Editorial ShareThis

from Editorial 2010/04/12 23:48

Editorial

Maria Helena Serôdio

 

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire.

T.S.Eliot, The Waste Land (‘The Burial of the Dead’)

 
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Upon renewing our presence on the website with a second issue of Critical Stages―and differently from Eliot―we can only be happy with the coming of April since it also brings with it the evidence that the International Association of Theatre Critics is able to pursue one of its main goals: to highlight the need (and the importance) of critics and criticism in the field of theatre. But this claim is not to be held as a vain conceit: it only means that we assume this as a challenge and a responsibility, so that we shall do our best not to disappoint artists, readers and theatre audiences alike.

In professing this idea in the second issue of our journal, we also try to show how varied is (or should be) the approach to theatre. That is one of the reasons why we engage in dialogue with both playwrights (Athol Fugard and Gianina Carbunariu) and theatre practitioners (set-designer Dragos Buhagia, and theatre directors: Jin-Chaek Sohn, David Zinder and Stan Lai / Sheng-Chuan). And either framing the dialogue in a more formatted way or using a specific moment of their careers to hear their opinions, it is always a way of assembling “views” and “voices” of those who create art for the stage and make them readable by all those who visit us at this site.

Other ways of approaching theatre allow for elaborating on theatre criticism as Yun-Cheol Kim, Don Rubin, Temple Hauptfleisch and Mark Brown do in the section dedicated to “critics on criticism,” thus recalling proposals the first two presented at a Colloquium held last January in Vallabh Vidyanagar (India) where that subject was discussed.

Three other critical perspectives can also be identified in our approaches to theatre. One is reviewing current performances (as well as of books recently released), and we can boast of having reviews of performances created by artists coming from Canada, Finland, Iran, South Africa, France, Latvia, Romania, Israel and Germany, among others. And among the reviewers, we are happy to count on former President of the IATC―Georges Banu―with two major articles, as well as a ‘lesson’ on performance analysis Patrice Pavis uses to approach a dance performance.

The second perspective is based on theatre research, looking for either artistic identities (be they Creole theatre, the condition of Immigrants in the Portuguese theatre, or Purcărete’s artistic output) or spotting painful memories in plays and performances.

The third perspective we adopt here has to do with examining theatrical legacies: both Jean Genet’s theatre (being revived in a festival held in Korea―in March and April of this year―to commemorate the centenary of his birth) and Brazilian director Augusto Boal. In this latter case, we are proud to include a file with articles by leading researchers and artists of Brazil who have known, studied and worked with Boal, together with a portfolio of photos that show some of the many riches of the newly formed “Augusto Boal Archive” at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro (UNIRIO).

On the eve of granting the Thalia Prize to Richard Schechner in our forthcoming Congress in Yerevan (Armenia) to be held next June, we recall here the critic and essayist Jean-Pierre Sarrazac who received that same Prize in Sofia, two years ago, “for having influenced critical thinking about the art of theatre.” The speech he read in Sofia, as well as the “questionnaire” Randy Gener used to make his views more known to our readers form another section of this issue of Critical Stages. In the photos that are shown here we can see the emblem of the prize specially commissioned from the distinguished Romanian stage and artist-designer Dragos Buhagiar: a cane with a silver top, representing Thalia, the Greek muse of comedy.

My most sincere thanks go to all those who so generously contributed with their writings to this issue, thus sharing with us their knowledge and enthusiasm. And that is also extended to all the members of our Editorial Board who engaged with so many duties and concerns in order to have it all ready to release the issue in due time. It is, however, an immense joy to see how all those efforts come together in this issue, and how it proves that it is still possible―no matter how different we are in our ideas, sensibilities and ways of writing―to have a collective voice as theatre critics.

A last word of acknowledgement should be said in order to thank Yu-Jin Kim for Editorial Assistance, Myoung-Jae "Andrew" Yim for the Web design, and IATC President Yun-Cheol Kim who called into existence this journal and relied on me for its edition.

I could perhaps resume Eliot’s words of the epigraph quoted above not only to underline the singular metaphor of “lilacs” for the “pieces” that make up this issue (although not “out of the dead land,” rather the opposite living theatre …), but also for the “mixing of memory and desire” that is, to my mind, one of the main sources of our work as theatre critics.

2010/04/12 23:48 2010/04/12 23:48

Éditorial ShareThis

from Editorial 2010/04/12 21:24

Éditorial

Maria Helena Serôdio

Avril est le mois le plus cruel, car les lilas
Poussent sur la terre morte,
Mélangeant mémoire et désir

T.S. Eliot, La Terre vaine (« L’enterrement des morts »)


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Il existe d’autres moyens d’aborder le théâtre, notamment en réfléchissant sur l’exercice de la critique comme le font Yun-Cheol Kim, Don Rubin, Temple Hauptfleisch et Mark Brown dans la section consacrée aux « critiques sur la critique », nous rappelant ainsi les exposés que les deux premiers ont livrés à un colloque qui s’est déroulé en janvier à Vallabh Vidyanagar (Inde), où ce sujet a été discuté.

On peut identifier trois autres perspectives critiques dans nos approches du théâtre. La première consiste à rendre compte de spectacles courants et d’ouvrages récemment parus. À cet égard, nous sommes fiers de publier des comptes rendus de spectacles venant entre autres du Canada, de Finlande, d’Iran, d’Afrique du Sud, de France, de Lettonie, de Roumanie, d’Israël et d’Allemagne. Et au nombre des chroniqueurs, nous sommes heureux de compter l’ancien président de l’AICT, Georges Banu, qui publie deux articles importants, ainsi qu’une « leçon » sur l’analyse de la représentation que Patrice Pavis utilise pour traiter d’un spectacle de danse.

La deuxième perspective se fonde sur la recherche théâtrale en matière d’identité artistique (qu’il s’agisse du théâtre créole, de la condition des immigrants dans le théâtre portugais ou de l’œuvre de Purcărete) ou appliquée à des souvenirs douloureux dans des représentations.

En troisième lieu, nous nous attachons à des legs : celui du théâtre de Jean Genet (ranimé dans un festival en Corée pour commémorer le centenaire de sa naissance, en mars et avril de cette année) et celui du metteur en scène brésilien Augusto Boal. Dans ce dernier cas, nous sommes fiers de publier une série d’articles de chercheurs et d’artistes brésiliens ayant étudié et travaillé avec Boal, illustrés de photos témoignant de la richesse des nouvelles « Archives Augusto Boal » à l’Université fédérale de Rio de Janeiro (UNIRIO).

Au moment d’accorder le prix Thalie à Richard Schechner, lors de notre prochain congrès à Erevan (Arménie), en juin 2010, nous revenons au critique et essayiste Jean-Pierre Sarrazac, qui a reçu ce prix à Sofia il y a deux ans, « pour avoir influencé la réflexion critique sur l’art du théâtre ». Le discours qu’il a livré à Sofia, ainsi que le « questionnaire » que Randy Gener utilise pour mieux faire connaître sa pensée à nos lecteurs, constituent une autre section de ce numéro de Scènes critiques/Critical Stages. Dans les photos qui les illustrent, on peut voir l’emblème de ce prix, conçu spécialement par le grand scénographe et sculpteur roumain Dragos Buhagiar : une canne à pommeau d’argent représentant Thalie, la muse grecque de la comédie.

Je tiens à adresser mes remerciements les plus sincères à tous ceux qui ont collaboré généreusement à ce numéro, partageant ainsi avec nous leurs connaissances et leur enthousiasme. Cela s’adresse aussi à tous les membres de notre comité éditorial qui n’ont pas ménagé leurs efforts pour que le numéro soit prêt à temps. C’est cependant pour moi une joie immense de voir réunies toutes ces énergies et de constater qu’il est encore possible – peu importe nos différences de pensée, de sensibilité, de style d’écriture – d’atteindre une voix collective en tant que critiques de théâtre.

Je dois un dernier mot de reconnaissance à Yu Jin Kim pour son assistance éditoriale, à Myoung-Jae « Andrew » Yim pour la conception Web et au président de l’AICT Yun-Cheol Kim, qui a fait naître cette revue et s’est fié à moi pour la concrétiser.

Je pourrais peut-être revenir sur l’épigraphe de Eliot qui paraît au début, en soulignant la singulière métaphore des « lilas » pour les « parties » qui constituent ce numéro (quoique pas sur de « la terre morte », mais au contraire, sur un théâtre vivant…), mais aussi pour ce « mélange de mémoire et de désir » qui m’apparaît comme une des sources principales de notre travail de critiques de théâtre.

2010/04/12 21:24 2010/04/12 21:24

Twenty-one Asides on Theatre Criticism ShareThis

from Critics on Criticism 2010/04/12 04:44

Twenty-one Asides on Theatre Criticism

Mark Brown[1]

 
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The following set of aphorisms can be read as one critic’s personal manifesto. They represent a series of conclusions I have come to in the course of 16 years as a professional theatre critic within Scotland, the UK and internationally. As can be seen in the footnotes, these conclusions have many influences, ranging from (their key influence) the theatre and the theoretical writings of the great, contemporary English dramatist Howard Barker, to the principles of criticism offered by the 19th-century English critic William Hazlitt (by way of his latter day disciple Tom Paulin), and the lyrics of the Australian singer-songwriter, musician, novelist and screenwriter Nick Cave.

Personal though it is, however, no manifesto worthy of the name has ever been written for an audience of one. Like Barker’s uncompromising, painfully beautiful vision for theatre (expressed, of course, in his exceptional plays, and articulated in his collections of theory Arguments for a Theatre and Death, The One and the Art of Theatre; the latter of which, I insist, is also a book of poetry and philosophy), my ‘Asides’ are addressed to the “impatient” (Barker 1997: 18).

As Barker asserts, “The critic must suffer like everyone else” (Barker: 1997: 71), and so, like all ideology, this manifesto is “the outcome of pain” (Barker 1997: 17). It is painful, and nauseating, to observe and comment upon an arena of cultural practice which is under increasing pressure to infantilise itself. We find this pressure in the commentators and practitioners who deride as “elitist” the assertion that the art of theatre must eschew the commercial and cultural pressure to “entertain”. We find it in the liberal critic who wears as a badge of honour his or her belief in the socio-political functionality of the theatre.

These ‘Asides’, therefore, are a personal response to the pain induced by this pressure. They are a cry, an ideological assertion, in defence of “radical elitism”[2] in the face of the faux democracy of cultural relativism and the puerile shibboleths of liberal humanism.

 
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1. The critic is a privileged member of the audience.

2. The critic’s pen is a wand, a quill and a dagger.

3. Criticism exists in the discrete space between journalism and art.

4. I write here of true criticism; there are other kinds.

5. The only true critical agenda is the pursuit of quality, and so the critic is a radical elitist (Barker 1997: 32).

6. Without mercy or malice:[3] the motto of the true critic.

7. The critic is subjective. She does not deny her subjectivity. Her only responsibility is to be worthy of it.

8. The demand that the critic “reflect the collective view of the audience” nauseates.

9. When he asserts the “equal value” of all genres, the critic slits his own throat with his pen.

10. The critic is not a human “clapometer”.

11. Criticism abhors equivocation (which is distinct from nuance).

12. The bad critic: a fence sitter, deferring to personal sentiment, social propriety or cultural fashion.

13. The true critic: suspicious of consensus, prepared to be in a minority, even of one.

14. Synopsis is not criticism, although it often masquerades as such.

15. All theatre is political. So the critic is suspicious of the term “political theatre”.

16. The critic is not a doctor, she gives no prescriptions.

17. The prescription is a noose around the neck of the free artist.

18. Criticism, like poetry, is not a job, but a vocation; but the critic, like the poet, has bills to pay.

19. Polemic is for the street. The theatre is not the street.

20. The critic has to be a pugilist, prepared to give and take blows.[4]

21. The critic must suffer like everyone else (Barker 1997: 71).

 

Works Cited

BARKER, Howard. 1997. Arguments for a Theatre (1st Ed. 1989). Manchester: Manchester University Press.


[1] Mark Brown is theatre critic of the Scottish national newspaper the Sunday Herald. He teaches in theatre studies at the University of Strathclyde and the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama. He is a member of the executive committee of the International Association of Theatre Critics and a member of the editorial board of the IATC's webjournal, Critical Stages. He lives in Glasgow.

[2] An “elitism” which is based upon no factor other than the pursuit of quality, beauty and profundity in the theatre, as expressed in Barker, Arguments for a Theatre, op. cit., p.32.

[3] Nick Cave, from the lyric ‘Get Ready for Love’ (2004).

[4] Tom Paulin, The Guardian (London: April 4, 2004).

