SEEP Vol.25 No.3 Fall 2005

volume 25, no. 3

Fall2005

SEEP (ISSN # 1047-0019) is a publication of the Institute for Contemporary East European Drama and Theatre under the auspices of the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. The Institute is at The City University of New York Graduate Center, 365 5th Avenue, New York, NY 10016-4309. All subscription requests and submissions should be addressed to Slavic and East European Peiformance: Martin E. Segal Theatre Center, The City University of New York Graduate Center, 365 5th Avenue, New York, NY 10016-4309.

EDITOR Daniel Gerould

MANAGING EDITOR Margaret Araneo

EDITORIAL ASSISTANT Carly Smith

CIRCULATION MANAGER Louise Lytle McKay

ASSISTANT CIRCULATION MANAGER Kim Sandberg

ADVISORY BOARD Edwin Wilson, Chair

Marvin Carlson Allen]. Kuharski Martha W. Coigney Stuart Liebman Leo Hecht Laurence Senelick

SEEP has a very liberal reprinting policy. Journals and newsletters that desire to reproduce articles, reviews, and other materials that have appeared in SEEP may do so, as long as the following provisions are met: a. Permission to reprint the article must be requested from SEEP in writing

before the fact; b. Credit to SEEP must be given in the reprint; Two copies of the publication in which the reprinted material has appeared must be furnished to the editors of SEEP immediately upon publication.

MARTIN E. SEGAL THEATRE CENTER

EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR Daniel Gerould

DIRECTOR OF PROGRAMS Frank Hentschker

DIRECTOR OF ADMINISTRATION Jan Stenzel

Martin E. Segal Theatre Center Publications are supported by generous grants from the Lucille Lortel Chair in Theatre and the Sidney E. Cohn Chair in Theatre of the Ph.D. Program in Theatre at the City University of New York. Copyright 2005 Martin E. Segal Theatre Center

2 Slavic and East European Performance Vol. 25, No.3

Editorial Policy From the Editor Events Books Received

IN MEMORIAM

TABLE OF CONTENTS

"Jarka Burian, 1927-2005"

ARTICLES

"Sergei Artsybashev: The New Stanislavsky? The Rise of a Post-Soviet Russian Director" Elisabeth Rich

"Unraveling the Gordian Knot: The Transformation of Czech Theatre Organization and Financing in the Twenty-First Century" Stepan Simek

"Oleg Menshikov: Daring To Be Different" Olga Muratova

"An Interview with Oleg Menshikov" Helene Lemeleva

REVIEWS

"Mrozek's Serenade and Philosopher Fox" Arnie! Melnick

5 6 7

14

16

22

45

56

69

78

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"Bard SummerScape 2004: Shostakovich and His World" Mary Keelan

"When Americans Play Czechs: Svejk Off Broadway" Veronika Tuckerova

"Off the Rails: Witkiewicz's Crazy Locomotive by the Trap Door Theatre Company" Kevin Byrne

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102

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4 Slavic and East European Peiformance Vol. 25, No.3

EDITORIAL POLICY

Manuscripts in the following categories are solicited: articles of no more than 2,500 words, performance and film reviews, and bibliographies. Please bear in mind that all submissions must concern themselves with contemporary materials on Slavic and East European theatre, drama, and film; with new approaches to older materials in recently published works; or with new performances of older plays. In other words, we welcome submissions reviewing innovative performances of Gogo!, but we cannot use original articles discussing Gogo! as a playwright.

Although we welcome translations of articles and reviews from foreign publications, we do require copyright release statements. We will also gladly publish announcements of special events and anything else that may be of interest to our discipline. All submissions are refereed.

All submissions must be typed double-spaced and carefully proofread. The Chicago Manual of Style should be followed. Transliterations should follow the Library of Congress system. Articles should be submitted on computer disk, as Word 97 Documents for Windows and a hard copy of the article should be included. Photographs are recommended for all reviews. All articles should be sent to the attention of Slavic and East European Peiformance, c/o Martin E. Segal Theatre Center, The City University of New York Graduate Center, 365 5th Avenue, New York, NY 10016-4309. Submissions will be evaluated, and authors will be notified after approximately four weeks.

You may obtain more information about Slavic and East European Peiformance by visiting our website at http/ /web.gc.cuny.edu/metsc. E-mail inquiries may be addressed to [email protected].

All Journals are available from ProOuest Information and Learning as abstracts online via Pro~est information service and the

International Index to the Performing Arts. All Journals are indexed in the MLA International Bibliography and are

members of the Council of Editors of Learned Journals.

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FROM THE EDITOR

Volume 25, no. 3 of SEEP opens with a tribute to the noted authority on Czech theatre, Jarka Burian (1927-2005), who died suddenly on August 25 . An outstanding scholar and theatre artist, as well as a close friend and valued colleague, Jarka contributed eight articles to our journal over the past two decades. IN MEMORIAM gives a sketch of his career and indicates the importance of his life work. The issue itself is devoted to Czech, Russian, and Polish theatre. First Elisabeth Rich paints a vivid picture of the Russian director Sergei Artsybashev and indicates his unique position in post-Soviet theatrical life. Then in the second of two articles on the material conditions of current Czech theatre, Stepan Simek analyzes the transition to new methods of organization and financing. There follows a pair of articles on the Russian actor and director Oleg Menshikov. Olga Muratova gives an overview of Menshikov's career both on stage and in film, followed by Helene Lemeleva's interview with the artist during his recent visit to New York to direct Gogel's Gamblers. In a series of reviews, we cover a wide variety of performances in New York City and environs. Arnie! Melnick discusses two of Mrozek's animal fables as produced by the East River Commedia Company; Mary Keelan surveys the Shostakovich Festival at Bard College in Annandale-on-Hudson; Veronika Tuckerova considers a British stage adaptation of Jaroslav Hasek's The Good Soldier Svejk, which appeared Off Broadway; and Kevin Byrne takes the measure of a Crazy Locomotive from Chicago that steamed into the New York International Fringe Festival.

6 Slavic and East European Performance Vol. 25, No. 3

STAGE PRODUCTIONS New York City

EVENTS

THALATTA! Theatre International, in association with the Play Company and the New Group, presented a staged reading of Playing the Victim by the Presnyakov Brothers, directed by Ari Edelson and performed at the Clurman Theatre on June 20.

The Wooster Group presented the New York premiere of Poor Theatre, compiled from a range of source materials, including Jerzy Grotowski and the Polish Laboratory Theatre, directed by Elizabeth LeCompte at the Performing Garage from September 14 to October 15.

The Currency 2005 International Festival of Performance included performance art by Denis Romanovski, Jan Swidzinski, Artur Tajber, Uto Gusztav, Nenad Bogdonovic, Juhasz Josef, and Vassya Vassileva from October 6 to October 15 at chashama.

The Czech Center New York and the Jewish Repertory Theater presented a staged reading of The Unlucky Man in the Yellow Cap by J.R. Pick, directed by Marcy Arlin, at Goldman-Sonnenfeldt Auditorium, JCC Manhattan, on October 27.

Yuri Kuklachev's Moscow Cats Theatre, which features acrobatics, clowning, and trained animals, performed at the Tribeca Performing Arts Center from September 16 to October 30.

The Wierszalin Theatre's production of Saint Oedipus, written and directed by Piotr T omaszuk, based on the Gesta Romanorum, Polish folklore, and Thomas Mann's Doctor Faustus and The Chosen, was performed at La MaMa from October 13 to 30.

On November 11, at the Bohemia National Hall, Pavel Zednicek and Jana Paulova, playing in Czech, appeared in Bez Pfedsudku (Orgasmo e Pregiudizio), written by Diego Ruiz and Fiona Bettanini.

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STAGE PRODUCTIONS United States Regional

Hand2Mouth Theatre in collaboration with Teatr Stacja Szamocin, from Szamociny, Poland, presented the first annual Neighborhood Performance Project, performing BLUE, a large-scale outdoor performance piece, to neighborhoods throughout Portland, Oregon, from August 20 to September 29.

Hungarian actor, director, and producer Tibor Varszegi performed a one-man show at the University of Toledo from September 26 to October 3.

The Song of the Goat Theatre Company (T eatr Pidn Kozla) presented Chronicles: A Lamentation, based on the ancient Sumerian poem "The Epic of Gilgamesh," directed by Grzegorz Bra! at the Freud Playhouse in Los Angeles from October 12 to 16. For a recent review, see SEEP 24, no. 2.

STAGE PRODUCTIONS International

The Edinburgh International Fringe Festival 2005 Theatre Preview ran from August 14 to September 3 in Edinburgh, Scotland, and included a production of Chekhov's Seagull, performed in Hungarian with English subtitles, by Kretakor Szfnhaz of Budapest, Hungary, directed by Arpad Schilling, from August 19 to 22.

