and
epoch-but they must be emphasized as scenic statements, rather than as
structures per se.
Especially noteworthy and beautiful is the incorporation of
Romanian architectural detail in Toni Gheorghiu's design for the opera
Ion Voda the Terrible. Everything seems larger than life, and his design
incorporates images from mural paintings as well as from old popular,
regal, and religious tapestries. Also larger than life are the ornamental
details of the costumes--even their cut. Everything gains monumental
proportion, and all problems are solved tastefully, assimilating the essence
of our wonderful national art.
All of this could have been treat ed in the pompous old style, in
which case the design would have been nothing out of the ordinary. But
by preserving the integrity of Romanian art and architecture and laying
it before us scenically in this wonderful design, perhaps something of the
wonderful artistry of our people has been transposed and communicated
theatrically.
41
Clown Wanted, Twenty-Ninth Street Theatre, New York City
42 Slavic and East European Performance Vol. 14, No. 2
CLOWN WANTED BY ROMANIAN PLAYWRIGHT
MA TEl VISNIEC
Jane House
Crates are piled high on either side of a small door on the stage
of the well-kept 29th Street Theatre in New York City. It is an ordinary
door except that it has no handle, and on it dangles a misspelled, badly
written sign: "Old clown wonted." The only piece of furniture present
is a small bench. This is the set for Clown Wanted (Angajare de Clovn,
1987) by Romanian writer Matei Visniec (b. 1956). Visniec, one of
Romania's most prolific young playwrights, was compelled to seek
political asylum in Paris in 1987 when the current Romanian regime
prohibited the performance of his plays. Clown Wanted, in a translation
by Flora Papastavru, appeared all too briefly in New York in April 1994.
That it was done at all can be credited to the imagination of director
Moshe Yassur, himself a Romanian, and producers Annette Moskowitz
and Alexander E. Racolin.
Yassur made fine use of the small black box space at the 29th
Street Theatre and of clown gags and routines to bring this play to life.
After the first clown, Niccolo Oonathan Teague Cook}, enters, suitcase in
hand, he is soon joined by another, Filippo (Arland Russell). It is six
o'clock in the morning, and these old acquaintances are competing for the
same job. They change their masks so rapidly and take the audience on
such a rollercoaster of tricks that it becomes impossible to know where
they stand or where their center is, if indeed they have one. Visniec has
indicated that the clowns of this play (the last he wrote before leaving
Romania) are related to the "poor performers" in "the ring of Romanian
totalitarianism ... " According to him, "Their grotesque character often
makes me shiver; this was not an art to speak of, but rather the downfall
of their profession, the cruel fin de partie. Therefore the clowns in the
play that I wrote in 1987 are heroes who have lost their profession."
Visniec wants laughter, not tears, for these clowns of the political arena.
Hugs of recognition, insults, contests of strength, demands for
eternal love, spitting, and tears of professed devotion all follow one
another in quick succession. Are they doing their act? Niccolo's despair
over his lost career turns into another gag. "I was the best," he cries
while sinking onto the bench. Still weeping, he draws the bench away
from beneath Filippo who is sinking in sympathy beside him. Filippo
falls to the floor!
43
Clown Wanted, Twenty-Ninth Street Theatre, New York City
44
The arrival of Peppino (Howard Katz) provokes the hat passing
t rick in remembrance of old times, but the insults start up again, now
focusing on past performances and physical and mental inadequacy
followed by accusations of senility. Competition is alway,; in the air. "I
acted on the real boards," claims Peppino in reference to a play by
Goldoni. Accompanied by solemn music he performs a monologue which
calls for a serious approach to salving the wounds created by recent chaos.
Cartwheels won't do; the real question is "to be or not to be a buffoon."
Peppino's speech elicits laughter and an attempt is made to eject him from
the room. In the ensuing struggle, Peppino gets to the front of the line.
They wait as a real circus, which t hey cannot see, is heard passing by
outside. One of them remarks, "There are no windows. Swine."
In Act Two the three clowns pull out their latest bags of tricks.