2010/04/12 04:44 2010/04/12 04:44

Nouvelles lectures de Genet en Corée ShareThis

from Special Files/Jean Genet 2010/04/12 04:08

Nouvelles lectures de Genet en Corée

Shin, Hyun-sook[1]

 

Resumé / Abstract

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Un Festival Jean Genet, à l'occasion du centenaire de sa naissance, aura lieu du 10 mars au 25 avril 2010, à Séoul. Depuis les années 80 jusqu'à nos jours, les jeunes metteurs en scène coréens ont monté les pièces de Genet, surtout Les Bonnes, en s'appuyant sur une large variété de techniques scéniques. Parmi elles, Les Bonnes (2000), performance expérimentale de Kang Ryang-Won mêle langage corporel, silence et espace vide, avec des répliques très raccourcies et modérées. Kang a fait jouer tous les trois rôles féminins par de jeunes acteurs et il a insisté sur la sobriété et la condensation du jeu physique selon la theorie "Physical acting".

 

1. Vue générale : Pièces de Genet jouées en Corée

Un Festival Jean Genet, à l'occasion du centenaire de sa naissance, aura lieu du 10 mars au 25 avril 2010, à Séoul. Le programme du festival comprend quatre pièces: Les Bonnes, Haute Surveillance, Le Balcon, Les Nègres et quelques spectacles adaptés de ses romans comme Le Journal du voleur et Querelle de Brest. On peut regretter que la pièce Les paravents n'ait pas été programmée. Ce Festival et cet hommage indiquent que même de nos jours les pièces de Genet offrent aux jeunes metteurs en scène coréens une grande diversité de lectures.

C'est dans les années 1970 que deux pièces, Les Bonnes (1973, 1976) et Haute Surveillance (1978), ont été montées pour la première fois à Séoul. A cette époque, le théâtre de Genet paraissait obscur et étrange à cause d'une part de sa forme théâtrale, d'autre part d'un message insaisissable. C'est pourquoi ce théâtre fut peu joué et il demeura pendant assez longtemps mal connu alors que les pièces du théâtre de l'Absurde, celles de Beckett, d'Ionesco, de Dürrenmatt, de Handke, d'Albee et de Pinter étaient chaleureusement accueillies par les critiques de théâtre et par les spectateurs coréens.

Dans les années 80, sous l'influence du théâtre d'Artaud, de Brecht, et du théâtre de l'Avant-garde, les jeunes metteurs en scène coréens eurent l'occasion de découvrir une large variété de techniques scéniques. Parmi eux, Kim Young-Deouk a monté, pour la première fois, Les Nègres en 1984 et Le Balcon en 1985. Dans cette dernière pièce, il a utilisé plusieurs postes de télévision placés sur les trois murs de la scène : il voulait obtenir des effets de miroir, refléter tout ce qui se passait au cours du spectacle. Les acteurs qui jouaient le rôle des clients avaient des bottes à talons hauts de 35 centimètres, quant à leur maquillage il ressemblait à celui d'un clown. On a pu voir des scènes de violence cruelle et de perversion. Kim Yong-Deouk a ainsi produit une parodie grotesque, pleine d'humour noir, critiquant l'absurdité de la société post-capitaliste.

Dans les années 90 jusqu'à nos jours, la pièce Les Bonnes a été plusieurs fois produite avec diverses mises en scène que les Coréens ont beaucoup appréciées. En 1995, Lee Sung-Yeoul a monté les Bonnes d'une manière caricaturale avec des signes scéniques audio-visuels. Il a fait jouer Madame par un acteur déguisé en clown et les deux bonnes par des actrices petites et très minces. L'aspect ludique du spectacle fut renforcé par des costumes et un maquillage grotesques, et l'utilisation d'objets semblables à des jouets. Quant au côté spectaculaire, il fut accentué par l'utilisation de miroirs, un jeu exagéré, des scènes érotiques jouées comme par des automates. Pourtant, la mise en scène de Lee Sung-Yeoul demeura un peu confuse et les signes scéniques semblèrent manquer de cohérence.

Lee Yun-Taek, dramaturge et metteur en scène, a produit les Bonnes plusieurs fois (en 1997, 2002 et 2008). Il a considéré la pièce comme un théâtre de songe et a interprété la mort de Claire dans le rôle de Madame, à la fin du spectacle, comme la libération de son désir obscur.

Les Bonnes (2008, 2009) mises en scène récemment par Park Jine-Sine, jeune mime, est à la fois une pantomime et un monologue. Le rôle de Madame est joué par un jeune acteur et celui des bonnes par deux jeunes actrices. Sur le plateau, il y a trois cadres de porte et un cadre sans tableau. Le spectacle se déroule avec l'acteur et les actrices qui passent et repassent à travers les cadres. A la fin, écrasés sous les cadres, ils aboient l'un contre l'autre, s'insultent férocement sans échanger un regard. On peut dire que la mise en scène de Park s'appuie avant tout sur le corps des acteurs et le mime.

Dans ce qui suit nous allons examiner deux modes de représentation assez remarquables, l'un lié à l'écriture corporelle, l'autre au rituel.

 

2. Comment lire Les Bonnes de nos jours ? 

2.1. Le corps humain comme essence du spectacle : L'écriture performative de Kang Ryang-Won

La pièce Les Bonnes (2000), mise en scène par Kang Ryang-Won, est une performance expérimentale qui mêle langage corporel, silence et espace vide, avec des répliques très raccourcies et modérées. Kang a produit Les Bonnes en s'appuyant sur la théorie du 'Physical Acting' qui a pour support le corps humain. (Nam, 249)

Selon cette théorie, l'acteur est à la fois un être humain dont le corps et la voix produisent des stimuli et un ensemble de signes, intentionnels ou involontaires. Tous les signes émis par l'acteur peuvent se regrouper autour de la mimique, de la gestuelle et de la voix. Comme les autres éléments scéniques, les signes physiques ne signifient que dans leur relation avec les autres signes de la représentation. (Ubersfeld, 195)

Prenons quelques exemples dans Les Bonnes. Cette pièce a été représentée dans un petit théâtre dont le plateau en planches ressemble à un gymnase. Kang a réduit le décor au minimum avec une coiffeuse et une charrette pleine de fleurs dans le coin gauche du plateau, un petit paravent au fond, un rideau d'étoffe bleu et transparent qui laisse passer la lueur sur le plateau. Kang a par ailleurs fait jouer tous les rôles féminins, Madame et les bonnes, par de jeunes acteurs qui portaient des postiches, blond pour Madame, noir pour les bonnes, et une robe noire ou rouge à haute taille sans manches.

 
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De sorte que leur corps musculeux enlevait toute féminité aux personnages. Dans la première séquence, lors du 'Jeu de Madame', il n’y a aucun échange de regards entre Madame et la bonne Solange. De temps en temps, Madame la regarde en face, mais la bonne baisse alors le regard, sinon jette un regard de travers. Cette expression du regard indique la hiérarchie sociale qui existe entre Madame et les bonnes, mais aussi l’impossibilité de communiquer entre elles. Dans cette scène, Madame a une mimique énergique et très agressive, tandis que le teint maladif de Solange et sa démarche à pas de loup, les épaules tombantes, montrent qu'elle a peur de sa patronne. Dans le même temps, on perçoit une fausse soumission et une curiosité malsaine.

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A la fin du jeu, alors qu‘elles jouent l'enterrement de Madame, Solange pousse la charrette pleine de fleurs et circule autour de Madame affolée et agenouillée par terre sous la menace de Solange.

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Enfin quand Solange dit : "Elle nous aime comme ses fauteuils. Et encore! Comme la faïence rose de ses latrines!"(Genet 149), ses lèvres qui se contractent très nerveusement montrent la haine qu’elle éprouve contre ses conditions d'existence (bonne = faïence = objet que possède Madame).

Dans la deuxième séquence, après sa rentrée, la véritable Madame va et vient sur le plateau en se tapant, en mesure, la tête avec les mains. Ce geste-mouvement, pareil à celui d'un automate, montre l'angoisse et l'impatience de Madame devant l'emprisonnement de Monsieur, autrement dit devant la perte de son pouvoir social. Les acteurs n'utilisent pas la voix de fausset . Pourtant dans la scène où la véritable Madame apparaît, l'acteur qui tient le rôle de Madame parle d'une voix basse pleine de dignité, alors que les deux bonnes parlent d'une voix nasillarde. A l'exception de cette scène, tous les acteurs parlent sur un même rythme, d'une voix blanche et très monotone, sans timbre, en même temps, leur voix résonne comme le son d'une machine. 

Kang Ryang-Won, dans cette mise en scène des Bonnes, insiste sur la sobriété et la condensation du jeu physique. A travers l'image corporelle, il a voulu figurer le conflit entre l'oppresseur et l'opprimé, entre l'envie et la haine. Il aurait cependant fallu prêter attention à lier les actions physiques à la profondeur narrative de la situation théâtrale pour que le "Physical acting" ne nous donne pas l'impression d'une expérimentation de pure forme.

2.2. La mise en scène de Park Jung-Hee : Performance rituelle et requiem.

Les Bonnes (en 2004, 2009) produites par Park Jung-Hee, metteuse en scène, sont une sorte de requiem à la mémoire des bonnes. Elle voit cette pièce comme un octaèdre ajusté de morceaux de miroirs qui renvoie au désir des bonnes, un désir à mort! Par sa mise en scène, Park Jung-Hee, veut faire apparaître le désir obscur et refoulé des bonnes, le faire parler et vivre sur le plateau. Pour ce faire, elle a remanié cette fable en y greffant l'affaire criminelle des sœurs Papin, auteurs du  meurtre de leur maitresse (Obliques 100); Genet lui-même se serait inspiré de ce fait divers. En apparence, Les Bonnes, avec l'enquête de l'inspecteur de police, donne l'impression d'un théâtre documentaire. Or, cette enquête sert au théâtre-cadre. Quant à l'histoire des bonnes, elle renvoie au théâtre dans le théâtre. Park Jung-Hee a gardé le contenu de la pièce, mais le dénouement est tout à fait différent puisque les deux sœurs se suicident ensemble. En ce qui concerne le jeu scénique, elle a fait appel au rite chamaniste coréen qui convoque l'âme du défunt mort de façon injuste pour purifier sa rancune afin de le faire renaître dans l'au-delà. C'est l'inspecteur qui dirige le spectacle avec son enquête et ses commentaires. Par ailleurs, comme Park Jung-Hee a voulu interpréter la pièce sur le mode de la  performance, elle a pris pour support du spectacle le corps des acteurs. Elle a également préféré l'économie des objets scéniques pour s'appuyer sur les effets d'éclairage. L'expression du désir des bonnes s'exprime soit par des gestes, soit vocalement ou alors par la danse. Les Bonnes ont été montées dans un petit théâtre en sous-sol et le plateau donnait l'impression de se trouver dans un sanctuaire pour une messe noire. Au centre du plateau, il y avait une baignoire de marbre qui contenait de l'eau, et de chaque côté de la baignoire, se dressaient deux torses auxquels était suspendue une robe, blanche pour l'un, rouge pour l'autre. Cette baignoire sera transformée en baignoire de Madame, en lit, en prison, en tribune et en matrice, au fur et à mesure du déroulement de l'intrigue et toujours en rapport avec les autres éléments scéniques. Au centre des fauteuils d'orchestre, se trouvait une petite table devant laquelle il y avait une chaise; sur la table était posée une machine à écrire.

La scène plongée dans le noir est progressivement éclairée et l'on voit apparaître l'inspecteur qui regarde la machine à écrire, il entre ensuite sur scène et raconte le meurtre des deux sœurs. C'est au cours du spectacle que l'on trouvera la réponse à la question: pourquoi et comment mourir? Après la sortie de l'inspecteur, on entend une musique religieuse et les deux sœurs en robe noire entrent sur scène à reculons, comme si l'on rembobinait un film. Elles caressent tour à tour les robes, la baignoire, et font le geste de passer la serpillière sur le plancher. Après avoir enlevé sa petite robe noire, un des signes de la bonne, Claire en linge blanc plonge dans la baignoire, et Solange la suit. Ainsi commence 'le Jeu de Madame', elles se versent de l'eau l'une sur l'autre et s'insultent.

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Dans la deuxième séquence, la nouvelle de l'acquittement de Monsieur met les deux bonnes au désespoir. Solange incite alors Claire au meurtre de Madame. Prises de frénésie, elles sortent de la baignoire et dansent très érotiquement et furieusement en faisant le tour du plateau. Avec l'eau qui ruisselle de leur corps et de la baignoire, le sol est vite trempé et un éclairage bleu-vert crée une ambiance fantastique et décadente. A la fin, Claire met ses mains sur la nuque de Solange et dit en éclatant de rire : "Nous serons devenues un couple du coupable et de la sainte. Nous serons sauvées".