The Forteenth Divadelnd Nitra International Theatre Festival was held from September 23 to September 28 in Nitra, Trnava, and Bratislava, Slovakia. The festival highlighted new work by contemporary European playwrights. The following plays were performed as part of the main program:

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BA CKland, an ensemble piece created by the performers Anna Veress, Andras ]eli, Mark Moldavi, Arpad Schilling, and Istvan T asnadi, directed by Arpad Schilling. Presented by Kretakor Szfnhaz

Slavic and East European Performance Vol. 25, No.3

of Budapest, Hungary, in co-production with The Valley of the Arts and Millenaris, at the Andrej Bagar Theatre in Nitra, Slovakia, on September 23.

Ignorant and a Fool by Thomas Bernhard, directed by Jan Antonin Pitiinsry, presented by the Drama Ensemble of the Slovak National Theatre at the Old Theatre in Nitra, Slovakia, on September 24.

Tiso by Rastislav Ballek, directed by the author, presented by the Arena Theatre of Bratislava, Slovakia, at the Andrej Bagar Theatre in Nitra, Slovakia, on September 24.

norway.today by Igor Bauersima, directed by Vladislava Kekete, at the Andrej Bagar Theatre in Nitra, Slovakia, on September 25.

Renata Kalenskd, Lidovi Noviny by Jan Antonfn PitfinskY and cast members, directed by Jan Antonin Pitiinsky, presented by HaCompany of Brno, Czech Republic, at the J. Palarik Theatre, Trnava, Slovakia, on September 26.

POWERPOINTby Luke Wright, Ross Sutherland, and Chris Hicks, directed by the authors, presented by Aisle 16 of Colchester, UK, at the Old Theatre in Nitra, Slovakia, on September 25.

Trading (original title: Erreger) by Albert Ostermaier, directed by Anja Susa, presented by the Belgrade Drama Theatre of Belgrade, Serbia and Montenegro, at the Andrej Bagar Theatre in Nitra, Slovakia, on September 26.

Big in Bombay by Constanza Macras, directed by the author and presented by Schaubiihne am Lehniner Platz of Berlin, Germany, in co-production with Sophiensaele, Schauspielhaus Wien, and T eatro Comunale di Ferrara, at the Andrej Bagar Theatre in Nitra, Slovakia, on September 26.

The Beauty Queen if Leenane by Martin McDonagh, directed by Michal Vajdicka and presented by the State Theatre of Kosice, Slovakia, at the Old Theatre in Nitra, Slovakia, on September 27.

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Made in Poland by Przemyslaw Wojcieszek and presented by Teatr Modjeska of Legnica, Poland, at Matica Slovenska House in Nitra, Slovakia, on September 27.

Part One- Fiuk/Boys (The Hidden Men) and Part Two- Csajok/Chicks (Credo Hysterica), a dance piece choreographed by Pal Frenak and presented by Compagnie Pal Frenak of Paris, France, at the Andrej Bagar Theatre in Nitra, Slovakia, on September 28.

Entre Nous, a performance piece by Sergei Letov based on texts by Eugene Ionesco, Daniil Kharms, Valer Novarina, various Medieval French plays, and Petrushka, directed by Cristophe Feutrier, was performed at Theatre Chelovek in Moscow, Russia, on September 27.

The Institute of Contemporary Art, London, UK, presented the following two performance pieces by XL LM Slovenia:

Miss Mobile, described as a "cross between a talk show, quiz, multimedia art and visual installation," conceived by Emil Hvratin, from October 7 to 8.

The Corridor by Matjaz ZupanCic, directed by the playwright, from October 10 to 15.

Bosnian Muslim director Haris Pasovic's post 9/11 version of Shakespeare's Hamlet was performed at the National Theatre in Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina, on September 14.

FILM New York City

Midwinter Night's Dream, directed by Goran Paskaljevich, was presented as part of the 2005 Human Rights Watch International Film Festival at the Walter Reade Theatre on June 10 and 12.

Yara Arts Group screened at La MaMa a documentary by Amy Grappell about the group's 1991 performance of A Light from the East, in Ukraine during the collapse of the Soviet Union, on July 29.


Knife in the Water, directed by Roman Polanski, was presented by the Museum of the Moving Image and Partnerships for Parks at the Socrates Sculpture Park in Long Island City on August 3.

1 AM, directed by Dorota K~dzierzawska, was presented as part of the New York Film Festival at Alice Tully Hall on September 27 and 29.

Something Like Happiness, directed by Bohdan Slama, was presented as part of the New York Film Festival at Alice Tully Hall on September 29 and October 1.

Solidarity, directed by Eva Nagorski, was presented as part the New York Film Festival at Alice Tully Hall on October 5 and 6.

The Fifth Annual Russian Film Week in New York was held from October 14 to 19 and included the following films:

Roots, directed by Pavel Lounguine, presented at the DGA Theatre in Manhattan on October 14 and the Kent Theatre in Brooklyn on October 15.

Time to Gather Stones, directed by Alexei Karelin, presented at the DGA Theatre on October 15, 16, and 18.

Runaway Skidding, directed by Georgy Shengeliya, presented at the DGA Theatre on October 15 and at the Kent Theatre on October 16.

Counselor of State, directed by Philipp Yankovsky, presented at the DGA Theatre on October 15.

Not by Bread Alone, directed by Stanislav Govorukhin, presented at the DGA Theatre on October 15 and 19.

From 180 and Higher, directed by Alexander Strizhenov, presented at the DGA Theatre on October 15 and 18.

The Italian, directed by Andrei Kravchuk, presented at the DGA

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Theatre on October 16 and at the Kent Theatre on October 17.

Escape, directed by Yegor Konchalovsky, presented at the DGA Theatre on October 16 and 18.

Dreaming of Space, directed by Alexei Uchitel, presented at the D GA Theatre on October 19.

From November 3 to November 6, BAMcinematek and the Czech Center New York presented the New Czech Films-Film Festival, curated by Irena Kovarova. The following films were screened:

Bitter Coffee (Silnj kafe), directed by Borkur Gunnarsson, November 3.

Up and Down (Horempddem), directed by Jan Hrebejk, November 4. Q & A with Jan Tflska.

Champions (Mistfi), directed by Marek Najbrt, November 5. Q & A with Marek Najbrt.

Czech Dream {Ceskj sen), directed by Vit Klusak and Filip Remunda, November 5.

Vaterland: A Hunting Logbook (Vaterland-Loveckj dem'k), directed by David Jafab, November 6.

Landscape of My Heart {Krajina meho srdce), directed Jan Nemec, November 6.

FILM International

The Fortieth Annual Karlovy Vary International Film Festival was held in Karlovy Vary, Czech Republic, from July 3 to July 8 and included the following highlights:


Ragin, an adaptation of Chekhov's Ward 6, directed by K.irill Serebrennikov, presented July 3 and 4.

The Wedding, directed by Wojtek Smarzowski, presented July 3 and 4.

My Nikifor, directed by Krzysztof Krauze, presented July 5 and 6.

The City of the Sun, directed by Martin Sulik, presented July 6 and 7.

The Ruins, directed by Janez Burger, presented July 7 and 8.

My God, directed by Galina Adamovich, presented July 7 and 8.

Compiled by Carly Smith

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BOOKS RECEIVED

Contemporary Theatre Review 15, no. 1 (February 2005). Special issue. Polish Theatre after 1989: Beyond Borders. Guest editors: Paul Allain and Grzegorz Ziolkowski. 187 pages (145 devoted to the special feature). Contains 11 articles, including Dobrochna Ratajczakowa, "In Transition: 1989- 2004," Leszek Kolanlciewicz, "Kantor's Last Tape," Paul Allain, "Grotowski's Last Ghosts," Alison Hodge, "Gardzienice's Influence in the West," Kathleen Cioffi, "New (and Not-So-New} Alternatives," Jacek Kopcinski, "Directors' Solos: Grzegorz Jarzyna and Krzysztof Warlikowski," Tamara Trojanowska, "New Discourses in Drama," Elwira M. Grossman, "Who's Afraid of Gender and Sexuality? Plays by Women," Grzegorz Niziolek, "Krystian Lupa: The Double and Utopia," Pia Partum, "Andrzej Seweryn: Mystery and Discipline," and Beata Guczalska, "Jan Kott: His Own Witness," plus an editorial, short chronology of social and political events in Poland (1989-2004), and Polish Drama and Theatre: A Select Bibliography in English. Many photographs.