In this act the director and the actors are at their best. Yassur has created
hilarious scenes that bubble with activity and provoke a great deal of
audience laughter. Niccolo's newest routine, a mime piece about a poor
hungry man who is caught stealing a melon, is met with derisive laughter
on the part of Filippo and boredom and snores by Peppino. Filippo's
latest trick, a magic box from which colored balloons pop out as if from
nowhere, is booed. Before Peppino can show his trick he falls down sick
and calls for his pills, claiming that he can't breathe. This becomes the
perfect set-up for buffoonery. With Filippo's balloons popping out every
ten seconds, Filippo and Niccolo attempt to save Peppino, and their
arguments lead to blows. When Filippo puts his head to Peppino's chest
to test his heart, Niccolo puts his on Filippo's! There is further hilarity
when they attempt to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. After
blowing out all his air, Filippo falls back like a fizzled balloon. Then
comes the coup de theatre: once they begin mourning Peppino's death,
Peppino sits up, laughing uproariously. His trick was the best! He
should get the job!
No one gets the job, however. Peppino slumps over dead as he
sits resting on the bench. The door opens at last, but the resulting vision
is anything but idyllic. Stretched along the floor with a suitcase beside
him, blocking the passageway, lies the dead body of the last applicant.
Niccolo and Filippo hurry away in fear. Soon thereafter a fourth clown,
dragging a huge trunk, appears to fill the void. There is no shortage of
clowns for this job, and the bag of tricks grows larger!
In Clown Wanted, Visniec's indebtedness to Beckett is obvious.
One could also mention Pirandello. In addition, Visniec has revealed that
he was very much influenced by Fellini's film, The Clowns, a study of the
best in the profession. Visniec's characters are strongly identified with
real circus comedians-the "auguste" and "whiteface" clowns in particular.
Since the plot is minimal it is the relationship between the clowns that
45
must keep an audience entertained. The play not only requires
consummate comedians practiced in the art of clowning and possessing the
gift of perfect comic timing, it must also have a cast of actors that has had
time to develop together. Circus clowns who have been together for
some time-as these characters are supposed to have been-work as a team
and can easily second-guess each other. While all three actors in the New
York production do well, they should have had more time to grow as an
ensemble.
The production has style and a professional edge. The efforts of
the director and his creative team of costume, lighting, set, and sound
designers are obvious. Particularly effective are the set designed by
M.A.T. Productions and the costumes. The latter, which were created by
the director and actors, reflect modern popular fashion while
distinguishing between the clowns. Filippo and Niccolo, who are both
auguste clowns, wear running shoes and jeans. Niccolo has a white jacket,
striped shirt, large bow tie, and beret. Filippo wears a plaid jacket and
fedora. Peppino is in more formal dress with proper shoes, reflecting the
outlook of the serious whiteface or "straightman" clown.
Since the 1989 Romanian revolution, Visniec's audience has
grown steadily, both in his homeland and in France and Germany.
Clown Wanted has had many distinguished productions including ones at
the National Theatre of Iasi in 1991, the Levant Theatre in Bucharest and
the Bonner Biennale in 1992, and currently at theatres in Cologne,
Konstanz, and Dresden, Germany. Among his other plays in production
at the moment are Horses at the Window in Bucharest and at the Renaud-
Barrault Theatre in Paris, and It's Nobody's Fault! at the Theatre le Guichet
Montparnasse. One can only hope that Visniec will soon find the
audience he deserves in the United States.
46
BULGAKOV'S 11lE MAS11'R AND MARG.ARJTA
AT THE UNIVERSITY OF THE ARTS IN PHILADELPHIA
Marcia L. Ferguson
Maciej Englert's theatrical adaptation of Mikhail Bulgakov's
novel, 1be Master and Margarita, recently produced in Philadelphia at the
University of the Arts, was directed by the head of the theatre school
there, Paul Berman, who has repeatedly demonstrated enthusiasm for
Slavic and East European plays. Berman chose Sigmund Bajak's
translation of Englert's adaptation from several other possible translations,
largely because it was closely aligned with his own interpretation of the
work.
A notable feature of this production was Berman' s collaboration
with Russian set and costume designers. Scenic designer Andrei W.