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Dans la troisième séquence, l'inspecteur qui joue également le rôle de Madame, entre sur la scène. Après avoir mis la robe rouge, Madame qui apparaît grande et grosse, monte sur la baignoire couverte et invective les bonnes avec des gestes très exagérés d'un juge et une voix de fausset. Au pied de la baignoire, les bonnes, trempées jusqu'aux os, se trainent comme deux chiennes. Il y a dans cette scène une double image: celle d'un jugement religieux à huis clos et celle du Balcon, une autre pièce de Genet. Ayant appris la nouvelle de l'acquittement de Monsieur, Madame crie de joie. Au même moment apparaît sur le mur sa silhouette pareille à un aigle. Ici, l'inspecteur constitue le paradigme du pouvoir social en jouant tout à la fois Madame et Monsieur, paradigme inattaquable qui domine le conscient et la vie des deux bonnes.

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Après la sortie de Madame, sous l'emprise d'une grande peur et du désespoir, les deux bonnes entrent dans un état de démence. Solange, assise sur la baignoire toujours couverte, confesse son crime, imitant la posture des menottes aux poignets. Sa silhouette grandit de plus en plus sur le mur tout en s'assombrissant.  Enfin, Solange, agenouillée, se lève lentement en faisant le geste de voler dans le ciel. Sa silhouette sur le mur figure vaguement la croix. A travers ce jeu physique de Solange (mimique-geste-mouvement), Park Jung-Hee visualise la transmutation de la criminelle en sainte. On peut ainsi considérer que la transgression de la loi des hommes peut être reconnue, selon la loi de Dieu, comme un acte de sainteté. Après cette scène, les deux sœurs se suicident dans l'eau de la baignoire.

Faut-il voir ce suicide comme un retour dans la matrice ou comme une cérémonie rituelle de purification? Dans le premier cas, la conclusion est tragique parce ce que la révolte des bonnes (le prolétariat), due à la haine aussi bien qu'à l'envie d'être Madame (la bourgeoisie), a avorté à cause de leur ignorances : d'une part l'ignorance des codes sociaux, d'autre part l'ignorance de la cause de l'union de Madame avec Monsieur, autrement dit l‘ignorance de la coalition des biens et du pouvoir social. Leur suicide ne serait donc rien d'autre qu'une régression dans la matrice. Dans le second cas, on peut considérer que c'est une résistance symbolique à condition que leur mort réveille la conscience des bonnes qui vivent ainsi. On pourrait alors parler d'une renaissance rituelle. Le fait que l'inspecteur met un chrysanthème blanc devant les bonnes mortes, soutiendrait cette interprétation. Quoi qu'il en soit, Park Jung-Hee laisse aux spectateurs le choix d'une interprétation.

Pour conclure très brièvement, on espère que pendant ce festival les spectateurs découvriront de nouvelles et passionnantes lectures des pièces de Genet.

 

Bibliographie seleccionée

GENET, Jean .1977. OEuvres complètes, Paris, Gallimard.

JO, Heung-Yun .1999. The Korean Shamanism, Seoul National University Presse.

NAM, Sang-Sik .2009. "The Stage of the Physical Acting: Focused on the Works of  Rayag-Won Kang's Theatre Company Dong, in Journal of Korean Theatre Studies Association. Seoul : Yeounkeuk-Kwa-Inngan. pp. 245-276.

PAVIS, Patrice .2007. La mise en scène contemporaine, Paris, Armand Colin.

UBERSFELD, Anne .1981. L'école du spectateur. Paris : Editions sociales.

Obliques, No 2, 1972.


[1] Shin, Hyun-Sook was Professor (currently Honorary Professor) at the University of Duksung (1980-2008). She is theatre critic and responsible for Remedial drama at the School for the handicapped.

2010/04/12 04:08 2010/04/12 04:08

Jin-Chaek Sohn: A humanistic vision ShareThis

from Theatre Voices 2010/04/08 02:56

Jin-Chaek Sohn: A humanistic vision

Interviewed by Soon-Ja Hur[1]

 
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Theatre Director Sohn (b. 1947) is Founding Artistic Director cum President of the Michoo Theatre Company. He has directed and produced over 80 plays of various genres and origins, including the annual Madang-nori performances in which indigenous cultural traditions are harmonized with contemporary aesthetics of the theatre. Truly an open-minded artist, with a humanistic vision and near-religious attitude towards the theatre, he has also dedicated himself to many international exchanges of theatre, as well as to some memorable cultural events. As a visiting guest director, he has staged a number of productions both in Japan and China, including a world premier of Ariel Dorfman's The Other Side for the New National Theatre of Tokyo in 2004.

You have been doing a great deal of work not only in your group but also at international festivals and abroad. For the international theatre critics of Critical Stages, I'd like to start the interview talking about the general characteristics of your theatre.

I have been working consistently on revitalizing icons of the traditional theatre for the modern theatre. Like many others, I started my directing career working with modern Western plays, but eventually came to agonize over the identity of the traditional Korean theatre. I started looking into the heritage of the Korean theatre, thinking that there must be basic theatrical icons that our ancestors inherited. For instance, if there are musicians such as Brahms and Chopin in the West’s history, there is also gukak, which is Korean classical music. Therefore, I started studying Korean masques, puppet plays, pansori (solo sung narratives) and gut (shamanic rituals). As a result, I found my future direction for “directing Korean-style plays,” which aims at modernizing Korean traditional theatre. Even though the given subject, “Korean-style theatre,” could be seen as nationalistic obstinacy, the prerequisite for my work is “the universality of Korean theatre.”

You often liken theatre to a religion, and have firm conviction that theatre can save the world. I now ask you about the so-called “Madang Spirit”—in other words, the inherited philosophy or values fundamental to your work.

I went into a directing career because I liked the arts—such as literature, fine arts, dance, and music—so much, and thought I could be close to these forms if I did theatre that integrated the arts. In the meantime, I asked myself what theatre means to me. The origin of theatre is ceremonial worship. Ceremonial worship is the desperate prayer of humans to God. I considered theatre as a prayer for salvation since the worship ceremony must be a prayer for salvation, too. This can be understood as the basic spirit of my theatre or, to put it another way, the “Madang Spirit.” In short, the madang spirit means seeking a humane life “here” and “now.”

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We are living in such a confusing era—is theatre still a meaningful act?

The aim of theatre is to make human beings human, and to make sure of the love for humankind. The social utility of theatre is to find the value of human life and to help people share such values. The epic theatre of Brecht motivated my serious deliberation and introspection. I agree that theatre should be fun but it should also be able to diagnose society’s ills. Good theatre is the best medicine for curing the corrupt world. Theatre must prove that its basic values, and existential values regarding humankind, never change. The values of the theatre are desperate now, since theatre exists to make human beings think at a time when everyone is seeking financial benefits. Some people argue that the theatrical industry is facing a crisis, but it is quite in the nature of things to bring up issues whenever a paradigm changes. I am sure that theatre will last forever because it is the most long-lived of the arts and because it is analogue.

You say you feel very attached to the chang-geuk form, even if it ultimately fails in execution. Tell us about its potential, or issues with it.

Chang-geuk is a kind of theatre that has been developed from pansori for the modern performing arts. Pansori is a performing art unique to Korea—one that moves people with a mixture of literary, musical and theatrical content. A singer with a fan in hand performs a long story with a song, narrative and movements following the beat of a drummer. I condemn the reality that Koreans undervalue pansori while eulogizing the kabuki of Japan and Peking Opera of China. But one thing clear is that chang-geuk is an incomplete genre which still requires examination and research to establish its own style. Therefore, I direct a chang-geuk piece by converting its stage into an open one and dramatically developing it within a pansori structure, keeping close to the nature of pansori. The current issues are that people are so accustomed to the old-style chang-geuk that they do not have much desire for this novelty, and that not that many directors have a good understanding of pansori's characteristics. I believe chang-geuk is the most competitive genre among our performing arts and I have realized its possibilities through numerous overseas productions.

You are credited with creating madang-nori, now growing as a representative national genre, as well as with the revitalization of chang-geuk. Will you introduce the aesthetic principles, methodology or values of madang-nori?

I have already explained the meaning of madang, and nori means theatre. Madang-nori is a Korean-style theatre which modernizes the inherited traditional theatre. The Korean traditional theatre consists of four stages: gilnori, gosa, bonnori, duipuri. At dawn, after performing a ritual ceremony, people receive God with a bell hanging on a rod, and walk through the town with musical instruments. Upon arrival at the theatre grounds, people offer worship for the respect of the elderly and peace for both audience and performers, after which they begin a bonnori (or main theatre performance). Bonnori originated from a ritual to drive away ghosts and, with humor and sarcasm, it addresses the tyranny of the ruling class, the poverty of the working class, discord between wives and mistresses, and ridicule of the yang-ban (government officials) and apostate monks. At the end of the theatre, duipuri is formed, when everyone dances and shares a community spirit. In this regard, madang-nori is special in that it is theatre that cannot be without its audience.

You are also known for your broad theatrical spectrum. Besides the genres I mentioned above, you are also involved in international theatre exchange programs. Please tell us your experience with foreign actors or theatre staff.

The basic spirit of theatre is collaboration. There are not many differences or difficulties in working with people from different backgrounds. But performers should grasp their society, since theatre mainly addresses human issues and people are part of society. Although many think Korea, Japan and China have lots of things in common, I have felt that our cultures are distinct. The outcome of working together has not only been finding similarities but also differences.

There was clear sign of change occurring in the mise-en-scène of your productions, from a visually stylized stage to an empty or minimal one, particularly since the middle of 2000. Would you explain the aesthetic change in your theatre?

My earlier productions tended to be visually striking, particularly in the 1980s and 1990s. However, as I continue my stage work, I feel that stage decoration is quite cumbersome. I feel that… something of origin is buried under the ornaments of the stage. So, I now pursue minimalist tendencies—distinct moderation and poised calm—in the staging of the works I present, rather focusing much more on the acting or narrative, and relying much more on the audience's imagination.

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How does Korean Theatre communicate with the rest of the world? Will you evaluate the current Korean theatre from an aesthetic or philosophical perspective?

The characteristic of Korean traditional theatre lies in the spirit of theatre which expresses exaggeration and talkativeness full of energy, and the spirit of comedy which overcomes every kind of pain and hardship, and transforms it into laughter. However, Korea experienced an identity crisis after the introduction of Western theatre from Japan. Korean theatres haven't been free from the 1st-generation framework due to misconceptions about realistic theatre. Now it is time to endeavor to establish a theatre having a national identity, and globalizing a theatre with general impact. There also need to be policies that support and enable Korean theatre to communicate with the rest of the world.

Will you introduce us to your recent works?

Because this year celebrates the 30th anniversary of madang-nori, I will give more of my attention to its works. King Lear will go to the BeSeTo Festival, and B-Class Trial (working title) will be staged in October. B-Class Trial is about the absurd violence that happened from executing war criminals after the Pacific War—that is, Japan's war of aggression. War still breaks out around the world, and people have been victimized by ruthless and merciless violence. By shedding new light on buried history, I would speak out against the violence and inhumanity of war.

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Fairy in the Wall made a good impression on the theatre critics who participated in the IATC Seoul Congress in 2006. Do you have any last words for them?

Such a nice compliment! I really appreciate it. With the language barrier and for geographical reasons, Korean theatre people have had a hard time meeting foreign theatre practitioners. Although we do theatrical works actively in our country, we don’t have the kind of aggressive willpower to advance our works abroad. However, it should be noted that we have a theatre district, called Dae Hak Ro, with a concentration of more than 130 small theatres—plus we have about 70 colleges or universities with theatre departments. You may not see this in cities or countries anywhere else. The Koreans have an exceptional thirst for theatre, I ask for your continuous interest in Korean theatre for international exchanges, and hope you will visit Korea again some time.


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[1] Hur is a theatre critic and faculty member of the Department of Theatre, Seoul Institute of the Arts, Korea. Formerly Vice-President of the Korean Association of Theatre Critics, she is currently serving on the Board of a number of professional organizations. Her publication includes Korean Theatre in the Age of Internationalization (2008), Ten Influential Men of the Korean Theatre (2005), and many other writings and translations.

2010/04/08 02:56 2010/04/08 02:56

Lady Anne’s Blog: Some Initial Thoughts on the Evolution of Theatrical Commentary in South Africa ShareThis

from Critics on Criticism 2010/04/07 05:07

Lady Anne’s Blog: Some Initial Thoughts on the Evolution of Theatrical Commentary in South Africa [1]

Temple Hauptfleisch[2]

 

[the Theatre] ... was opened for the first time a few days ago – a very pretty one indeed. We felt ourselves obliged to go and to pay a sum for our box, else we should have been call’d stingy and ill-humoured. The scenes were well done, some of them by young Cockburn…. It opened with an address to Apollo, spoken by Dr Somers, and wrote by Mrs Somers. It was too fine for anyone to understand it, and seem’d rather an index to pretty learning than to any conversation which Apollo could have liked to listen to – however the scene was good and all was new. The piece was a dull one, the first part of Henry the 4th. The Doctor thought he shone in Falstaff, we did not agree with him. (Lady Anne Barnard, Cape Town, 1801)

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In her diary entry, considered by many to be the first formal and extant “review” in South African theatre, the influential socialite and hostess of Cape Town society described her (reluctant) attendance of the opening performance in the newly built African Theatre at the start of the nineteenth century. Today she might have used an internet blog and written something much less circumspect.