Czech Theatre 21 Oune 2005), Theatre Institute Prague. 67 pages. Contains 9 articles, including Marie Reslova, "Zabradlf after Ubl," "Viktor Kronbauer Photographs the Theatre," and Roman Vasek, "How They Ballet in Bohemia," as well as an editorial and notebook. Many photographs. All articles in English. Subscription: Divadelnf ustav, Celetna 17, 110 00 Praha I, Czech Republic fax 00420 2232 6100, email: [email protected]

Dqbrowska, Emilia. Sztuka albo zycie: Estetyka modernistyczna 'Jedynego wyjfcia" Stanislawa lgnacego Witkiewicza. Modernizm w Polsce. Maly Format. Vol. 2. Cracow: Universitas, 2005. 198 pages. Includes a bibliography, index of subjects, index of names, and short summary in English.

Filipiak, lzabela. Ksifga Em. Warsaw: doM wYdawniczy tCHu, 2005. 250 pages. A play in four parts with a prologue. Based on the life and work of the poet Maria Komornicka (1876-1949). Includes a foreword by Elwira Grossman and an afterword, "Moje zycie z Mariq," by the author.


Koniggratz, Samuel. I'm Still Alive, with a Coatrack, a Cap, and a Signal Disc. New Czech Play, Vol. 3. Trans. Alex Zucker. Prague: Theatre Institute, 2004. 54 pages.

Sobolczyk, Piotr. Tadeusza Micinskiego podr6t do Hiszpanii. Torun: Wydawnictwo Adam Marszalek, 2005. 264 pages. Includes an appendix, bibliography, seven illustrations, and index of names.

T olstoi, V.P. Agitmassovoe iskusstvo Sovetskoi Rossii: Materialy i Dokumenty. Agitpoezda i agitparokhody. Peredvizhnoi teatr. Politicheskii plakat. 1918-1932. Vols. 1 and 2. Moscow: Iskusstvo, 2002. 299 and 246 pages. Vol.l contains three introductory essays by the editors, documents, bibliography, list of illustrations, and index of names. Vol. 2 contains over 600 illustrations, many of them in color.

Wojtowicz, Agnieszka. Od Oifeusza do Studium o Hamlecie: Teatr 13 Rzfd6w w Opolu (1959-1964). Wrodaw: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrodawskiego, 2004. 273 pages. Part One contains chapters on Orpheus, Cain, MysteryBouffi, Forifathers' Eve, Kordian, Acropolis, The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus, and The Hamlet Study. Part Two contains documents, letters, and interviews. Includes a bibliography, bibliographical note, ten-page summary in English, index of names, and list of illustrations. Eighty-five photographs, posters, and sketches.

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IN MEMORIAM JARKA M. BURIAN

1927-2005

Jarka Burian was the leading authority on Czech theatre in the English-speaking world. His many books and articles were meticulously researched, elegantly written, and full of a mature understanding and deep love for the beauty and subtlety of Czech theatre, and of admiration for the artistry and daring of its creators. He was equally at home explaining the technical aspects of scene design or the intricacies of the literary text, and he was always acutely aware of the complex and often troubled relations between Czech theatre and its political, social, and cultural context. A professional actor and director, Jarka wrote about Czech theatre not simply as a scholar but as a witness, participant, and deeply engaged friend of Czech artists and their world. For this reason his writings bring Czech theatre alive and recreate for the reader the excitement that he himself had experienced at many of the landmark theatrical events of the last half century.

Jarka was born in Passaic, New Jersey, of Czech parents. He graduated from Rutgers University in 1949, received his MA in Comparative Literature from Columbia University in 1950, and his Ph.D. from Cornell University in English Literature in 1955. He served in the United States Army in 1949-50 and 1951-52. While acting in an OffBroadway production, he met his future wife, Grayce Susan DeLeo; they were married in 1952.

In 1955 Jarka began teaching at the State University of New York at Albany (when it was the State College for Teachers), becoming Full Professor in 1963. He retired as Professor Emeritus in 1992.

He was Producer-Director of the SUNY Albany Arena Summer Stage for eight seasons. He directed many productions for the theatre department, most notably Strindberg's Dream Play in 1980, for which his friend Josef Svoboda came from Prague and created the stage design. Over the years, Jarka and Grayce acted and directed in community theatre, for six summers, appearing in the outdoor drama of the Cherokee in North Carolina, Into These Hills. After his retirement, Jarka continued teaching and directing as a visiting professor. In the fall of 1998, Jarka and Grayce Burian received a regional arts award from the Albany-Schenectady League of Arts for their lifetime contributions.


Jarka Burian

Jarka was a champion master swimmer, winning hundreds of ribbons and medals throughout his life. He died on August 25, 2005 of a brain hemorrhage shortly after swimming. He is survived by Grayce, his wife of fifty-four years.

A celebration to honor and remember Jarka will be held at the SUNY Albany Downtown Campus on January 28, 2006 from 1:00 to 4:00 P.M. If you wish to be one of the speakers, please contact Gary Maggio at 518.438.7579, or by e-mail at [email protected].

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BIBLIOGRAPHY OF JARKA BURIAN'S WRITINGS ON CZECH THEATRE.

BOOKS

The Scenography ofjosefSvoboda. Middletown: Wesleyan Univ. Press, 1974.

Svoboda: Wagner: josef Svoboda's Scenography for Richard Wagner's Operas. Middletown: Wesleyan Univ. Press, 1983.

Translator and editor. The Secret of Theatrical Space by Josef Svoboda. New York: Applause Theatre Books, 1993.

Modern Czech Theatre: Reflector and Conscience of a Nation. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 2000.

Leading Creators ofTwentieth-Century Czech Theatre. London: Routledge, 2002.

ARTICLES (Those appearing in SEEP are marked with an asterisk.)

"Theatre in Czechoslovakia." Drama Survey 6, no. 1 (Spring-Summer 1967): 93- 104.

"European Newsletters: Prague." Plays and Players 16, no. 6 (March 1969): 45- 46; 16, no. 8 (May 1969): 58- 59; 16, no. 11 (August 1969): 61-62; 18, no. 2 (September 1971): 60.

"Theatre in Prague." The Village Voice. 21 August 1969: 15-16, 19.

'josef Svoboda: Theatre Artist in an Age of Science." Educational Theatre journa/22, no. 2 (May 1970): 123-145.

"Art and Relevance: The Small Theatres ofPrague, 1958-1970." Educational Theatre]ourna/25, no. 3 (May 1971): 229-257.

"Otomar Krejca's Use of the Mask." Drama Review 16, no. 3 (September 1972): 48-56.


"Post-War Drama in Czechoslovakia." Educational Theatre }ournal25, no. 3 (October 1973): 299-317.

"Scenography in Czech Theatre, 1920- 1939." Theatre Design and Technology 41 (Summer 1975): 14-23, 35; 42 (Fall1975): 23-32.

"A Scenographer's Work: Josef Svoboda's Designs, 1971-1975." Theatre Design and Technology 12, no. 2 (Summer 1976): 11-34.

"E.F. Burian: D33- D41." The Drama Review 20, no. 4 (December 1976): 95-116.

"The Liberated Theatre ofVoskovec and Werich." EducationalTheatre}ournal 29, no. 2 (May 1977): 153-75.

"The Scenography of Ladislav Vychodil." Theatre Design and Technology 15, no. 2 (Summer 1979): 8-17.

"Alfred Radok's Contribution to Post-War Czech Theatre." Theatre Survey 22, no. 2 (November 1981): 213-28.

"K.H. Hilar and the Early Twentieth-Century Czech Theatre." Theatre journal 34, no. 1 (March 1982): 55-76.

"High Points of Theatre in the First Czechoslovak Republic." Modern Drama 27, no. 1 (March 1984): 98-111.

"Aspects of Central European Design." The Drama Review 28, no. 2 (Summer 1984): 47-65.

"Prazske poznamky pro meho americkeho kolegu" [Notes from Prague to my American colleague). Dramaticki Umlni [Dramatic Art] 4 (1988): 89-91.

''Josef Svoboda and Latema Magika's Latest Productions." Theatre Design and Technology 24, no. 4 (Winter 1989): 17-27.

"Czech Theatre, 1988: Neo-Giasnost and Perestroika." Theatrejourna/41, no. 3 (October 1989): 381-395.

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"Designing for the 90s." Cue Internationa/62 (November/December 1989): 32-37. About Czech designers Jaroslav Malina and Jan Dusek.

~'"Vaclav Havel: From Playwright to President: Notes and Recollections." Soviet and East European Performance 9, no. 2- 3 (Fall 1989): 12- 19.

"Havel and the Velvet Revolution." American Theatre 6 (March 1990): 38-40.

"The Not So Velvet Fallout of Prague's Velvet Revolution." Theatre Three 10/11 (1991): 65- 75.

"Notes from Abroad: Krejca's Voice Is Heard Again in Prague." American Theatre Gune 1991): 36- 37.

"Ciller and fdek: Two Expressive Minimalists." Theatre Design and Technology 28, no. 2 (Spring 1992): 33-38.

"Hamlet in Postwar Czech Theatre." In Foreign Shakespeare: Contemporary Performance, ed. D. Kennedy. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1993. 195- 210.