Efremoff, who worked for several years as a designer for Moscow
television and the Moscow Academic Mayakovsky Theatre, was a
Refusnik from 1980 to 1987. His set for 1be Master and Margarita
reflected an intimate knowledge of the symbols and conventions of
Russian society, demonstrating an appreciation of modern Russian scenic
design as well. The predominance of the color red and the large portraits
of Lenin hanging stage right and stage left, along with Berman's
characteristically imaginative direction, gave the production an atmosphere
that was at once recognizably "Soviet" and mysteriously universal. Paul
Fine's lighting was appropriately bold; while the murky semi-darkness of
the transitional moment was overused, it contributed to the overall
shadowy feel of Voland's presence. The musical interludes (selections
from Dimitri Shostakovich) further served this production's eerie yet
romantic aura.
The story of the novel's tortuous path to publication reflects one
of the play's main themes: the effect of oppression on individual
creatlvtty. Bulgakov worked on the novel over half his literary life,
during which it was barred from publication.
1
His depiction in the novel
of post-revolutionary Moscow is especially vivid and credible in light of
his personal experience under the new regime, where atheism and a strict
adherence to the political and social precepts of the newly dominant
Bolshevik ideology were stringently enforced, and where the human
creative spirit suffered an almost total loss of freedom.
47
The play's plot follows the basic storyline of the novel. Voland
(Bulgakov's version of Satan) enters the atheistic world of post-
revolutionary Moscow, where he immediately feels at home. Upon
meeting the editor Berlioz and the young journalist Ivan Homeless, the
three discuss whether Christ existed in history (Berlioz and Homeless
insist that Christ did not exist; Voland explains that he did). The scene
in turn serves as a segueway into the play's parallel storyline: Pontius
Pilate's corrupt dealings with Jesus (here called "Yeshua"). Voland's
selection of Margarita for the queen of his annual ball ties the plots
together; Ivan Homeless (who guesses Voland's true identity and is
therefore considered mad) is committed to the same asylum where the
Master (Margarita's lover) had earlier committed himself as a way of
escaping persecution for his novel about Pontius Pilate.
Rick Stoppleworth is arresting as Voland, who first appears in a
Fred Astaire-like pose {complete wit h top hat and cane) as if ready to
break into song and dance. In a sense he does just that in the first scene,
teasing the two Russian atheists while his retinue arranges itself around
the set. Voland's henchmen, of whom the most memorable is the cigar-
smoking black cat played with feline grace by Crystall Carmen, conspire
to entrap and encourage Berlioz, Voland's next victim. A young woman
who looks as if she were from the Follies Bergeres and a figure who seems
as if he were from a 1940s film noir complete the entourage.
As the scene shifts to Yeshua's meeting with Pilate, the
intertextuality with modern times continues, with characters in Roman
dress writing with ball point pens. Pilate is beautifully realized in David
Bollar's full-throated performance. With a voice rivalling James Earl
Jones, his sonorous presence effectively pulls focus in a scene which could
have been ruined by weak acting. Constantly fighting a vicious migraine
headache while trying to run the secret police, Pilate reverberates with
modern anxiety. Like a saddened CEO, he bears the weight of the world
on his shoulders, his movements slow and constricted, yet forceful because
of his height. Similarly Voland is often referred to as a "consultant,"
which in this production brings to mind the Machiavellian consultants of
the 1980s who milked the world for money just as Voland milks it for
entertainment. The excellent acting in the roles of Pilate and Voland
contributed invaluably to a production which otherwise suffers from the
tentativeness of inexperienced performers.
The visceral punch of this production is made clear when, only
moments after his exit, the severed head of Berlioz is brought dripping
48
onstage. Later, in accordance to Voland's wishes, someone's tongue is cut
out quite graphically in the hellish carnival scene in Act J.2
Time operates in two ways: both linearly from Voland's first
appearance in Moscow to the climatic deaths of the Master and Margarita;
and vertically in the split stage presentation of Yeshua's and Pilate's
storyline. The fantastic play between worlds and times is echoed in the
tiered set, which allows for simultaneous action on separate planes and in
the fatal coincidences that marked this production: smokers often inhale
at the same time and drinkers swallow in casual synchrony, as if their
movements are predetermined, or perhaps controlled by the unseen hand
of some other-worldly figure, either Voland or Yeshua.