So much of what one talks about in the field of the humanities, and specifically so in arts criticism, is highly dependent on its use in a particular context and epoch. For example, the very notions of drama and theatre―even ideas about performance (and indeed criticism and scholarship), are at best slippery in post-Apartheid South Africa and the surrounding regions.

Over the course of the first 300 years after the arrival of the first Europeans on these shores in the seventeenth century, the political history of the region basically brought over, imposed and entrenched a particular way of looking at and thinking about the new continent. An effect was to overshadow local traditions and cultural practices and devalue them. It was only during the twentieth century, and more particularly its second half, that cultural expressions and practices of the indigenous peoples, and the values underlying them, were slowly recognized. Then writings about them became more than marginal commentaries on what appeared to be radical, oppositional, esoteric, or possibly even eccentric. Today of course indigenous forms have become a much more serious field area of study and contemplation and, for most of us today, experimentation and exploration with the forgotten forms and traditions have become major driving forces in the arts. Yet, the process of reinterpreting the original histories has only begun and obviously still has far to go, as formerly hidden aspects of the history are unearthed, re-evaluated and integrated into the new thinking. This change has naturally been heavily influenced by the arrival of a spate of new paradigms for thinking about African and South African history in itself, especially during the transitional period (1987-1994).[3]

A necessary, wider and more flexible concept of theatre would include the products of and oral/kinetic, or “performance” culture, as David Coplan (1985) so aptly termed it. Today we tend to accept that theatre history, and particularly in the non-Western contexts, needs to be a study of the history of performance, rather than a literary study of (printed) texts―and this is particularly true of contemporary theatre in Southern Africa. However, colonial thinking had long favoured a focus on the text and thus tended to exclude a wide, comprehensive world of theatre, performance and what Wilmar Sauter (2007) has termed “theatrical playing,” in the region.

Like so much of the early history of mankind, the history of this period in Southern Africa is still extremely tentative, and based on much theorizing and speculation. This also applies to ideas about the social life of indigenous communities and the function of art within them, which no doubt were as varied as the social, economic and political conditions. There are certain indications however of a widely spread material culture in the region, notably represented by San rock-art, and the pottery, beadwork and other artifacts of the Nguni, Sotho and other peoples. The salient point is that creative tendencies seem to have been integrated into communal life, and not separate entities with an own discrete existence outside of their communal function. Also, following the argument of Mudimbe (1988), one has to bear in mind that none of this history is static; it is as changing, as evolutionary, as open to the impact of social, cultural, economic and political pressures as any period to follow, as any period about which we have more information. So, though one may speak of general tendencies, there must have been vast and constantly shifting differences between forms, themes, occasions and the like.

While there are many who may believe that indigenous practices changed as a result of white arrival, and that the reverse traffic is more recent―post 1994 in the eyes of some―I have come to believe this is a slightly parochial point of view―blinkered precisely by the kind of thinking discussed here. In the 1960s Guy Butler had already remarked that “The English are being Afrikanerized, the Afrikaners Anglicized, Africans Westernized and the whole lot Africanized.”[4]

Actually the evolution of the Afrikaans language and Cape cuisine alone are testimony of a far more pervasive and interactive hybridization taking place, from the very first contacts between Africans and Europeans. And I certainly believe it happened in performance as well. It was simply not noticed, that is all.

But the more important factor, from a Western point of view, is that we are dealing with a set of oral cultures, where no orthography or any tradition of written history existed. We know less about the performance art in this period than about any other form, quite simply because of the ephemeral nature of the theatre as form and because no demonstrable examples have survived unmediated. Nor are there documented (written) critical responses available. Nevertheless, the few fragment we do have, plus the later records provided by incidental travelers and scribes from the sixteenth to the nineteenth centuries, do allow certain deductions concerning the kind of performance activities which existed in these societies―if not their origins, their functions and/or their meaning within specific historic societies.

The oldest known performances in the region are the shamanistic dances among the San, recorded in certain San rock art paintings – some of them up to 25 000 years old, some dating back to the nineteenth century. Remnants of these dances still occur today in the Kalahari among the descendants of the San. In a similar vein the arrival of that later crystallized out as the Zulu, Xhosa, Sotho and other peoples brought a rich heritage of social, religious and military performance and ritual to the region. These performance events, including wedding ceremonies, initiation ceremonies, harvest festivals and the like, informed the daily lives of these peoples and seem to have been communal actions of a purposeful nature and participative in format, very formally structured and containing a strong mimetic content. Remarkable to us today is the sheer scale on which some of these events took place, involving large groups of dancers and thousands of spectators, and stretching over a period of days.[5]

While there is strong evidence that the performances themselves, being of a purposeful nature and participative in format, often offering social, cultural, ethical and political comment, there is little evidence that there was ever a structured system of critical commentary on performances. The participative work of course was not “seen” by outsiders, hence not “criticised” and thus not recorded in any way. Also, while one has little doubt that performers and performers needed and received comment, even where there was an audience present, the feedback would have been informal, oral or gestural, one-on-one perhaps – and certainly not recorded for posterity.

From the foregoing it is clear that it really only becomes possible to discuss critical commentary in the region when we reach the time of European settlement and the known history of written criticism, about which there have been substantially more records.

While the odd descriptions appeared earlier, the formal arrival of the critical comment came in the 1800s, when first newspapers began to appear in Grahamstown and Cape Town, and the first formal theatre was being built. Early newspapers include Fairbairn and Pringle’s South African Journal (1824), New Organ (1826) and South African Commercial Advertiser, and they certainly contained commentary on the arts. However, as mentioned above, the popular version is that the first critic was Anne Barnard, wife of the colonial secretary at the Cape of Good Hope, who, interestingly enough, commented in her diaries on the performances of the soldier-amateurs of the Garrison, but also on the Dutch amateurs of the town. And it was thus natural that she would be one of the first to comment on theatre in Cape Town’s new theatre.

However, the first well-known critic in the formal sense was a British immigrant, William Layton Sammons, (1801-1882) an author, journalist, columnist and editor best known by his nom-de-plume Sam Sly. His weekly review - Sam Sly's African Journal – was founded to promote culture and entertainment in general in the Cape. Gradually, as the various mining towns (Kimberley and Johannesburg in particular) and ports (Port Elizabeth and Durban) developed, this form of journalism and accompanying critical practice spread to all the major metropolitan centres. Some examples of early reviews tended to be little more than notices and announcements (i.e. advertising and reports), or commentary on social events (gossip or “news”, including comment on audiences), but by the 1860s more substantive reviews (comments about technical and theatrical matters, such as texts, performers and productions themselves) began to appear and gradually became more frequent, more incisive and more influential. These reviews also often contained some kind of evaluation of the experience. This was not yet what we would consider formal criticism today (i.e. in depth discussion of the merits of play, performance and so on, with reference to a wider cultural, political and social sphere), but the theatre reviewer had arrived and people like Peter Plymmer, Frederick York St Leger and later Vere Sent were feared for their attacks on poor acting and production values and their opinions were respected.

As can be gathered, the basic format and philosophy behind the writing was borrowed directly from British practice and the colonial versions thereof and was to last well into the first half of the 20th century.

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The evolution from report to review accompanied the enormous increase in theatrical activity as well, as more and more companies and artistes – traveling through the various British colonies - visited the country, many settling down here. Among them strong personalities from England and Australia, such as Sefton Parry (1857 – 1862), Disney Roebuck (1873 – 1885), the Wheeler brothers (Ben and Frank, 1886 – 1910), Luscombe Searelle (1887 – 1896), the Holloway Company (1886 - 1899), and particularly Leonard Rayne (1905 – 1925).

By 1920s these twin forces meant that there were increasing numbers of critics of substance, for by now a fully fledged professional theatre system had evolved in English dominated by actor/directors as Rayne and actor/writer Stephen Black, while the newspaper business also flourished. The influences in this case were interesting―they were largely based on the British model brought to the country through the British education system, as we have seen, as well as the many British journalists who over the years settled in South Africa, to work with SA papers―including Thomas William Mackenzie (The Friend in Bloemfontein), Hedley A Chilvers, Joseph Langley Levy (Sunday Times, Johannesburg, 1910 - 1940).

In the 19th century however, another tradition had also been surfacing among the descendants of the 17th and 18th century Dutch settlers. Regular debating and cultural clubs (“Rederykerskamers”), the basis of a performance tradition, were slowly evolving in the Dutch/Afrikaans tradition. In contrast to the primarily entertainment objectives of the English language theatre and media, growing Afrikaans cultural nationalist was establishing a literary and cultural context for the new, emerging language of Afrikaans. This meant more rigorous demands of cultural purpose being placed on arts and literature. Thus, part of the conscious drive to promote the cause of Afrikaans and Afrikaner nationalism―utilising the educational system and the emergence of a powerful press and publishing industry―was also a desire to establish an own indigenous cultural, literary and theatrical tradition, one devoted to the nationalist cause.

As far as theatre is concerned, the last aim initially came into being via the wide-spread amateur movement, a direct descendent of the earlier Dutch organizations, with more and more farces and melodramas being written for performance by schools and societies. But there was also a more serious side to the movement, which slowly evolved in educational centres such as Stellenbosch, Bloemfontein and Pretoria, spearheaded – not always effectively – by the literary heavyweights of the language struggle, such as novelist D.F. Malherbe and poet Eugene Marais.

However a even more significant thrust towards a fully fledged Afrikaans theatre came with the arrival in South Africa of a number of Dutch and Flemish performers, in particular a superb Dutch actor-manager named Paul de Groot, who brought professionalism and in-service training in Afrikaans to a host of versatile and creative performers. In 1925, the year Afrikaans was formally declared an official language of the country, De Groot himself went on to found the first professional Afrikaans theatre company, with two energetic amateurs, Hendrik and Mathilde Hanekom, following suit and taking to the road with a number of farces they wrote themselves. This coincided with the emergence of a second generation of playwrights, much more serious individuals who sought to emulate the European theatre and actually set the tone and style of Afrikaans theatre for the next three decades or more.

In this context we meet up with the first Afrikaans critics of note and become particularly aware of two dominant strains in theatre reviewing and criticism that would dominate a large part of the mid-century: the pragmatic, journalistic writing in English newspapers on the one hand, and the international, often more erudite writing by better educated cultural figures in Afrikaans newspapers. Unlike their English-speaking counterparts, who did not come from an intellectual tradition (few had tertiary education till the 1970s), a number of the Dutch (and later Afrikaans) critics were university trained individuals who had gone to Holland and Germany for their post-graduate work, usually in philology, philosophy or literature. As a result they tended to be influenced by a more Germanic and Dutch tradition, as well as an European view of theatre and the arts, and adopted a far more intellectual approach to their craft. More importantly, in contrast to the primarily entertainment focus of the English-language theatre, the second group of performers were part of the growing Afrikaans cultural nationalism. This became particularly noticeable in the reviews of the first half of the twentieth century, when the Afrikaans community was trying to establish a formal literature and artistic identity, as noted above.

A good case in point was one of the most prominent of later critics and arts editors, W.E.G. Louw, who claimed to have seen over 1 000 European performances during his frequent visits to the continent, and he would draw on those experiences when writing about South African plays. Similarly erudite critics of the time included Frederik Rompel, F.E.J Malherbe, G. Cronje, Ignatius Mocke, H.A. Mulder, E.C. Pienaar and A.M. van Schoor. They became the harbingers of the new language, its literature, and its associated performances―thus helping to shape and promote Afrikaans as a fully fledged cultural tool.

And this tradition would remain for a very long time, for once the drama departments were established in the 1960s, and the formal training in what came to be known as theatre studies began, a number of similarly trained people would become the leading figures, entrenching this tradition till late in the 1970s. It is from these academic sources that, increasingly, the more prominent English-speaking critics would also come. Thus it appears that the Afrikaans approach even to the evolving field of theatre studies included a strong interest in the role of text focused critic, researcher and historian at the start – perhaps because the departments were largely founded and/or partially led by academics or journalists rather than practitioners, and these were people who came from the Dutch/Belgian/German world of formal drama study. The most influential of these were Geoff Cronje, F.C. L Bosman at University of Pretoria (with leading actress and director Anna Neethling-Pohl as the practical voice), playwright Gerhard Beukes and critic Louw Odendaal at University of the Orange Free State (Bloemfontein) and Fred Le Roux following the Belgian actor-director Fred Engelen as head at University of Stellenbosch.