*"Grossman, Machacek, Schorm: The Loss of Three Major Czech Directors of the Late Twentieth Century." Slavic and East European Performance 13, no. 3 (Fall 1993): 27-30.

'josef Svoboda: Working into the Nineties. Theatre Design and Technology 30, no. 5 (Fall1994): 37- 45 .

"Notes from Abroad: Cloudy Forecast for New Prague Spring." American Theatre (December 1994): 76-77.

''"Prague Theatre Four Years after the Velvet Revolution." Slavic and East European Performance 15, no. 1 (Spring 1995): 14-26.

"The Dark Era in Modern Czech Theatre: 1948-1950." Theatre History Studies 15 (1995): 41-66.


"Prague's Stavovske Theatre: Its Background and Renovation." Theatre Design and Technology 31, no. 3 (Summer 1995): 36- 46.

''"Vaclav Havel's Notable Encounters in His Early Theatrical Career." Slavic and East European Performance 16, no. 2 (Spring 1996): 13-29.

"Two Women and Their Contribution to Contemporary Czech Scenography." Theatre Design and Technology 32, no. 5 (Fall1996): 19- 29. On Marta Roszkopfova and Jana Zbofilova.

"Laterna Magika as a Synthesis of Theatre and Film: Its Evolution and Problematics." Theatre History Studies 17 (1997): 33- 62.

"Svoboda's Scenography for Faust: Evolution in the Use of Mirrors." Theatre Design and Technology 34, no. 5 (Fall 1998): 34- 41

*"Three Young Czech Directors: Facets of Czech Theatre on the Cusp of the Millenium."Slavic and East European Performance 19, no. 1 (Spring 1999): 14- 31.

*"Petr Lebl: May 1965- December 1999." Slavic and East European Performance 20, no. 1 (Spring 2000): 16-23.

"Josef Svoboda's Scenography for the National Theatre's 1997 Production of Goethe's 'Faust': Postmodern or Merely Contemporary?" In Space and the Postmodern Stage, ed. Irene Eynat-Confino and Eva Sormova. Prague: Theatre Institute, 2000. 28- 35.

*"Pages from the Past: Meyerhold's 1936 Visit to Prague." Slavic and East European Performance 21, no. 2 (Summer 2001): 34-48.

*"Josef Svoboda, 1920-2002: Some Retrospective Comments on His Life and Career." Slavic and East European Performance 22, no. 2 (Summer 2002): 13-26.

We will publish in our next issue Jarka Burian's last essay, "The Adventures ofVoskovec and Werich in America."

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SERGEI ARTSYBASHEV: THE NEW STANISLAVSKY? THE RISE OF A POST-SOVIET RUSSIAN DIRECTOR!

Elisabeth T. Rich

"Ladies and gentlemen! We invite you to come and spend the evening with us ... Let's dream; let's philosophize ... For dinner there will be roasted turkey, a sweet pie with apples, tasty liqueur. We will drink a little glass of wine ... We live without ceremony; everything is our own."2

All Russian directors, of course, strive to bring a unique and compelling interpretation to their staging of Chekhov's Tri sestry (Three Sisters)- one of the most widely performed plays on the Russian and world stage in the last century despite its designation by the playwright as a drama with "a spirit more gloomy than gloom itself"3 The legendary Russian director Anatoly Efros, for example, produced a version of Three Sisters at the Theatre on Malaya Bronnaya in 1967 that did nothing less than "sum up the very sensation of theatre" for an entire generation.4 In accordance with Chekhov's play, Efros began his production with Irina Prozorov's name-day party; however, instead of a violin or a traditional Russian dancesong or a waltz from that particular period playing offstage (as in the original), the audience at Efros's production listened to a popular waltz from the 1960s-a waltz from the Czech film Obchod na korze (The Shop on Main Street, 1965), co-directed by Jan Kadar and Elmar Klos- and watched the actors dance to it (at the suggestion of the actor playing the role of Tuzenbach, an army lieutenant, who, stationed in the area, is a frequent guest of the Prozorovs). In this way, Efros achieved what is commonly regarded as every stage director's principal objective: by having Chekhov's people dance to a sixties hit, he "immediately dissolved the historical distance between them and the audience and established a friendly trust in what was going on."S But Sergei Artsybashev- a director and actor who emerged as a leading director in the post-Soviet era after working with Efros at the Taganka Theatre in the mid-1980s-ingeniously took this theatrical ploy to a greater extreme in his Moscow production of Three Sisters, which he first staged in 1991. In an effort to make the spectators "co-creators" (his words), Artsybashev began his production ofChekhov's play by inviting the


Sergei Artsybashev

23

audience to take part in the name-day celebration festivities, side by side with the actors. 6

"When you come to my production of Three Sisters," Artsybashev told me during one of our conversations in Moscow, "you come upon a festively prepared hall, a small room with a table that can seat a great number of people and that is covered with candles, flowers, champagne, and apple pie-just like in Chekhov's play; and you quickly realize that you have come to Irina's name-day party. You have only just walked in, and the actors invite you to sit at the table, where they pour you a glass of champagne and bring you some pie.7 Then you begin to congratulate Irina; you begin to sing 'Happy Birthday to You.' It is necessary to create such an atmosphere so that the spectators want to stand up and sing. Or when the actors say to the spectators, 'Let's now read poetry by Pushkin,' and the spectators stand up and chime in ... or when everyone begins to dance. "8 But Artsybashev insists that the spectators, who come to the production to rest and reap pleasure, should not be pestered into doing something they are not naturally inclined to do. For example, if an actor approaches a spectator and invites

Sergei Artsybashev's production of The Three Sisters


him or her to dance, but the latter is too embarrassed to accept, then that "is the end of it; it should go no further than that."

According to Artsybashev, the purpose of this "theatrical ruse" is to make the spectator a "gosf" (guest) oflrina's so that he or she participates in the play and interacts directly with the actors. "Direct contact," he declared, "is compulsory. In thoughts, in feelings, there must be absolute interaction, absolute contact. If I do not attain this, the performance is already not what I had hoped for."

"Spectators receive pleasure not from the fact that they are laughing or drinking champagne," Artsybashev continued, "but from the fact that they have become actors and creators. They have been given the opportunity to play someone else's life. We are all actors, and at that particular moment, spectators feel creation within themselves; they experience creative pleasure, regardless of whether it is a tragic or comic play. If they rise, soar, feel this creative rapture, if they cry from delight ... In short, my ultimate task is that spectators become creators together with us, that in the process of the performance they become actors."

This task is by no means unique to Artsybashev. "All people in the theatre business dream about creating interaction between actors and the audience," he told me. "Peter Brook is engaged in this problem, as are other directors. Everyone knows that the spectator is the third participant in a performance. But how to achieve this objective-that's a riddle."

Artsybashev further implements his creative vision through costume design. In Three Sisters, Chekhov often uses the color of clothing to convey subtle moods and emotions: In the first act, for example, Irina Prozorov is dressed in white- a color intended to radiate her happiness in celebrating her name day, as well as her longing and hope that she and her family will soon "get back home to Moscow"; her oldest sister, Masha, wears a black dress to reflect her pensive, hardened, and generally ill-tempered disposition; and their future sister-in-law, Natasha, born and bred in the country, appears at the end of the act in an ill-matched pink dress and green belt- a detail that not only underscores her garishness, lack of refinement, and provincial backwardness but also suggests her social-and implicitly understood spiritual- inferiority to the Prozorov sisters who were raised in Moscow. However, in Artsybashev's interpretation of Three Sisters, it is the clothing itself-or, more specifically, the time frame of the clothing- that becomes the medium for conveying mood and atmosphere. In the first act, during a family celebration, the actors are dressed in modern clothes-jackets, mini-

25

skirts, and jeans- which make them virtually indistinguishable from their "guests" (the spectators). In the third and fourth acts, however, as the mood of the play shifts from festive to tragic, the actors change into attire appropriate for the historical period of Chekhov's play-the early 1900s; the male actors appear in officers' uniforms and frock coats, and the female actors in long, austere dresses with high collars, bows, and lace.9 "The idea," he explained, "is that everything begins to break down. In the beginning, everything is good as we sit together at one table, but then a fire breaks out [in the town), Natasha [Natalia lvanovna, Andrei Prozorov's fiancee] emerges [after she becomes Andrei's wife, as a "petty little bourgeois housewife" who usurps full authority in the Prozorov household],IO the table is dismantled, and everyone disperses; there is ruin and collapse. Initially there is a house, a table, but then everything falls to (pieces]; the actors move away from the spectators;ll all the people separate and everyone is alone. In the beginning everyone is together, but then they become crushed [just as the Prozorov sisters, realizing they will not be returning to Moscow, see their hopes for any future happiness dissipate]." According to Artsybashev, when the spectator experiences this poignancy of lifelong frustration, disappointed hopes, and unfulfilled longings, he or she will "cry at the end together with the sisters."lZ