The set is particularly striking, enabling wonderful moments such
as Margarita flying to the ball on a broomstick, or Yeshua lighting a
cigarette on the second tier (with its vague evocation of heaven) and
watching Pilate's secret police murder Peter and try to make it look like
a suicide. Voland and his retinue appear in the closing moments of the
second act as shadows behind large red screens on the highest tier, once
again evoking a relationship between Satan and the repressive Soviet
regime. Voland's final monologue is wonderfully delivered in ringing
tones that are alternately shrieks and groans. The moment provides a
climatic finish to a significant piece of stagecraft.
NOTES
1
For an interesting perspective on Bulgakov's life by his second
wife, see Lyubov Belozerskaya-Bulgakova, My Life with Mikhail Bulgakov
(Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1983).
2
This scene was particularly interesting in light of the connections
being made between Bakhtin and Bulgakov in recent literary criticism.
See Lesley Milne, Mikhail Bulgakov: A Critical Biography (New York:
Cambridge University Press, 1990).
49
THE MUSEUM OF MODERN ART PRESENTS
RARELY SEEN SOVIET FILMS
Daniel Gerould
On May 10, 1994, as part of the Jewish Museum's program, "Red
Channels: Blacklisting and the Media," the Museum of Modern Art
screened Abram Room's cold-war film, Silver Powder (1953). Best known
for the satirical comedy Bed and Sofa {1927), about two working men and
a young woman who share a communal flat, Room began making anti-
American propaganda films in the 1950s. Silver Powder tells the story of
a sinister American scientist, Professor Still, and his secret radioactive
weapon which he hopes to use against the Soviet Union. Two competing
American generals scheme to steal the formula from Dr. Still. At the
same time two young black men have been falsely accused of raping a
white prostitute so that they can be rescued from a KKK lynch mob and
used as subjects for the professor's experiments. But Still's politically
progressive son, suspicious about the nature of the professor's research,
opens the secret door to the laboratory and is exposed to lethal amounts
of the silver powder. Alerted to the plot, his friend, a young leftist labor
organizer, comes to the rescue of the Afro-American prisoners. The US
government and military are portrayed as evil racists, but American
workers and oppressed blacks are peace-loving humanists attracted to the
communist ideals of the Soviet Union.
Mikhail Yam polski of New York University, who introduced the
film, described Silver Powder as shameless propaganda that presented a
fantastic travesty of American life lacking all plausibility. The audience
of film enthusiasts at the Museum of Modern Art reacted with frequent
laughter to the creaky plot and painstakingly costumed caricatures of
Americans drinking Jack Daniels; perhaps Afro-American spectators
would have responded more favorably to the lurid picture of a white
racist conspiracy and the government's readiness to carry out deadly
experiments on defenseless black victims. The cameraman for Silver
Powder was Eduard Tisse, who worked with Eisenstein on so many
masterpieces and collaborated with Room on several other films .
From April 15 to 19, 1994, the Film Department of the Museum
of Modern Art and Lenfilm presented five features by a talented but little
known Soviet filmmaker of the 1970s, Uya Averbach (1934-1986).
Averbach and his work were introduced by Frigetta Gukasjan, his friend
and biographer and editor-in-chief at Lenfilm Association, St. Petersburg.
After the showing of a short documentary about the artist, Gukasjan gave
50
a sketch of Averbach's life and characterized his work as the fruit of a
dual inspiration: love of his native Leningrad and love of classic Russian
literature. Averbach, the child of actors, graduated from the Leningrad
Medical Institute in 1958 and worked as a physician for three years before
turning to filmmaking. He completed nine films from 1969 to 1982, five
of which were shown during the mini-festival: Degree of Risk (1969),
Tragedy of Another Time (1971), Monologue (1973), Other People's Letters
(1976), and Declaration of Love (1978). The films deal with the dilemmas
of creative people, intellectuals, and professionals (surgeons, writers,
artists, journalists) struggling to find truth and endearing values in a world
of compromise. Although the cinematic language of Averbach's films is
traditional, the style is nuanced and sensitive, the acting multidimensional,
and the pictorial images rich and evocative.