However the 1930’s also saw the first stirrings of another cultural awakening, a formal theatre interest among the various urban blacks―under the influence of missionary schools and the university of Fort Hare―and the significant appearance of writer, practitioner and teacher H.I. E Dhlomo. Others writing at the time include W. Mbali and Walter Nhlapo (who both worked for Bantu World 1930s-1940s). However, the Eurocentric training supplied by the missionary schools and the University College at Fort Hare or the University of South Africa remained largely text bound, as indeed it did at most other (“white”) institutions till the mid 1970s. And more alarmingly, for much of the century “criticism” remained tied to the study of the nine indigenous African (Bantu) languages, and therefore was immensely literary in approach (analysis of plot, characters and so on, and moral issues in the plays)―again premised on the British or European model. Unfortunately the legacy of this approach is still immensely powerful when one looks at theses and critical writings on African theatre texts―not only in South Africa, but across the continent of Africa.

By 1950s this mix of influences was well entrenched, but was still largely European in style, although now increasingly affected by the exciting “new journalism” from the USA and the winds of political and cultural change sweeping though Africa. It is from a mix of these factors that some of the more powerful critics, writing for the daily and weekly newspapers, now emerged. These writers not only had substantial space and influence, but increasingly had academic training and something to write about in the flourishing professional and state-funded theatre of the country. They wrote in either English or Afrikaans, (or in some cases, both languages) and at times with great authority and impact. Names such as Oliver Walker, Phyllis Konya, W.E.G. Louw, Merwe Scholtz, Lewis Sowden, Percy Baneshik and Terry Herbst soon became familiar and considered formidable in arts circles. By the sixties a number of younger, even more politicised, critics would join them – including André P. Brink, Wilhelm Grütter, Philippa Breytenbach, Owen Williams, Johan van Rooyen, Michael Callenborne, Fiona Chisolm, Raeford Daniel, Michael Venables, William Pretorius, Derek Wilson, Cas van Rensburg and Rykie van Reenen.

By and large these were professional critics, who not only responded to the arts, but in many ways shaped and influenced their direction. However, again there is possibly a rather important distinction to be made: In the golden years of the printed media critics in England, the USA and Europe tended to be seen as “professional” in that writing criticism was their full-time occupation: few of them were actually fulltime newspaper employees. In South Africa we only had a few such examples, some Afrikaans artists/critics (such as WEG Louw and André P. Brink) perhaps falling into this category of professionals. Most of the other critics however, were fulltime professional journalists, entertainment reporters and interviewers, covering the generality of the arts and entertainment, as well as writing reviews. They multi-tasked, with reviewing being only one of their tasks. Their “professionalism” thus lay not so much in the nature of their employment, but in the rigour they brought to their reviewing practice.

It was in this time that a new brand of black journalism began to make its appearance. Often termed the Drum-magazine generation (after the most famous of the new magazines to appear), these young writers and activists found a vibrant and dangerous world to report on in the so-called “freehold” areas of Sophiatown and District Six, places where all races could still mix and black citizens could own urban property, and in the multitude of performances, poetry readings and theatrical events occurring there. Writers such as Ezekiel Mphahlele, Lewis Nkosi, Nathaniel (Nat) Nasaka, William (Bloke) Modisane, Arthur Maimane, Bob Leshoai, Elliot Makhaya, Joseph Latakgomo, Aggrey Klaaste, T. Leshoai, Victor Metsoamere, Sipho Sepamla began with journals like Drum and later S’ketsh, and then moved on. Some into exile, some on to the daily and weekly papers, like the Ilanga Lase Natal, Post, Sunday Post, World, Weekend World and The Sowetan - even the Rand Daily Mail, the Weekly Mail - writing about township culture and the cultural struggle. Some went on to become significant literary and academic figures, others faded away or moved elsewhere. But their influence on the shape of the arts in the long run was enormous. What was intriguing has been their attempts to create an own style, strongly based on American new journalistic principles, but also a little more aware of the African performance traditions that gradually invaded and have come to dominate theatre performances, particularly musical and dance works.

With them, far more that with the formal (white) critics of the commercial newspapers and media, art truly became a weapon in the ongoing struggle for freedom and recognition. At the same time many artists were beginning to reject the aesthetic considerations of Western theatre, in favour of a much more crude and visceral form of confrontational theatre of immediate response.

Somehow, out of this mix of cultural traditions would come what some may call the “pre-post-colonial” theatre critic―someone initially schooled by the writers of the heyday of big professional theatre companies (1960-1980), but also immersed in the day-to-day rough-and tumble of the Apartheid/anti-Apartheid real-politik. Such critics were well equipped and able to respond to the major wave of experimentation and energy that washed over the country in the 1970s and early 1980s. The fact is that the appearance of the so-called “alternative” (political) theatre spaces and processes (the Space Theatre, the Market Theatre), and the concomitant emergence of a substantive body of work by black playwrights, directors and performers,―as well as the many workshopped plays making their way into the theatres―left many of the older critics dumbfounded and floundering. With the immense range of styles, traditions and forms on offer―drawing on many traditions, including 1960s experimental workshop processes and a variety of African performance forms―they at times found that their “traditional” training was totally inappropriate for dealing with works such as We Shall Sing for the Fatherland, The Island, Woza Albert, The Hungry Earth, Sophiatown, etc. Indeed there was a built-in antipathy to the new work among many established critics. For example, Robert Greig recalls it being referred to as “junior theatre” by a prominent editor (an adjective that was apparently even applied to the first work done by Athol Fugard) and few dared to travel into Soweto and other areas to review the work.[6]

What made the situation worse in many ways for the traditionally trained critic was the surprising impact the cultural boycott (instituted in 1966) would have on the way the arts would develop in the country. For one of the most positive effects of the boycott was that it (inadvertently) enforced a focus on local writing and the production of local plays―thus ironically liberating many of the new (English) writers and performers from the competition with renowned international writers and the pressure to conform to dramatic models evolved in Europe and America. This in turn saw an increasing number of university-trained actors, directors and theatre writers emerging from the “liberal” anti-Apartheid atmosphere of the 1970s, with a growing sense of that the state arts councils were tainted. This then led to the establishment of the many alternative theatres where - because of Fugard, Simon and Mshengu’s work in the 70s - the notion of the workshop theatre and experimental plays became central to, even emblematic of, so-called “struggle theatre”. And, as we now know, from these theatres would gradually emerge a number of totally new, specifically South African theatrical forms and conventions, forms that―as I have mentioned―would challenge and stretch the new critics in a multitude of ways over the next few decades.

By the 1980s the competent critic found that he/she was again being challenged by a new phenomenon: the arts festival. The arrival of the Grahamstown Festival (National Arts Festival) in 1976, Kampustoneel (Campus Theatre) in 1981 and a rash of later festivals from 1990 onwards (notably a string of Afrikaans language festivals in Oudtshoorn, Stellenbosch, Bloemfontein, Potchefstroom and Cape Town), tested the critic’s ability to adapt to the new even more. There was just so much, of such varying and alarmingly diverse quality and style on offer, it left one dizzy. It is this festival circuit which became the real training ground (and challenge) to the most outstanding critics of the alarmingly unfocussed yet exciting pre- and post-apartheid periods (about 1984-1998). Among them are such outstanding individuals as Adrienne Sichel, John Mitshikiza, Kaiser Ngwenya, Barry Ronge, Barry Hough, Paul Boekkooi, Robert Greig, and Gabriel Bothma, writers able to “read” the radical new local work in performance and respond to it as South Africans. And by the 1990s a new generation of professional critics has emerged. It is schooled in a new and evolving South African theatrical system represented in some 40 festivals that constitute a theatre season. These exhibit a proliferation of performance styles reflecting new spaces, techniques and issues. The newer critics thus have a much greater awareness of and freedom to write about the multi-cultural and lingual context represented by a changed

These then are some of the origins and key influences in critical debate now. However, it may be important to end by making a few comments about the technical aspects of the system, for these too has played a dominant role in shaping the kind of critic we have today.

For much of the twentieth century South African criticism was primarily a media and economy driven system, governed by the growing influence of newspapers and radio (and to a smaller extent later, TV), with a limitation on space and time. Over the years there have been many attempts to try to have an alternative, more substantive, system of review, for example by founding arts journals or magazines (e.g. Helikon, Scenaria, Theatre SA, S’ketsh, Teaterforum, Critical Arts, South African Theatre Journal.) Few of them have actually been able to sustain any kind of longer term review response to the industry or to place the substantial reviews they hoped. This is because: (a) they were not financially viable (with a remarkable exception in Julius Eichbaum’s Scenaria, funded out of his own pocket), (b) South African runs of plays are too short (average a week or two) to have the luxury of time that someone writing in London, New York, or Paris might have and (c) most critics are really general journalists or part-timers used as reviewers. Nevertheless some of these reviews did offer us alternative reviews of less formal work in the townships and banned venues, notably in journals such as Drum Magazine and S’ketsh.

Today (post 2000) this situation has become far worse, since there is now no real focus or system to theatre and performance anymore―it is largely driven by a relentless circuit of festivals (many of them with anything but cultural intentions) and large-scale (imported and local) popular musicals and dance shows (Phantom of the Opera, Cats, The Lion King, Zulu, African Footprint, etc.) Some of the best critical writing in journals now tends to describe and analyse trends (e.g. about nature of the festivals themselves as cultural events), rather than review individual presentations, since this kind of summary review would have a better chance of publication (and does not necessarily require in depth knowledge of theatre even). Thus it appears the old English tradition of generalists, rather than critics, may be reasserting itself.

There is perhaps some cause for concern amid this flood of work on offer, when one considers the kind of people who are now at times called upon to help out as additional reviewers, particularly for festival productions. The evolution of an almost overwhelming festival culture, and its need for instant “notices”―has thus lead to the return of the amateur critic, the “public opinion poll” and the student reviewer as solutions to the desperate need to respond to the enormous growth in number of performances (see festival newspapers such as CUE, and Krit, as well as the many free newspapers, town and suburban newspapers, etc, which all have to respond to local work.).

An additional concern lately has been the advent of the digital media as a major force. For instance, the internet has made self-expression in public media generally available. Print media, the previous vehicles of informed opinion, have to compete more for advertising revenue and reflect advertisers’ target market―the young and affluent or potentially affluent. The ultimate effects of both have been to establish cyber platforms for self-expression and to erode newspapers as sites for informed judgement. Theatre has tended to be recast as entertainment; the critical role replaced by entertaining readers. The theatre has been upstaged. Here and abroad certain genres of arts no longer have space reserved for them in newspapers. Space formerly reserved for other genres―fine arts or dance―has diminished.

By eliminating the critic who, being a specialist, was costly to employ, newspapers have saved money and replaced critics with entertainment guides. This approach has the advantages reducing newspapers’ overheads, rendering employees more easily replaceable and assuring commercial advertisers that they have the advertisers’ interests at heart. While this new development is certainly not all bad―the internet has much to offer as a source of information and an “information highway,” and I think we will debating this for a while to come―but I fear that, perhaps, among the casualties of the sudden rush to embrace the digital revolution may well be have been those qualities associated with criticism at its best: independence and informed dissent.[7]

 

Bibliography

AMPKA, Awam .1999. “Drama in South Africa and tropes of postcoloniality” In: Contemporary Theatre Review, Volume 9, Issue 3 1999 , pages 1 – 18.

BOSMAN, F.C.L. .1928. Drama en Toneel in Suid-Afrika, Deel I ["Drama and Theatre in South Africa. Part I"]: 1652-1855. Amsterdam/Pretoria: J.H. de Bussy.

________ .1980. Drama en Toneel in Suid-Afrika , Deel II ["Drama and Theatre in South Africa. Part II"]: 1856-1916. Pretoria: J.L van Schaik.

CARPENTER, Charles A. .1986. Modern Drama Scholarship and Criticism 1966-1980: An International Bibliography. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

________ .1997. Modern Drama Scholarship and Criticism, 1981–1990: An International Bibliography. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

COPLAN, David B. .1985. In Township Tonight! South Africa's Black City Music and Theatre. Johannesburg: Ravan Press/London: Longman.

DAVIS, G. and FUCHS, A. (eds) .1996. Theatre and Change in South Africa. Amsterdam: Overseas Publishers Association.

DHLOMO, H.I.E. .1985. Collected Works. Edited by Nick Visser and Tim Couzens. Johannesburg: Ravan.

ELSOM, John .1985. “The Social Role of the Critic”, In: Contemporary Review; May 1985, Vol. 246 Issue 1432, p259-263.

FLETCHER, Jill .1994. The Story of the African Theatre 1780-1930. Cape Town: Vlaeberg.

GRAY, Stephen .1979. Southern African Literature: An Introduction. London: David Philip.

GUNNER, Liz (Ed.) .1994. Politics and Performance: Theatre, Poetry and Song in South Africa. Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press.