From Artsybashev's perspective, it is precisely the timeless, universal quality of Chekhov's characters that makes his plays so compelling. "Chekhov's heroes are not fixed," he explained. "It seems as though this is Russia, but the very existence of these characters is universal. They exude a kind of universal loneliness, a deep melancholy. It's not like when Americans say 'cheese,' and everything is good. Americans also live and feel the same way as others- with a certain melancholy existing within themselves. A person is lonely, regardless of whether he says 'cheese' or not; he is born into 'odinochestvo' [loneliness], and he dies in 'odinochestvo.' In essence a person searches all the time for some kind of contact [with others], and whether he finds it or not, he continually lingers in this space.'' To prove his point, Artsybashev described an experience he had in Torun, Poland, where he staged his Three Sisters at the International Theatre Festival: "Contact-94" and was awarded second prize for the production. "People there told me, 'Ah, the problems [depicted in this play] are Russian; we do not understand [them],"' he recalled. "But when we set to work, it turned out that they fell in love with it in the same way [as the Russians]; they cried in the same way; they suffered and agonized in the same way. They would say, 'This is me; I


am Masha; I am Irina; I am Chebutykin [the army doctor whose regiment has been stationed in the county town where the Prozorovs live].' These are not simply words; this is existence."

After Three Sisters, the production that best reflects Artsybashev's "thoughts about life, about the world, about the universe, about the mutual interaction between the theatre and the public" (his words), Artysbashev produced over the next several years a series of productions that received critical acclaim and helped to solidify his reputation as one of Russia's most celebrated directors today. Since 1992 his productions include a rendition of Turgenev's drama Mesyats v derevne (A Month in the Country, 1850), which received the prestigious Golden Mask Award in 1995 as the best stage performance of the year; Gogel's masterpieces of stage comedy, Revizor (Inspector General, 1836) and Zhenit'ba (Marriage, subtitled "A Completely Improbable Event in Two Acts," 1842), a production that not only received the Golden Mask Award in 1996 as the best stage performance of the year but for which Artsybashev was awarded his second State Prize in 2000; one of Alexander Ostrovsky's late plays, Talanty i poklonniki (Talents and Admirers, 1882), a play that helped to advance reform in the theatre in the 1880s by featuring an actress heroine and showing that "women have equal if not more than equal rights with men";13 and, finally, Mikhail Bulgakov's Kabala svyatosh (A Cabal of Hypocrites [or Moliere], 1930), a drama that addresses "the fate of a writer fighting for his spiritual and artistic independence and his right to create."I4 During the 2001 theatrical season, he added three Sovietera Russian classics to his repertory: Aleksei Arbuzov's film script Moj bednyi Marat (My Poor Marat); Alexander Volodin's play and film script about a man returning to his long-lost love, Pyat' vecherov (Five Evenings); and Vladimir Malyagin's V tishine (In Silence), which was staged as a tribute to the dramatist's fiftieth birthday.

Typically Artsybashev stages nineteenth- and early-twentiethcentury Russian classics, but on occasion he has deviated from this practice. In 1995, for example, he staged Ingmar Bergman's Scener ur ett iiktenskap (Scenes from a Marriage, 1978), and in 1997 he staged Shakespeare's Hamlet. "Anything that is interesting to me in the West," Artsybashev explained, "I find in Bergman, because Bergman explores what is common to all mankind. Scenes from a Marriage is not tied exclusively to Sweden; such scenes could take place anywhere. And besides that, Bergman adored Russian literature." It should also be noted that Artsybashev is not averse to staging plays by contemporary Russian playwrights. In 1995, for example, he staged Mariya

27


Arbatova's Probnoe interv'iu na temu svobody (Trial Interview on the Theme of Freedom)-a production that, in Artsybashev's words, "people really liked" and that "quickly bore good results." Still, Artsybashev insists that his "priority" is the Russian classic, although he eschews the interpretation that he has "turned to the past" for his material. As he puts it, "Because our Russian literature was engaged in the problems of people in all situationssituations that called for all kinds of emotional experiences, such as love, death, jealousy, and envy-it is eternal."

In these plays, as in Chekhov's Three Sisters, Artsybashev endeavors to create direct contact between his audience and his actors. For instance, when the lead character has a birthday at the end of Arbatova's play, the audience members are served champagne in their seats so as to take part in the birthday celebration. Artsybashev also considered serving the audience wine during his performance of Hamlet (which premiered in 1997) but later changed his mind, after realizing that the audience might think it had been poisoned. "The press," he admitted, "even started to reproach me a little bit, saying that I was trying to feed my audience at every performance."

Born in 1950, Artsybashev grew up in the Russian province of Sverdlovsk,l5 where he graduated from the Polytechnic Institute and then served in the army. Afterward he tried to enroll at the State Institute of Theatrical Arts (GITIS) in Moscow (in the class of Mariya Knebel') but was rejected. In order "not to lose time" and still be involved in the profession, Artsybashev entered the local theatrical school in Sverdlovsk, where he studied acting under Vasilii Konstantinovich Kozlov, a disciple of Stanislavsky.

But Artsybashev's introduction to Stanislavsky came much earlier when he was sixteen years old and began to study the theory of theatre on his own. During his free time, he played in amateur performances but was perplexed by the awkwardness he sometimes felt onstage. "There were times when a director would have me do something that made me feel uncomfortable. I thought this was due to my lack of experience, but perhaps I instinctively realized that the director had somehow incorrectly approached the role." It was this awkwardness, in turn, that prompted Artsybashev to study the methods of Russia's legendary directors, including Stanislavsky, Meyerhold, Vakhtangov, and Tairov. Ultimately, however, it was Stanislavsky's approach-specifically his "method" system of acting, which calls for psychological realism and the expression of a character's inner emotions, that most appealed to Artsybashev. "I understand Stanislavsky

29

very well," he declared, without hesitation. "[His theories] were correct." Artsybashev was so consumed by his passion for Stanislavsky's theories, in fact, that, while still studying at the Polytechnic Institute, he decided to organize his own theatre group in order to "put [Stanislavsky's training methods] into practice." "I assembled roughly five young people from the Institute, who still did not know anything about the theatre," he recalled, "and the result for me was tremendous."

It is no wonder, then, that Kozlov, an advocate of Stanislavsky's methods, should have immediately commanded Artsybashev's respect upon his enrollment at the Sverdlovsk theatrical school and that he should have played such an influential role in Artsybashev's development as an actor. ''When I was accepted in the acting department," Artsybashev pointed out, "I was told that according to my external features I was [more suitable for the role ofj a comic. But there was a discrepancy here because that was not the way I felt about myself. My external features may have been comical, prompting people to think that I should play the role of a comic, but my internal condition and disposition were tragic and dramatic. And, of course, I would never agree to be typecast in one role." Kozlov, however, helped Artsybashev to develop a wider acting range. Under Kozlov's tutelage Artsybashev was able to transform himself from a comedic comic into a dramatic comic, eventually even playing roles in school productions, such as Fedya Protasov in Tolstoy's drama Zhivoi trup (The Living Corpse) and Treplev in Chekhov's Chaika (The Seagul~-roles that, in Artsybashev's words, were "far from comical." "Kozlov was the teacher who unveiled me to myself and to those around me," Artsybashev declared. "Therefore, in terms of my professional career, he is like a father to me." Later, Artsybashev's versatility as an actor paid off. Over the years he has performed a wide range of roles running the gamut from the gorodnichii (mayor) in Gogel's comedy Inspector General to Luzhin in Dostoevsky's Prestuplenie i nakazanie (Crime and Punishment) to the title role in Shakespeare's Hamlet; he has also distinguished himself as an eclectic and accomplished film actor, appearing in comedies (DMB [Demobbed], 2000, directed by Roman Kachanov and Ivan Okhlobystin; and Nebesa obetovannye [Promised Heaven], 1991, directed by El'dar Riazanov); dramas (Blizhnij krug [The Inner Circle], 1991, directed by Andron Konchalovsky; Lestnitsa [The Stairway], 1989, and Vremya fetal [Time to F(y], 1987, directed by Andrei Sakharov); and romances (Zabytaya melodiya d(ya jleyty [Forgotten Tune for the Flute], 1988, and Zhestoky· romans [Ruthless Romance], 1984, directed by El'dar Riazanov).

30 Slavic and East European Peifonnance Vol. 25, No.3

In 1975, his final year at the Sverdlovsk theatrical school, Artsybashev and his classmates were to fulfill one last requirement to graduate-the staging of several plays representative of different genres-when tragedy struck: Kozlov died suddenly, leaving Artsybashev and his classmates to mourn the loss of their leader. "There was still a year left to study," he recalled. "The class decided that they did not need another leader-they already had me, Artsybashev. So I, as a student, became the leader of my own class." The end result was a triumphant success, featuring four productions by professional directors from other theatres and four independent works directed by Artsybashev.t6 This experience, in tum, along with the enthusiastic support he received from faculty members in the department, soon paved the way for Artsybashev's successful entry into GITIS. Now when he applied, he was accepted into the class ofMariya Knebel'.