51
CONTRIBUTORS
MARCIA L. FERGUSON holds an M.F.A. in Acting from Temple
University and is currently a Ph.D. candidate in Theatre at the City
University of New York Graduate School.
JOHN FREEDMAN is the author of Silence's Roar: 7be Life and Drama
of Nikolai Erdman (Mosaic Press) and the editor/translator of The Major
Plays of Nikolai Erdman and A Meeting About Laughter: Sketches, Interludes
and Theatrical Parodies by Nikolai Erdman, both forthcoming from
Harwood Academic Publishers. He lives in Moscow where he is the
theatre critic for the Moscow Times.
DAVID A. GOLDFARB is a Ph.D. candidate in comparative literature
at the City University of New York. He chaired a panel on Central
European cinema at the 1993 AATSEEL conference in Toronto.
JANE HOUSE's Anthology of Modern Italian Drama: 1900-1950 will
appear in February 1995 (Columbia University Press). She edited Political
7beatre Today and Sacred 7beatre (with Daniel Gerould and Bettina
Knapp). She is a professional actress and teaches part-time at New York
University and Lehman College, CUNY.
Photo Credits
7bey Come and They Go, Class of Expressive Plastic Movement, Moscow
P. Antonov
7be Persecutor, Class of Expressive Plastic Movement, Moscow
0. Chumachenko
Clown Wanted, The Twenty-Ninth Street Theatre, New York City
Jay Tanzi
52
PLAYSCRIPTS IN TRANSLATION SERIES
The following is a list of publications available through the Center for
Advanced Study in Theatre Arts (CAST A):
No. 1 Never Part From Your Loved Ones, by Alexander Volodin.
Translated by Alma H. Law. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign).
No. 2 /,Mikhail Sergeevich Lunin, by Edvard Radzinsky. Translated by
Alma H. Law. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign).
No. 3 An Altar to Himself, by Ireneusz Iredynski. Translated by Michal
Kobialka. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign).
No. 4 Conversation with the Executioner, by Kazimierz Moczarski .
Stage Adaptation by Zygmunt Hubner; English verstion by Earl
Ostroff and Daniel C. Gerould. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign).
No. 5 The Outsider, by Ignatii Dvoretsky. Translated by C. Peter
Goslett. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign).
No. 6 The Ambassador, by Slawomir Mro:iek. Translated by Slawomir
Mrozek and Ralph Mannheim. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign).
No. 7 Four by Liudmila Petrushevskaya (Love, Come into the Kitchen,
Nets and Traps, and The Violin). Translated by Alma H. Law.
$5.00 ($6.00 foreign).
No. 8 7be Trap, by Tadeusz R6zewicz. Translated by Adam
Czerniawski. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign).
Soviet Plays in Translation. An annotated bibliography. Compiled
and edited by Alma H. Law and C. Peter Goslett. $5.00 ($6.00
foreign).
Polish Plays in Translation. An annotated bibliography. Compiled and
edited by Daniel C. Gerould, Boleslaw Toborski, Michal
Kobialka, and Steven Hart. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign) .
Polish and Soviet 7beatre Posters. Introduction and Catalog by Daniel C.
Gerould and Alma H. Law. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign).
53
Polish and Soviet Theatre Posters Volume Two. Introduction and Catalog
by Daniel C. Gerould and Alma H. Law. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign).
Eastern European Drama and The American Stage. A symposium with
Janusz Glowacki, Vasily Aksyonov, and moderated by Daniel C.
Gerould (April 30, 1984). $3.00 ($4.00 foreign).
These publications can be ordered by sending a U.S. dollar check or
money order payable to:
54
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CUNY GRADUATE CENTER
33 WEST 42nd STREET
NEW YORK, NY 10036
SUBSCRIPTION POIJCY
SEEP is partially supported by CASTA and The Institute for
Contemporary Eastern European Drama and Theatre at The Graduate
School and University Center of the City University of New York. The
annual Subscription rate is $10.00 ($15.00 foreign). Individual issues may
be purchased for $4.00.
The subscription year is the calendar year and thus a $10.00 fee
in now due for 1994. We hope that departments of theatre and film and
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