HAUPTFLEISCH, Temple .1997. Theatre and Society in South Africa: Reflections in a Fractured Mirror. Pretoria: J.L. van Schaik.

JOUBERT, Gideon J. 1973. Rigtings en figure in die toneelkritiek van Suid-Afrika, 1963-1972 [“Directions and personalities in the theatre criticism of South Africa”]. Unpublished D.Litt. thesis, University of Pretoria.

KANNEMEYER, J.C. 1988. Die Afrikaanse Literatuur 1652-1987. [“The Afrikaans Literature 1652-1987”] Pretoria: Human en Rousseau.

KRUGER, Loren .1999. The Drama of South Africa: Plays, Pageants and Publics Since 1910. London and New York: Routledge.

LARLHAM, Peter .1985. Black Theater, Dance, and Ritual in South Africa. Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press.

MUDIMBE, V.Y. 1988. The invention of Africa :gnosis, philosophy and the order of knowledge. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

PETERSON, Bhekizizwe .1995). “ ‘A rain a fall but the dirt is tough’ Scholarship on African Theatre in South Africa” in Journal of Southern African Studies, December 1995, Vol. 21, Issue 4.

RETIEF, P.J.B. 1966. Toneelkritiek en die Nasionale Toneelorganisasie (1947-1961). ‘n Ondersoek na die aard en bestaan van kritiek rakende die verhoogaanbieding van die drama. [“Theatre criticism and the National Theatre Organisation (1947-1961). A study of the nature and existence of criticism regarding the staging of drama.”] Unpublished MA thesis, University of the Orange Free State , 1966.

SAUTER, Wilmar .2007. “Festivals as Theatrical Events: Building Theories” in: Temple Hauptfleisch et al, Festivalising! Theatrical Events, Politics and Culture. Amsterdam: Rodopi Press.

TUCKER, Percy .1997. Just the Ticket. My 50 Years in Show Business. Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press.

ZEEMAN, Estelle .1970. Toneelkritiek in Johannesburg in 1969. [“Theatre criticism in Johannesburg in 1969”] Unpublished MA thesis, University of Pretoria.


[1] I would like to thank Robert Greig for his valuable advice, many subtle suggestions and editorial insight when editing this article for me.

[2] Temple Hauptfleisch teaches Drama at the University of Stellenbosch. He was Head of the Centre for SA Theatre Research (CESAT – 1979-1987), Chair of the University of Stellenbosch Drama Department (1995-2005) and director of the Centre for Theatre and Performance Studies at Stellenbosch (1994-2009). Founder-editor of the South African Theatre Journal (1987-) and a member of the editorial boards of Critical Stages (the IATC e-journal), African Performance Review and the book series of “Themes in Theatre – Collective Approaches to Theatre and Performance” (Rodopi Press, New York/Amsterdam). He has produced more than eighty works on the history of South African theatre, research methodology and the sociology of theatre, the latest being Festivalising! Theatrical Events, Politics and Culture (co-edited with Shulamith Lev-Aladgem et al.). His current project is the Companion to South African Theatre.

[3] Vide for example the writings of V.Y. Mudimbe (The invention of Africa: Gnosis, Philosophy and the Order of Knowledge, 1988; The Idea of Africa, 1994) and others.

[4] Guy Butler said this at a conference 1960 – and quoted himself in his essay “On Being Present where you Are: Some Observations on South African poetry 1930-1960” (Poetry South Africa: Selected Papers from Poetry ’74, AD Donker, 1975)

[5] Vast as this history is, the fact is we know precious little about it compared to what we know of say Afrikaans theatre of the 1920s-1940s or the British touring companies of the 1860s-1890s. And one reason is the existence of a history of critical writing. The other is our attitudes about the Other or foreign cultural uses and products. See for example the work of Peter Larlham (1985) and David Coplan (1985) in this regard.

[6] E-mail correspondence with Temple Hauptfleisch, Stellenbosch 16 February 2010.

[7] For this closing discussion of the impact of the digital media I am once more greatly indebted to comments made by Robert Greig (16 February, 2010), as well as some of the initial research undertaken by Hugo Theart for his masters’ thesis at the University of Stellenbosch.

2010/04/07 05:07 2010/04/07 05:07

Too Important To Be Left to Amateurs ShareThis

from Critics on Criticism 2010/04/07 05:02

Too Important To Be Left to Amateurs

Don Rubin[1]

 
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Abstract / Resumé

In the following paperpresented at the final Plenary Session of the Gujarat conference on theatre criticism in India in January 2010Canadian critic Don Rubin establishes a taxonomy of criticism while arguing that expertise and judgment will always be essential elements of the higher forms.

Dans cet articleprésenté à la dernière séance plénière du colloque du Gujarat sur la critique de théâtre en Inde, en janvier 2010, le critique canadien Don Rubin développe une taxonomie de la critique, soulignant que l'expertise et le bon jugement constitueront toujours des éléments essentiels de cet exercice.

 

The subject this week has been public theatrical commentary. By which I mean criticism at its most sophisticated level; reviewing at its most widely-known and recognised professional level; reportage and personal opinion at its most basic level.

As our discussions and debates have evolved over the last few days, it has become clear I think that there is some confusion about these differing levels of theatrical response, how they work, how they interact and overlap, how they contribute to popular discourse, to artistic discourse and to public and social discourse.

Underlying much of this has been the question of expertise and judgement, two notions currently in intellectual disfavour. But even intellectual fads disappear and I am confident these views too will fade in the not too distant future. So the question remains for us: how much expertise is needed to even enter this field of theatre criticism. Can anyone do it? Indeed, is expertise needed at all? How innocentor perhaps how guiltyneed one be to claim a public voice?

I am reminded here of a story I heard recently about a famous Canadian novelist. Some of you may know her name and her work, Margaret Atwood. She is probably Canada’s foremost literary voice and one of our most ironic and sarcastic voices when she is provoked. As the story goes, she was invited to be the keynote speaker at some major international gathering. At a dinner for guests and sponsors, she was seated at the head table with a group of people who had put much of the money in to sponsor the event. She found herself across from a man in his fifties who told her that he was a brain surgeon and that he admired her books greatly. He went on to tell her that when he retired in a few years, he was going to write a novel himself. I feel I have much to say, he told her. Atwood, without missing a beat, said that she too was thinking of retiring soon. The doctor asked her what she was planning to do in her retirement.

I’m planning on practicing brain surgery,” she told him.

“But you know nothing about medicine,” he sputtered.

“And you know nothing about writing novels. Why do you believe you can work in my field without training and experience any more than I can work in yours?

We don’t have any record of the brain surgeon’s reply.

What I am trying to say here is that we all know how many people there are in the world who believe passionately that simply because they breathe the same air as artists and writers, and perhaps only because they have opinions on everything from the quality of food in Gujarat to whether they think India can beat Bangaldesh in cricket that they somehow possess the necessary skills to be public commentators on the arts.

The distinguished Korean scholar Yun-Cheol Kim, President of the International Association of Theatre Critics, said this week that he sought a state of innocence whenever he entered the theatre as critic. If some hardened newspaper editor had been in the audience, no doubt they would have said something to the effect that this is why they seek people whose only qualification for such a job is that they are both innocent and supremely average. That is, they want to have the so-called man or woman in the street as their public voice.

They would be profoundly wrong in their understanding of what Professor Kim really meant. The word he used was “innocent,” not “ignorant.” He said “open to experience,” not “without experience.” And therein lies all the difference. It was Michel Vais from Montreal who quickly added to Kim’s statement, “you must be very experienced as a theatregoer to create a state of innocence for yourself as a theatre critic.”

I am sure that a doctor whose mind is clear, whose mind is open to each new patient, who is innocentmedically speakingperforms far better surgery than one who walks into the operating theatre determined to excise some particular part of someone’s brain without first looking closely at what the patient’s problem really is.

Which leads, I think, to that old and probably by now quite tired question about objectivity and subjectivity. Let’s stay with the medical comparison. Is a brain surgeon really objective when approaching a patient? Would you want them to be? Or would youlike mewant your brain surgeon to bring with him or her every bit of personal experience they could muster? Would you not want them to weigh the benefits of what they do at that moment with the long-term effects of their actions? Yes, they could cut out everything in the way of the problem area in two minutes but when that part of the brain is gone perhaps the patient will no longer be able to walk or talk.

Don’t you want a doctor who makes decisions based on a very personal understanding of what quality of life really is. Certainly if you want to define objectivity as not drinking before performing surgery so one can actually see the patient anesthetized on the table then I am obviously all for objectivity. But if objectivity means leaving one’s own humanity at the door and one’s values in the washroom then I say “thank you but no.” I prefer judgements to be made at that moment with humanity rather than by some pre-established notion of intellectual framing. You can keep objectivity. Indeed, I don’t believe that it even exists except as some sort of theoretical pretense.

But let’s move on to publication of experience, the act of re-viewing, seeing again in another form. When that same brain surgeon decides to share her information with the worldwhen the critic starts to writeto what audience should the writing be addressed, how technical can it or should it be. I am assuming that if the brain surgeon were writing for other brain surgeonsscholars for scholarstechnical language would be absolutely appropriate. But if the writing is not aimed at brain surgeons but say others in the general health field or at those who might be looking for understanding or experiencetheatre professionals or more general audiencesthen it is obvious that the language must change from technical and/or theoretical jargon to genuine communication allowing that communication does not have to be monosyllabic and dull.

We havelet us say it proudly in the field of human communicationprogressed beyond grunts. Some of us have even progressed beyond simply saying good or bad about particular experiences whether we are eating biryani or watching a boxing match. Indeed, it was Brecht who said that the arts would be much better off when audiencesand by extension theatre commentatorshad as much expertise and sophistication as people who attend sports events. Understand his point well: it’s an important one. Sporting enthusiasts are called fans because they are fanatics. That is, they know far more about their subject than most so-called theatre enthusiasts. Let’s at least strive in our theatre commentaries, said Brecht, to at least reach the level of sports writing and those who attend such activities. Would we really send someone to cover a football game who has only seen a handful of matches and knows little about the sport? I think not. Imagine saying to a sports reporter, tell us what the crowd thought. Don’t include anything that might show us you are expert in this field. Try to show how average you are when you write.

Indeed, should the response of an audience even be part of what is written? Is it included in sports reporting? Certainly not. And if I knew a commentator was swayed by or even modestly influenced by audience responses, I would make sure that my whole family was seated around them and I would instruct them all to applaud wildly throughout the show, to laugh, to cry and so on.

Certainly the only real way to know what an audience thought of something is to take a survey and that is quite another thing. “The audience loved it” is a totally meaningless statement in this context, as is a totally qualified statement such as “many in the audience seated near me seemed to be enjoying themselves for certain periods in act two although others seemed to have no visible reaction at all which could mean they were bored or sleeping.”

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Let me move toward the end of these random remarks by saying that I think we all learned much this week not only about theatre criticism in India over the last 2500 years but also about Indian theatre in its many traditional and modern forms including my favourite, creative copulation. The performances we saw certainly gave those of us from abroad important insight into the richness that is Indian theatre and the uniqueness that is Indian classical and folk theatre, truly unique forms that exist nowhere else in the world in quite this way, forms which must continue to be treasured and protected. We learned as well that western forms toowhether high or low tech, whether political or escapist, whether literary or post-dramaticare also clearly alive and battling for recognition in India as they are all over the world. Some of these formsas many papers we heard suggestedare making real connections with urban audiences while others are as still as exotic in rural communities as Gujarati folk theatre might be to media-mad teenyboppers in Bangalore or Boston.

Which leads me to something that was not spoken of so much this weektheatre and the internet, theatre criticism and the web, the mad, mad world of personal blogging. Is this the future for theatre criticism? Certainly I don’t know. What I can say with some certainty is that even if it is the future, I continue to have no doubt that there will always be a placeeven therefor expertise, for experience and for people who have the ability to communicate effectively. These are the cornerstones of almost any field in contemporary knowledge-based societies.

Hopefully by now we have agreed that just as we would not wish to have theatre critics perform brain surgery without expertise or experience, so too do we not want brain surgeonsor any other well-meaning amateurdoing our imagination-rooted work. Art is too important a field to be left to the hands of those who really do not know.


[1] Don Rubin is the founding director of the Graduate Program in Theatre Studies at Toronto's York University and former Chair of its Department of Theatre. He is the Editor of Routledge's six-volume World Encyclopaedia of Contemporary Theatre and founding editor of the quarterly journal Canadian Theatre Review.

2010/04/07 05:02 2010/04/07 05:02

Three Questions I Keep Asking Myself in Practicing Criticism ShareThis

from Critics on Criticism 2010/04/07 04:49

Three Questions I Keep Asking Myself in Practicing Criticism

Yun-Cheol Kim[1] (President, IATC)

 
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Abstract / Resumé

In the following paper―presented as keynote speech at the Gujarat conference on theatre criticism in India in January 2010―Korean critic and President of the IATC reflects on his philosophy of theatre criticism.