At GITIS, Artsybashev's "diplomnyi spektakl'" (graduating production) was also a triumphant success. In h er article "A Little Orchestra of Hope: Sergei Artsybashev," Maria Ignatieva provides the following details about this production:

In 1981, Artsybashev directed a production based on three pieces: a short story by Alexander Volodin, and two one-act plays: Two Poodles by Semen Zlotnikov and Love by Ludmila Petrushevskaya. Artsybashev also played the leading male part in all three, costarring with a young actress, Nina Krasilnikova, who played the three female leads. To fmd a home for their production, Sergei and Nina auditioned for every professional theatre. To their stunned surprise, they were accepted by the famous Taganka Theatre. Yuri Lyubimov gave his personal permission to include their little show in the Taganka repertory.17

On the basis of this production, which Artsybashev titled Nadezhdy malen'kii orkestrik (A Little Orchestra of Hope), Lyubimov invited him to join his theatre.

Working at the Taganka from 1980 to 1989 as both director and actor, Artsybashev experienced what he wryly refers to as "all the tragic stages" of the theatre: the death of Vladimir Vysotsky, the theatre's leading actor, in 1980; Lyubimov's exile from the Soviet Union in the mid-1980s (after a twenty-year reign at the Taganka Theatre); a period of transition under Efros, who was appointed to replace Lyubimov in 1984 but died an

31

untimely death only three years later; another brief period of transition under Nikolai Gubenko, an actor at the Taganka;18 and, finally, Lyubimov's dramatic return to the Soviet Union and the Taganka Theatre in 1988. It was after Lyubimov's return that Artsybashev's situation at the theatre became especially tenuous. As Artsybashev tells it, there seemed to be every indication that Lyubimov was pleased with his young apprentice, who had assisted him in several productions, including Pushkin's historical tragedy Boris Godunov. "Lyubimov probably counted on my help," Artsybashev noted, "and I also counted on there being contact and further work between us." But the theatre became divided at this time, and Artsybashev became one of the casualties. "Lyubimov was told that I had betrayed him by working with Efros [with whom, among other things, Artsybashev codirected Boris Mozhayev's Poltora kvadratnych metra (One and a Ha!f Square Meters) at the Taganka Theatre in 1986]," he told me, "and that he needed to discard me. There was intrigue, and as a result, [my services] were not called upon for an entire year. Of course, I suffered because of this."

Realizing that drastic measures were needed to jumpstart his career, Artsybashev decided to take a risk: he would leave the T aganka and become the main director of the Moscow Theatre of Comedy. That the theatre did not have its own stage-it was a touring theatre that performed in clubs and houses of culture-was a source of some confusion and bewilderment for Artsybashev, but he was assured that the theatre would eventually procure a building in which to stage its productions. Not only did this not come to pass, but changes signaled by the 1991 collapse of the Soviet Union began immediately to affect Russia's theatrical structure, resulting in the liquidation of Rostconcert and all its subdivisions-including the Moscow Theatre of Comedy.

It was at this time that the then forty-year-old Artsybashev implored the Ministry of Culture to give him an opportunity to create a new theatre. Although the early 1990s was an extremely difficult period for the arts- there was no money to subsidize theatres, and many theatres were on the verge of collapse-the Ministry of Culture had enough confidence in Artsybashev's abilities to give him a trial run of three years to create and develop a new theatre. "It was like an experiment," he told me. "The theatre [called "The Russian State Theatre on the Pokrovka"] was put in my name; only later did [the government and Ministry of Culture] bring on theatre managers and enter into contracts with them. I was the first swallow." The experiment proved to be well worth the risk. After forming a young collective, which

32 Slavic and East European Perfonnance Vol. 25, No. 3

included several members from his former company at the Moscow Theatre of Comedy, Artsybashev went on to successfully stage five productions based on Russian classics between the years 1991 and 1994, productions that were so original and compelling, in fact, that Artsybashev was awarded the State Prize in 1996 for the entire body of work;l9 in 1992 he also had the title "Honored Member of the Russian Arts" conferred on him.

Artsybashev's desire to develop a program called "Russkaya klassika segodnya" (The Russian Classic Today) stemmed from his belief that "everything [a director needs] is in the Russian classic." "I believe," he told me, "that our great Russian literature of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries-the Golden Age and the Silver Age- posed questions about byt [everyday life] and bytiya [human existence, such as "To what purpose do we live?" and "Why do we suffer?"], which contemporary dramatists [only] repeat or develop in part. Time may change, circumstances may change, but the individual changes little. Everything can be found in our classics. For me [Samuel] Beckett and Ionesco are there; I also find these authors in Chekhov's writings. In other words, it is more interesting for me to work in a large amplitude of existence than in a narrow, small one. For me [the Russian classic] is contemporary, timely, polysemantic, symbolic, and great all at the same time.

"I think that all our burning questions can be found in the classics, but they are not narrowly formulated there. It is difficult, for example, to write a play about perestroika, so that it should have a lasting effect [on the Russian public]. In 1987, the onset of perestroika, people would say, 'Well, everything is possible now, speak the truth,' but then television in 1988 and 1989 talked so much about the truth that the spectator no longer wanted to see these truths dramatized on stage. It is necessary to go to the theatre not for something political; the public sees political theatre on television every day; [the public] has already actively participated in it. But there is the soul, human existence .... Theatre remembers and thinks about its fundamental task: to both entertain and educate the spectator; to raise him to a certain level; to talk about sincere, serious, and spiritual questions.

"There was a period when the classics did not appeal to anyone, when people went to the theatre to see a 'show.' Women, striptease, putting sex on the stage in order to draw spectators-everything became possible, and directors began making money with this kind of thing. In 1991, when they allowed me to create my own theatre, there was a preponderance of foreign literature.20 So when I said that I wanted to stage classics, they responded,

33

'Well, let's give it a try.' And it turned out that these classical productions became very interesting for the spectator."

When asked the reason for this phenomenon-the resurgence of the Russian classic at the very height of commercialization and Westernization in Russia-Artsybashev offered the simplest explanation: it is dictated by the Russian people's perennial quest for spiritual nourishment. "The Russian nature demands something heartfelt and spiritual," he declared. "But where can you search for it? Some people rush to a church. A church, however, is an order, whereas the theatre is free and democratic. No one in a theatre forces you to get down on your knees and pray; instead, it is an internal process, inner work. And if based on good material ... [but] what exactly is good material? It is good language, beautiful language; it is the Russian classic."21

In staging the classics Artsybashev insists above all on scrupulously following standards that conform to his "own inner artistic criteria." "Under the [post-1991] market economy," he explained, "[life for me in my capacity as a theatre director] became more difficult, but better. It is difficult economically, because now I need to look for money. But it is better today in the sense that I can stage anything I want-and stage it in the way that I want." In other words, Artsybashev no longer needs to seek the approval of the district committee, the Party Committee, or the artistic council, as was customary during the Soviet era. Instead, he chooses and stages a play according to his own artistic taste and vision-"as [he] sees the material"with the spectator, the press, and the critics only secondary considerations for him. "I am not influenced by the theatrical market- the market based on the demands of the spectator and what will attract him or her to the theatre," he told me. "Instead, I am guided by a different kind of market, a spiritual one; therefore I must stage spiritual [plays]. This is not mass entertainment."

But, as Artsybashev is quick to point out, "spiritual" does not necessarily mean "boring." "My task," he insists, "is to stage classical productions in such a way that they are interesting to the spectator. I have a certain responsibility [toward] my teachers, [toward] our great Russian literature, not to distort these productions but to try to understand them and attract the attention of the public, [a public that] often relates to the classics as something too well known. 'Three Sisters,' they say, 'has already been around for such a long time; it is boring and uninteresting.' But this is our spiritual wealth, our spiritual legacy. That is why the classics are always contemporary-because they are classics and it is possible to discover


everything in them. Everything is there. It is great; it is our great Russian literature; it is unfathomable." Thus, in contrast to antrepriza (private theatrical enterprise), which creates commercial successes based on what Artsybashev calls "legkaya literatura" (light, supermarket fare), Artsybashev strives to show that it is possible to take a creative work by Chekhov or Gogol-works typically regarded as "elitist"-and tum them into dramatic productions with wide appeal.