Dans cet article – qui fut une conférence principale au colloque du Gujarat sur la critique de théâtre en Inde, en janvier 2010 –, le critique coréen et président de l'AICT réfléchit sur sa conception de la critique.

 

Theatre criticism is usually directed towards those local readers who want to be advised as to what to see and what not, and this is even more so with journalistic criticism than with academic criticism. This consumer-guide approach to criticism, however, is not very relevant in countries like Korea, where most of the reviews are published posthumously, and then by academic-critics like myself. This is why I am more concerned, in my reviews of domestic productions, about writing the history of production aesthetics than about guiding consumers, more about reading than about judging the performances, and more about educating than about entertaining readers.

Criticism is serious work. It is both the end game of theatrical signification and the beginning of a theatrical debate. Journalist critics exert their power to resuscitate dying productions or, from time to time, to close them much ahead of their schedules. Academic critics record the aesthetic history of ephemeral performances with their scientific analyses and relevant readings. Some critics, whether journalistic or academic, feel more pleasure in their power to kill than in shouldering their social responsibility, while other critics are the other way around. Some critics make it their primary goal to entertain their readers, while others seek to serve the art of theatre and its makers. Some critics foreground their value judgments, while others try to make their judgments invisible.

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When I think about the function of theatre criticism, I cannot disagree with Michael Billington, who says that “Criticism… is not the last word: simply part of a permanent debate about the nature of the ideal theatre.” (Billington, 1993: xi.) I have always attempted to be faithful to this function of theatre criticism and tried to invite both readers and theatre artists to this debate. I also agree with Charles Spencer, who believes that a critic’s “only loyalty should be to his readers.”[2] The only difference between him and me is that I include theatre artists in the reader category. Arguably, theatre artists are the most fervent and concentrated readers of the reviews of their works. Moreover, how can we exclude theatre artists from that “permanent debate about the nature of the ideal theatre,” when we know it is they who actually make the theatre?

It is true that the theatre has always been in crisis, but never been dead. It is also true, however, that the theatre has never been this critically deadly. The most popular nomenclature for today’s theatre is “postdramatic theatre,” which was first used by the German critic, Hans-Thies Lehmann. To put it simply, or simplistically, it means theatre in which drama is absent or dead. The current crisis of the theatre largely derives from the fact that we have not succeeded in finding or inventing new or alternative theatricalities to replace this absence or death of drama. Critics often say that good theatre makes good criticism. That truism is a luxury that today’s critics cannot enjoy. We have to ask ourselves what theatre critics can and should do when the theatre is not good. I know it is neither fashionable nor right in this era of postmodern relativism to judge a show in black-or-white terms, as good or bad. But to be honest, we cannot help but conclude our experience of a theatrical performance with our inner judgment in terms of “good” or “bad,” can we? As Irving Wardle says, “[the human] appetite for judgment” is almost “as basic as the need for food.” (Wardle 1992: 6). To be politically correct, we may have to say “the theatre that we like” and “the theatre that we dislike,” instead of “good theatre” and “bad theatre.”

It is rather easy to practice criticism when the theatre is good. Your own enthusiasm for the performance will be interesting enough to attract the attention of all three bodies concerned in theatrical communication: theatergoers, general readers, and theatre artists. All you need to do is justify your enthusiasm by means of lively descriptions, scientific analyses, and verifiable evaluations. The difficulty arises when the theatre is not good. It then becomes our critics’ double assignment to verify scientifically why the theatre is not good on the one hand, and still to write an interesting review of the show so that it may attract the attention of all those three concerned bodies on the other hand. A theatre review, rave or negative, should always be interesting in the sense that it claims its moral values of fairness and honesty, its educational value of giving readers insights into the nature of the theatre, its social value of making the theatre matter in society, and finally, its own artistic values of substance and style.

I aim high in my work as a theatre critic. I do want to transcend the critical “blindness to fresh experience” (Wardle 1992: 11), by keeping myself open to new ideas, forms, styles and practices. I do want to serve the theatre art by discovering its new theatricalities and reading their relevance to our times. I do want to serve the art of theatre criticism by expanding my professional horizons and keeping my integrity intact under any circumstances. I do want to serve the theatre artists and general readers by motivating that “permanent debate about the nature of the ideal theatre” with my intellect. Whenever I finish the draft of a theatre review, I ask myself three basic questions and check myself to see whether I am not betraying my own definition of “good criticism.” My final review text is usually the end product of reflecting on and editing my own answers to the following questions:

 

Question 1: Have I seen the performance in the best physical condition?

Maichael Billington says that critics are rather born than educated. He is right in terms of the temperamental qualities required of critics: innate shyness, preference to belong to the watchers rather than to the watched (Billington: ix). I add one more that I think is the most crucial temperamental quality for a theatre critic: his/her ability to enjoy solitude. This is the quality that guarantees a critic’s fairness, and his courage to be honest. Of course there are exceptional critics who enjoy socializing with practitioners and still remain faithful to their professional ethics. However, exceptions are exceptions. Critics are human, and they share with other humans weaknesses as well as strengths. When they develop good friendships or camaraderie with practitioners, it is difficult for them to remain fair in evaluating their friends’ achievements; they will be more likely to perpetrate ‘constructive criticism’ even when the artists do not deserve it. This is why I never accept an invitation to a private meeting with the artists after a performance. Theatre critics are voluntary loners working in a gregarious art form. In fact, there are two additional obvious qualities for critics to cultivate throughout their careers: sensitivity in the areas of both production and perceptual aesthetics, and openness even to forms and styles they do not have a natural affinity for. These two should become second nature to them if they want to avoid what Patrice Pavis has called, that “ultimately reductive, albeit elegant, [critical] impressionism” (Pavis 2006: 3).

Even if you are an ideal, born critic with all of the qualities above, however, you need to see the performances in the best physical condition in order to implement those qualities in your reviews. Through experience I know that the slogan “healthy minds, healthy bodies” applies to theatre criticism, too. I am living an overloaded life just like you, teaching full-time at the university level, serving on several national and international juries and still seeing 150 or so shows each year. This is why I always look tired. Our physical condition affects our mental receptivity enormously. When you are tired, it becomes a little bit more difficult to concentrate. Your mind does not function as well as when your body is fresh. In the worst case, when you are exhausted, you may fall, without noticing it, into a state of blind hostility towards what you are watching. All our efforts to write a good review may end up futile because of our unprofessional/unhealthy physical condition. Whenever I go to see a performance to review it, therefore, I make it a rule to have as much rest as possible before arriving at the theatre. Even on my way to the theatre, I give up that pleasure of reading in the subway and close my eyes to protect them from getting tired. In order to stay alert throughout the performance, I do not drink before a show. And I can assure you that the wine or beer that you drink after a show is much more delicious and refreshing than the one you take before the show. I, too, fall asleep from time to time during a performance when I am extremely tired, or when the show is extremely boring. In that case, I do not review the show. If I have to review it, I see it again. Of course this is a luxury that journalist critics cannot enjoy, whose deadline is much more harrowing than that for academic critics. I believe that the work of theatre makers should be respected no matter how great or ignoble their achievements, and that critics should watch the theatre in the best physical condition as a sign of respect, not only for the integrity of their own job but for the artists’ work, as well.

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Question 2: Have I Generated Social Interest in the Theatre Arts?

I firmly believe that the most important function of theatre criticism is—and should be--to generate interest in the theatre arts in society. Eric Bentley has reiterated over and over again that the most important thing for a good theatre critic is intelligence—a point he made most recently in his interview for the inaugural issue of Critical Stages, the IATC Webjournal (www.criticalstages.org). This intelligence, I believe, is most needed when the critic attempts to read the relevance of a performance to society, to the spectators’ everyday life. This is a very challenging assignment for theatre critics—challenging because in today’s theatre the connection between drama and theatre is becoming ever more irrelevant, and the boundaries between artistic genres are blurring. But we need to remember that every theatre work is a comment on society. It may be true that much of contemporary theatre employs new theatricality that denies logocentric communication. Nonetheless, theatre critics should be well-informed enough to read the relevance of a show to society. Michael Billington’s political reading of Harold Pinter’s absurdist plays is a good example of this. This social relevance interests people in the theatre arts. I confess that my usual answer to this Question 2—have I generated social interest in the theatre arts?—is ‘No.’ Of course it is quite disappointing to be disappointed in my own achievement. Fortunately, however, I am a diehard hope-er, and this frequent ‘No’ simply motivates me to work harder and harder.

 

Question 3: Have I Created an Interesting Review?

Criticism should also be interesting in order to generate interest in this time of difficult theatre: interesting enough to stimulate a reader’s intellectual curiosity about the relationship between theatre and life, interesting enough to provoke thinking about the nature of the theatre and, most importantly, interesting enough to motivate people to go to theatre. This is why I find yet another “most important” qualification for today’s critics in their faculty to reach beyond conventional criticism, and to bring to bear a philosophical dimension on the production aesthetics, to carry on eschatological or other creative discourse in plain and humorous language. If we can further combine philosophical thought with scientific analysis, we will certainly be able to capture the public’s interest in today’s theatre, which may seem so remote from, and irrelevant to, their reality. And the appropriate form of this ‘new’ criticism may be closer to an essay, some much more leisurely form for delving into thoughts about life and theatre. I wouldn’t mind being called “an essayist,” not “a critic.”

Let me close with one more confession concerning this last question—one to which I can only once-in-a-long-while answer ‘Yes.’ More frequently than not, I find my draft of a review to be either intellectual or humorous, in spite of my wish for it to be both intellectual and humorous at the same time. But again, I don’t usually get disappointed with my own disappointing achievements. For critics, getting disappointed is not professional. To stay hopeful is. Thank you.

Works Cited

BILLINGTON, Michael .1993. One Night Stands. London: NHB.
PAVIS, Patrice .2006. Analyzing Performance. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

WARDLE, Irving .1992. Theatre Criticism. London: Routledge.

Daily Telegraph, November 2.

Critical Stages: the IATC Webjournal. www.criticalstages.org


[1] Yun-Cheol Kim is President of IATC, teaches at School of Drama, Korea, National University of Arts, and edits The Korean Theatre Journal, a quarterly. Two time winner of "The Critic of the Year Award", he has published nine books so far, two of which are anthologies of theatre reviews.

[2] Charles Spencer responds to the draft of the IATC code of practice in his column in Daily Telegraph, November 2.

2010/04/07 04:49 2010/04/07 04:49

Athol Fugard: A New theatre named in his honour ShareThis

from Theatre Voices 2010/04/07 04:32

Athol Fugard: A New theatre named in his honour

Interviewed by Brent Meersman

 
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Athol Fugard can’t bring himself to say the name of the new theatre named in his honour. “I’m just going to call it the District Six Theatre,” he says, pen in hand to autograph a copy of his Notebooks. For just under an hour, we have been sitting in the front row of the Fugard. For the past half-century, Fugard, reputedly the most performed playwright in the world after Shakespeare, has chronicled the realities of life in South Africa.

Starting with the earliest surviving text, No-Good Friday, performed in the Bantu Men’s Social Centre in Johannesburg in 1958, Fugard has shown not only our wickedness, but also the soul beneath still struggling to this day to free itself, and to blossom in common cause with all who live in this land.

A spry 78-year-old, his compelling stentorian voice carries his robust being more than ever. His zest for life is infectious. The man and his plays are in this respect at one. He trips up the stairs on to the stage to chat to ensemble members of the Isango Portobello theatre company who have just arrived to warm up for their evening performance. Fugard enthuses with them, asks about the marimbas, tells the women how beautiful they are. “I could fall in love with you, and you,” he laughs. “And [President] Zuma has given me permission!”

Fugard lives in San Diego to be near his one and only daughter and grandson. He starts every day by reading the South African newspapers. The Mail & Guardian “not to flatter you, but it is an essential one”, he says. From Die Burger he chooses two news reports, which he reads aloud to himself to “keep my tongue nimble with my mother’s language, Afrikaans.”

Fugard is in Cape Town to direct the world premiere of his latest play, The Train Driver. He says it is his darkest work.

Athol Fugard: There wouldn’t have been this play if it hadn’t been for the Mail & Guardian carrying a story about that lady who committed suicide on the railway line. I read it online in America and I dedicate the play to her, Pumla Lolwana and her three children. I knew that I had an appointment with that story in some way or the other and for the longest time after first reading it, because the Mail & Guardian carried it in December 2000, I tried in different ways to deal with her. I knew I hadn’t dealt with it in the way that it had to be dealt with. But then finally, I put it aside. I don’t know why or what made me come back to it, but I did, and I suddenly saw that I wanted to deal with that whole incident from the perspective of the train driver, the man that actually drove the train. It’s going to be on the stage in three weeks time.