Significantly Artsybashev's authority for staging Russian classics has not waned in the new millennium but, instead, continues to gain even greater momentum. In fact, when the position of artistic director at the Mayakovsky Theatre (or, as Russians call it, the Mayakovka) became vacant in 2001, the position was offered to-and accepted by-Artsybashev. The choice was a logical one, especially in light of Artsybashev having had a prior affiliation with the Mayakovka. At the invitation of the theatre's late artistic director, Andrei Goncharov,22 Artsybashev staged the works of three wellknown contemporary playwrights there between the mid-1980s and the early 1990s: Alexander Galin's Zhanna, 1987; Lyudmila Petrushevskaya's Uroki muzyki (Music Lessons), 1989; and Nikolai Kolyada's Pars tol'ko dlya vzroslykh, ili Skazka o mertvoy tsarevne (A Farce Only for Adults, or a Fairy-tale about a Dead Tsarina), 1993. Artsybashev also continues to manage the Theatre on the Pokrovka, thus making him only one of two directors in Moscow to manage two theatres simultaneously-although, understandably, he intends to focus more attention and energy on the Mayakovsky Theatre. To this end he plans to invite other directors to the Theatre on the Pokrovka to stage productions there. Still, the task of managing two theatres is a daunting one, particularly since these two theatres follow such radically different paths. On the one hand, the Theatre on the Pokrovka is a small, chamber-like, experimental theatre that facilitates maximum contact between actors and spectators (which, as stated earlier, Artsybashev regards as the director's principal objective); conversely, the Mayakovsky Theatre is an academic theatre with a large seating capacity, thus offering directors such as Artsybashev the opportunity to reach an extremely large audience at one sitting- which, of course, is a seductive feature for many stage directors today and an important consideration in a market economy. Significantly, however, Artsybashev does not perceive a great disparity between the two theatres-or even the need to adopt a new approach. He insists, for example, that he has staged his productions at the Theatre on the Pokrovka in such a way that they can also be played on a big stage in a sizable theatre-which

35

often is the case when he and his company are on tour. Artsybashev also maintains that his objectives at the two theatres remain essentially the same: to give the audience what it yearns for, which is simply, as he put it, a "quiet, sincere theatrical conversation. "23

Although Artsybashev's tenure at the Mayakovsky Theatre has been relatively brief, he has already moved the theatre in the direction he wishes to take it-home to the Russian classic; in fact, his first production there was Gogol's Marriage,24 which premiered on the "osnovnaya stsena" (main stage) in September 2002, while a year later, on September 10, 2003, his dramatization of Dostoevsky's Brat'ya Karamazo'lry (Brothers Karamazov)2La novel filled with "Dostoevsky's agonizing reflections about life, about God and about the anti-Christ" (Artsybashev's description)2Lhad its debut, marking the theatre's eighty-first season. For Artsybashev, the appeal of Brothers Karamazov-as well as Russian classics in general-is that it is a work that not only addresses questions of "byf' but also "the cursed questions of bytiya." "Theatre," he says, "does not give ready recipes; rather it [offers] a diagnosis of its own time .... [Brothers Karamazov] seems like the entire universe to me-a novel in which all the themes that agitate us are revealed. This is an attempt from different perspectives [polyphony] to realize the order of the universe. Dostoevsky designated the genre of his last novel as 'a symphony of passions,' and it is in these words [that we find] the key to the frenzied rhythm of the Karamazovs."27 Many critics predicted disaster, insisting that it was too challenging a project for Artsybashev and that the end result would be nothing less than "neimovernaya skuka" (incredible boredom).28 But Artsybashev proved them wrong. By introducing striking external stage effects, Artsybashev was able to make his three-hour production significantly more palatable from a commercial standpoint than critics foresaw and to sustain the audience's interest. First, he created a stage setting that features the presence of the earthly elements, fire and water. Not only do clouds of smoke flow through tall, white monastic walls, thereby producing a sense of the "ethereal, nether world," but it rains onstage and twice it even snows. Artsybashev also features the troupe's best actors and incorporates a great deal of live music into the production. In front of the entrance to the theatre, for example, the military orchestra of the Moscow garrison entertains the public, while an authentic gypsy choir appears and sings onstage. Finally, despite intense and probing conversations about Russia and God, the novel itself inherently contains elements of box-office appeal, showing Dostoevsky as a master of intrigue, surprising twists, and


Sergei Artsybashev's Karamazovs at the Mayakovsky Theatre

melodrama.29 After all, one of the fundamental questions underlying this work is who murdered the brothers' father, Fedor Pavlovich Karamazov. As one Russian critic aptly noted, "[Artsybashev's production of the Karamazovs] is not artistic chaos, not commercialization, not avant-garde, not a boring embodiment of a classic .... It is neither one nor the other, but the Devil knows what."30Jt is hardly surprising, then, that the hall was packed at its premiere and that the audience included such well-known dignitaries from the Ministry of Culture as Mikhail Shvydkoi.

But Artsybashev by no means plans to confine himself exclusively

37

to Russian classics at the Mayakovsky Theatre. For example, during the 2002-2003 theatrical season, the premiere of Marriage shared the stage with another production directed by Artsybashev-Banquet (Banquet)-a tragiccomedy dealing with the failed marriages of three middle-aged couples, based on Neil Simon's thirty-first (and most recent) play, The Dinner Party. Although The Dinner Party represents a significant departure from Simon's earlier marital comedies, offering a much darker and serious look at marital relationships, it still may seem like a curious choice for an "elitist" director such as Artsybashev- a director who has built his entire reputation on staging Russian classics like Chekhov, Gogo!, and Ostrovsky for a small, select audience. Yet Artsybashev insists that the themes Simon explores in this play also fall within "[Artsybashev's own] sphere of thought."31 They are what he calls "little themes," those dealing with ambition, vanity, egotism, ambivalence, pretension, and the inability of two people to compromise in a relationship; that is, the subject matter of the play does not reflect global world problems but clearly offers a revealing glimpse of humanity.32 Artsybashev also had a more pragmatic reason for staging a

The Banquet, directed by Sergei Artsybashev, at the Mayakovsky Theatre


w "{)

The Women, renamed Razvod po zhenski (Divorce Female-Style), directed by Sergei Artsybashev, at the Mayakovsky Theatre

play by Simon: by enlisting the services of actors for Banquet from the middle generation, he was able to give the actors in Marriage- the "stars" of the Mayakovsky troupe-a respite from daily performances. This, too, is consistent with one of Artsybashev's primary objectives: to develop a repertory at the Mayakovsky Theatre that will keep as many actors performing as possible.

Artsybashev is also looking to other U.S. playwrights for stage material. In fact, as recently as 2004, he added Clair Boothe Luce's 1936 hit play, The Women, renamed Razvod po zhenski (Divorce Female-Style), and featuring an all-female cast (as in the original play), to his repertory at the Mayakovsky Theatre, premiering in mid-February of that year. It is significant that Artsybashev's rendition of The Women-a biting satire of life among women of high society, which the New York Times, in Luce's 1987 obituary, aptly called "an apotheosis of feminine bitchiness"3Lis classified as a "melodramaticheskoe shay" (melodramatic show) in terms of genre.34 It is also noteworthy that this is the first time the play has been performed on the Moscow stage.

In conclusion, consider a letter that Chekhov wrote in 1899, offering these dramatic encouraging words to Nemirovich-Danchenko, who, a year earlier, had co-founded the Moscow Art Theatre with Stanislavsky: "Oh, do not get tired, do not cool offl Your theatre will provide the best pages of the history-when it is written-of the modern Russian theatre."35 Had Chekhov been alive to see the stage productions of Sergei Artsybashev, such as his Three Sisters, productions inculcated with the very spirit of Stanislavsky's teachings, presenting Russian psychological theatre at its best, would he not have written these same words to this modern-day Russian director?

NOTES

I In fall 2001, Slavic and East European Peiformance published another article on the same subject: Maria Ignatieva's "A Little Orchestra of Hope: Sergei Artsybashev." I will refer the reader to this earlier work where appropriate. 2 Written in Chekhov's handwriting, these words appear on the cover of the program to Sergei Artsybashev's Moscow production of Three Sisters. 3 See Chekhov Plays, translated and with an introduction by Elisaveta Fen (Great Britain: Penguin, 1954), 27.