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Brent Meersman: You have always been incredibly prolific. Does writing become easier?

AF: No, it gets harder. Writing one play never helps you to write the next one. They somehow all come with different demands, require a different approach, involve a different perspective. It’s almost like having to learn the craft all over again. Well there is one craft you don’t have to learn―I know that I have over time, developed an ear for dialogue.

BM: This is the premiere you’re directing, so are you making changes to the script?

Oh, yes! The actors are helping me discover the possibilities of enrichments all the way through the text. I have worked with Sean [Taylor] as a director; I’ve not only worked with Owen Sejake also as a director, but I have been on stage with him. I know the heart of Owen Sejake is so big. I’m working with two men I love; what could be a greater gift for a director?

I think the most recent performance you gave was Valley Song?

Was it Valley Song [Royal Court, 1996]? Was it Captain’s Tiger [State Theatre, 1997]? I don’t know, I have no sense of history. Once a play is written, it is out of my life and my desk is cleared.

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Do you miss acting?

Yes! When I arrived in Cape Town, I said to Mannie [Manim, the Executive Director] take me to the theatre; I just want to see the auditorium and the stage. He showed me this remarkable auditorium. And I stood up there [he gestures to the stage] and realised it was an auditorium that puts the audience in the palm of your hand. An actor can’t wish for a better relationship.

So you miss the South African audience?

Yes, for one simple reason, it’s the audience that occurs to me when I’m writing a play. Harold Pinter said you write a play first for an audience of one, yourself at the desk. Then you think about it after that first encounter, if it has any quality, and I think of a South African audience that will know, capture, enjoy the nuances that one brings into one’s writing. I write for my fellows, South Africans. You know, white and black, we are dealing with the same issues, they haven’t gone away.

Yes, but post-1994, everyone, not only artists, had to make shift.

I thought it was the end of me as a playwright. I thought there [I] was going to have nothing to write about; apartheid was gone. Nothing could be further from the truth. I write about desperate people, and there are as many desperate people in the new South Africa as there ever were in the old South Africa. So I am not going to die short of stories.

Do you view your work in recent years, in particular Victory and Coming Home, as part political activism?

If you’re going to tell a real South African story you don’t have to worry about its political resonances, they come with those built into them. Just get the story straight, tell the story truthfully and it will be like that pebble in the pond. There will be ripples and you don’t have to worry about those ripples. No one goes into a pond without ripples. And you know, South African stories are like that. Why are people desperate? They are going to be very basic issues.

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Have you felt a 21st century shift? When it became the year 2000 did you feel different or was it just an arbitrary date?

No, I just thought it brutally, tragically ironic, that the December month of that new millennium, Pumla Lolwana stood on the railway line, while the rest of us were pulling firecrackers, putting funny hats on our heads, blowing stupid little bugles, getting drunk, wasting money on presents, out of some sort of desperation that I find hard to comprehend, because it is such an awesome act, to stand with your children and make sure they can’t run away, because one tried to and she pulled him back. Oh, my God.

Have you ever thought of suicide?

Myself? No. That’s why I had to write about it. Because I can’t imagine a darkness that great. I am by nature and optimist, not a pessimist . . .

Your plays are always redemptive.

Yes, redemptive, that’s right. Sometimes the note of hope is a bit thin, fragile, but that note is there. In this one too, it is there, but it is more brutally in this one, than in anything else I have written. Suicide is something I can’t understand – how life can get that dark that you give up. I have encountered suicide often enough, but it always leaves me with a question for which I have no answers.

What of Helen Martins [on whom Fugard based The Road to Mecca]?

Yes, yes, but look, there too, although the truth about Helen Martins was suicide, I copped out. I gave it [The Road to Mecca] a slightly more positive ending, that she realises there is a greater challenge than just lighting the candles and that was confronting darkness. So even that had a positive note in the end in her resolve to try and face the darkness. But of course Helen didn’t; you’re right, she drank caustic soda.

Those two beautiful women [Helen and Else in Road to Mecca]. For a man with my crude metabolism and crude whatchamacallit to go into that area. I was very audacious going into that. It was a learning curve, because it forced me to examine a lot of things about gender and role playing. I haven’t done it again. Or have I done it again?

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Perhaps Allison and Marta in Sorrows and Rejoicings?

Yes, that’s right Sorrows and Rejoicings. And in Exits and Entrances, André Huguenet, he was such a beautiful man.

I saw the original production when it went to Edinburgh, and it was the best one I’ve seen.

It started off in one of my favourite little theatres just down the road from me, in southern California, and I was so happy with it. Those two actors [Morlan Higgins and William Hurley] had got to the heart of the play I had wanted to write, and they had captured the profound debt of gratitude that I had to that man [Huguenet], and even more important than that, forget myself, but that they had somehow touched on the beauty of that man. And his pain and his loneliness.

Only the accents bothered me. As a South African playwright, performed all over the world, people keep attempting this very difficult accent of ours. Shouldn’t it be played without accents?

That’s the first advice I give to every American director. Don’t mess around with it. What South African accent are you going to talk about? We have a dozen. I say, oh please, don’t call in your drama coaches and give these actors complications they don’t need, just let them speak. But no, they don’t always listen to me.

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Are your choices artistic or do you have in mind the practical realities of the theatre today? I felt for instance that Booitjie and the Oubaas would have been a fantastic three-act play of O’Neill proportions.

No, these are artistic choices. The canvas must be small, tight. I’m a miniaturist. I haven’t got an O Neill sweep. It’s like, you know, the artist who chooses a piece of canvas this big [he pretends to hold up a canvas, a square foot in size], whereas Brecht does the equivalent of Diego Riviera, he does a whole panorama, you know and it’s magnificent. And Christ! my admiration for the ability! I couldn’t tackle that. Give me two characters I’m happy.

When you write, do you perform the lines aloud?

Yes, I find that I am talking to myself, It’s about the sound . . . I first fell in love with that when listening to my mother with her Afrikaner background―she was a Potgieter―and what she did to the English language in trying to speak it correctly, it was beautiful, and that’s when I fell in love for the first time―like Hester . . .

We had a fantastic revival last year of Hello and Goodbye with Dorothy ann Gould.

I believe so! Oh, I am so proud of that woman. It’s amazing that that little play refuses to lie down. It also gets revived in America.

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You must have a clear sense of the importance of your works in terms of their place in history, but do you ever think about how the work will speak to a future audience?

No, no. You can’t indulge in that. But, Brent, I know for myself personally, I’m not talking about the audience or the critics, but for me, Train Driver is the most important play I have ever written. What other people are going to make of it, I don’t know, but because it has that kind of significance for me, I realise I might never write another play. But I can’t believe that, because my notebook is already full of ideas, images for work I want to do. So I must be very careful about talking about it as my last play, but it might be. My health is not quite what it used to be, and my wife and I live with the reality for both of us―that something could happen suddenly. But one thing I do know, I will have my pen in my hand and I’m not going to give it up easily to the undertaker when he tries to stretch me out for the coffin, I will hang on to it.

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2010/04/07 04:32 2010/04/07 04:32

A Journal that Fills a Void ShareThis

from Book Reviews 2010/04/07 03:26

A Journal that Fills a Void

Steve Capra[1] (New York)

 

The first issue of Critical Stages, The International Association of Theatre Critics’ webjournal, appeared in the last quarter of last year. It’s rare that a new journal fills a void, as this one does, and it’s very welcome.

From the Publisher’s Opening Words, a sort of manifesto, the journal is substantive. Yun-Cheol Kim’s statement, not universally accepted, thatthe most important function of theatre criticism is—and should remain—to generate interest in the theatre arts in society” is well taken. His four points of “interesting writing,” while debatable, address the issues squarely. He makes a particularly important point, also debated, that critics should connect our theatre experience to our daily lives.

The interviews, the reviews, the discussions of our iconic influences―these all reflect an erudite and articulate critical community. Indeed, Robert Greig’s review is close to a model of analysis. Naturally, the material paints a more sanguine portrait of world theatre than it deserves. As our publisher rightly notes, “The theatre is in a real crisis.”

The unique contribution of the issue lies in its first and final sections: “Theatrical Commentary and Professing Theatre Criticism” (it’s unclear why the sections are separate). It’s here that Critical Stages addresses its mission most directly, and we find discussions of criticism per se, material that contextualizes our work. It somehow validates us. We’re particularly pleased to read reports from the IATC seminar in Toronto, which designed a plan to record the history of public theatrical commentary.

Critical Stages reflects implicitly some perennial concerns:

 

Are our standards common among us, or are they individual?

Peter Szaffko tells us:

“Personal experiences, of course, cannot be left out or ignored but they form a very delicate segment of criticism.”

Yet in the next article, Michael Handelzalts implies that our individuality is crucial:

“They are usually referred to in the plural―"the critics." But they are individuals, each one with his or her unique skills, tastes, work ethics and moral and artistic compass.”

 

What is our relationship to the public? Do we share their standards? Do they listen to us?

Michael Handlezaltz and Matti Linnavuori suggest that our profession itself distances us from the audience:

Handelzalts: “In many instances the audience is seeing for the first time a play that the critic has already seen many times. The theatregoers do not necessarily seek, nor can they appreciate, a ‘new and daring reading of the play.’"

Linnavuori: “According to Norén, one Swedish critic is tired and disgusted because she must see so much theatre, and to get a reaction out of her the stage grammar needs to become more and more brutal. I share her experience, which is all the more reason to turn to Norén's observations.

Kim, in his examination of Korean criticism, glances at our effect on the public: “Korean theatre commentaries during the period of Japanese rule … were given huge space in the daily newspapers and contributed enormously to attracting readers and generating their interest in theatre. By comparison, the current day’s scientific and analytical commentaries have much less space and severely reduced stature—and thus, much less impact.”

 

It is a small step to the next question: what is our relationship with the theatre and its artists? What effect―if any―do we have?

In interviews with Yun-Taek Lee and Marta Carreiras, Bang-Ock Kim and Rita Martins, respectively, ask: “During your career, have you received a particularly insightful piece of criticism?” The answers received are not particularly helpful, and we’d like to see the question expanded.

More revealing is the passage in Rita Martins’ interview with playwright José Maria Vieira Mendes, in which the latter tells us:

“I have a difficult relationship with the critics because I often (if not always) feel that they speak a language that isn’t mine.” And he refers to criticism as a form of “reading” which is not compatible with my (our) way of “writing.”

In his historical review of Japanese criticism, Manabu Noda writes:

Is it even possible to assume that the maturity of theatre commentaries helped kabuki develop from its initial revue-like shows into performance with full dramatic content?”

After a discussion, he concludes that the detailed records of kabuki performances initiated by Miki have contributed, at least partly, to turning kabuki from an amorphous art into a tradition of classical theatre.

Here, at least, is one example of criticism having an effect on art.

The current question, of course, is what the future of criticism will be. It’s often discussed, imbedded in larger discussions of the seismic events in the publishing industry. Critical Stages is wise not to dwell on it in its premier issue. Naturally, Kim alludes to it in his foreword, and Ian Herbert’s comments (reporting on the IATC’s meeting in Toronto):

“Rumbling away under all our fascinating and varied discussion was the question which most exercises today's critics, wherever they may be practicing and at whatever level: for how much longer will we be able to find the space to continue the tradition of comment and commentary that goes back so far?”

Critical Stages is very handsome, with beautiful and revealing photos complementing the text. However, the sectioning of the magazine is arbitrary, and, the web structure of the document―i.e., the formatting and linking―is confusing. There are better online periodical templates than this one, with its clumsy menu.

We are a community of writers, and as Critical Stages evolves, we’re eager to see its editorial policies further codified. The Special Issue (presumably meaning Special Section) was a set of interviews called Theatre Legacy. What sections will be constant? What will future Special Sections be? It is perhaps our responsibility to suggest these, as it is to ensure diversity.

Reviews in this issue were chosen “that would be important for international critics and scholars to know about.” We’d like to see the criterion discussed in the text of the pieces.

And we want to participate! We’re delighted to see that we’ll be able to comment on the material and create genuine discussions.

We have no doubt that the magazine’s French content is as engaging as its English language material.

Our thanks to our Kim, to Maria Helena Serôdio, and to contributors. The world theatre community is looking forward to future issues of Critical Stages, as are we.


[1] Steve Capra sits on The International Committee of The American Theatre Critics Association. He has been a critic of New York and regional US theater for many years, writing for several national and regional arts magazines. He has always been a champion of the avant-garde. His book, Theater Voices, is a collection of interviews with leaders in the theater from the USA, the UK, and Russia. Mr. Capra has adapted literary material for the stage and radio. He was for ten years Chairman of The Gassner Memorial Playwrighting Award, an international script competition. He has also worked extensively as actor and director, often in the area of script development. He currently works in New York with The Living Theatre.
2010/04/07 03:26 2010/04/07 03:26