4 Anatoly Smeliansky, The Russian Theatre after Stalin, trans. Patrick Miles (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1999), 68. s Ibid., 69. 6 Here Artysbashev completely realizes Stanislavsky's dream of spectators becoming the characters in the play. 7 According to Ignatieva, when Artsybashev staged Three Sisters in 1991, there were such deficits and food lines in Moscow that "Artsybashev could not morally sanction having his actors eat in the same room, while others watched hungrily; therefore, he mixed actors and spectators at one long table where everyone ate and drank together. ... Artsybashev ordered the actors to cook at home and to bring the dishes for every show." See Maria Ignatieva, "A Little Orchestra of Hope: Sergei Artsybashev," Slavic and East European Performance 21, no. 3 (Fall 2001): 43. 8 Unless stated otherwise, all quotations from Sergei Artsybashev that appear in this article come from conversations that I had with him in 1996 and 2000 in Moscow. 9 By intertwining the past and the present in this production, Artsybashev seeks to restore "the disintegrating connection of time"; he also sees the past as a canvas against which one can better understand the present. 10 Although the house belongs to all four siblings (the three sisters and their brother Andrei), Andrei mortgages the house and allows his wife, Natasha, to control the money. Natasha's usurpation of authority in the Prozorov household manifests itself in other ways as well: She forces Irina to move into Olga's room, insisting that "[her son's] nursery is so cold and damp .... And your room is just ideal for a baby" (Three Sisters, in Chekhov Plays, 291); she tells the servants not to let the carnival party into the house; and she fires the old woman who has attended the Prozorov family for thirty years. In short, Natasha, the new mistress, literally drives the Prozorov sisters out of their own home. Also because of Natasha's influence, Andrei no longer works for a professorship, losing all the inspiration he once had. 11 Before the middle of the production, when the fire breaks out, the spectators have come to regard the Prozorov house as their own. However, when the table is dismantled and they are moved to seats outside the periphery of the stage action and the actors, they again become "ordinary spectators." Artsybashev's purpose here is to distance the spectator from the actor in terms of space, which parallels his use of clothing to investigate issues of time.

41

12 As critics have observed, Artsybashev's production of Three Sisters offers a much darker world vision of Chekhov's drama than the typical Soviet or Western production. In his interpretation, Artsybashev tries to show that the brutal rule of the philistines (petty bourgeoisie) and proletarians that dominated the twentieth-century began with the ruin of the Russian intelligentsia and "their literal expulsion from their own homes" (such as occurs with the three sisters). 13 Handbook of Russian Literature, ed. by Victor Terras (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1985), 325. 14 Ibid., 63. For overviews of these productions, see "A Little Orchestra of Hope," 44-50. 15 For the significance of Artsybashev's provincial roots in his professional development, see "A Little Orchestra of Hope," 37-42. 16 Artsybashev's productions at the Sverdlovsk theatrical school included Jean Anouilh's Antigone, Aleksei Arbuzov's Moi bednyi Marat (My Poor Marat), Friedrich Diirrenmatt's dark comedy Play Strindberg: Totentanz nach August Strindberg (Play Strindberg: "The Dance~ Death" Choreographed), Vasily Shukshin's Do tret'ikh petukhov (Bifore Dawn), Alexander Volodin's Pyat' vecherov (Five Evenings), and Mikhail Roshchin's Speshite delat' dobra (Hurry to Do Good). 17 "A Little Orchestra of Hope," 39. For more details about this production, also see pages 40-41 of this article. 18 Nikolai Gubenko was responsible for obtaining Lyubirnov's return in 1988. A year later he became Minister of Culture, and four years later, in 1993, he headed the breakaway part of the T aganka. 19 The productions staged by Artsybashev between 1991 and 1994 included Chekhov's Three Sisters, Tsvetaeva's Captive Spirit, Turgenev's A Month in the Country, Gogel's Inspector General, and Ostrovsky's Talents and Admirers. 20 Theatres also turned to previously banned literature for stage material, such as the Bible, Solzhenitsyn's Gulag Archipelago, and avant-garde or decadent works. However, much of this turned out to be not especially stage worthy and yielded poor artistic results. 21 Artsybashev also believes that a classical repertory helps actors to grow both spiritually and professionally. 22 Andrei Goncharov became artistic director of the Mayakovsky Theatre in 1967 and served in that capacity for more than three decades. 23 Aleksei Filippov, "Teatru Mayakovskogo ya ne sovsem chuzhoi" ("I am by No Means a Stranger to the Mayakovsky Theatre"), Izvestiya, January 4, 2002.

42 Slavic and East European Peifonnance Vol. 25, No. 3

24 This production was originally performed at the Theatre on the Pokrovka. Because of its success there, Artsybashev no doubt counted on similar successes at the Mayakovsky Theatre. 25 Vladimir Malyagin, a dramatist, wrote the adaptation of Dostoevsky's novel for Artsybashev's stage production. 26 Moscow Mayakovsky Academic Theatre (Director. Sergei Artsybashev), "Official Site," February 4, 2004 http:/ /www.mayakovsky.ru/Reg/reg.shtml. 27 Ibid. By trying to embrace the storylines of all the novel's main heroes, Malyagin perpetuates this "symphony of passions" in his dramatic rendition of Dostoevsky's Brothers Karamazov. This also explains why Artsybashev titled his production Karamazovy: Simfoniya strastei (Karamazovs: A Symphony of Passions). 28 See Grigory Zaskavsky, "Pokupayut rossiiskoe" ('They Buy Russian"), Nezavisimayagazeta, 16 September 2003, no. 196. There was an element of truth in their prediction. As Natal'ya Starosel'skaya duly notes in her review of this production, it is virtually impossible to enclose Dostoevsky's last novel- and the cosmos it introduces- within "the window of the stage." See Natal'ya Starosel'skaya, "Ispoved' goryachego serdtsa: Brat'ya Karamazovyprem'era Teatra Mayakovskogo" ("Confession of an Impassioned Heart: Brothers Karamazov-Premiere at the Mayakovsky Theatre"), Trud, 23 September 2003, no. 176. 29 The success of the television serial based on The Idiot confirms the fact that Dostoevsky has box office appeal. It premiered on television when rehearsals of Artsybashev's production of The Karamazovs were in full swing. 30 Marina Davydova, "Po motivam Dostoevskogo" ("According to the Motives of Dostoevsky"), Jzvestiya, 12 September 2003, no. 166. 3! Vera Kalmykova, "Tvorite s nami" ("Create with Us"), Teatral'nyi kur'er Qune 2003). 32 Ibid. 33 Albin Krebs, "Claire Boothe Luce Dies at 84: Playwright, Politician, Envoy" (obituary, 1987). New York Times on the Web. http:/ /www.nytimes.com/ learning/ general!onthisday/bday/0310.htrnl. 34 On the Mayakovsky Theatre's homepage, we find a full explanation for the production's genre classification as a "melodramatic show." "The production," reads a blurb advertising the play's premiere, "is melodramatic at its very foundation, [since] a woman is, first and foremost, a feeling creature. The children's theme that is present in the play is genuinely moving, but the heroines are also funny, eccentric, mysterious, and very

43

musical! Sergei Artsybashev has imbued his lyrical production with a remarkable musical atmosphere-the most famous variety-dance music of the twentieth century ... [jazz music] to which the actresses not only dance, but perform as well. In sum, the directorial designation of the genre as a "melodramatic show" is completely on the mark." See Moscow Mayakovsky Academic Theatre (Repertory), "Official Site," February 4, 2004 http:/ /www.mayakovsky.ru/Reg/ reg.shtml. 35 Chekhov Plays, 25.


UNRAVELING THE GORDIAN KNOT: THE TRANSFORMATION OF CZECH THEATRE

ORGANIZATION AND FINANCING IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY

Stepan Simek

Transformation in Prague After the Velvet Revolution of 1989, the organization of Czech

theatre was a Gordian knot of long-standing traditions, Stalinist structures, municipal subsidies, new experimental and unsubsidized theatres, and hopes for a new era in a free nation. 1 The result was a thirteen-year outpouring of suggested reforms and legislative paralysis. Finally, in 2002, the Prague City Council adopted a proposal from a commission of the Czech Theatre Institute that promised to transform Czech theatre and set it on a modern European path.

Serious discussions of the need for radical change in the organization and funding of the theatre began about 1994 in the Czech theatre bi-monthly, Svlt a divadfo.2 As a newly forming European society, the Czechs naturally looked to the European Union (EU) for inspiration, especially in finding a way to remedy the inherent discrepancy in public support between the state and municipally subsidized and unsubsidized theatres.3 On the one hand, the existing Czech model of subsidized theatres clearly resembled those of Germany, Austria, and France, where support of the arts was legislatively anchored at a minimum of one percent of the state budget. On the other hand, the British system of independent non-governmental arts councils seemed attractive because the Czechs, tired of direct state influence in the arts, saw the need to establish a "buffer" between the state and individual theatre organizations.

The analysis of EU models eventually led to three major conclusions that were later reflected in the Prague transformation. First, the arts in general and the theatre in particular are a "service to the public," and as such, the state has a duty to support them financially. Second, the state must not exercise direct influence in distribution of funds, and it must not run arts organizations. Third, the state should support a multiplicity of financial resources for which all theatres are eligible to compete within well-defined criteria.

45

According to Alena Brabencova, a small step in the transformation of Prague's theatre system started in 1996 when she became the city's Theatre Commissioner.4 In an effort to begin to close the gap between the sixteen theatres that the city of Prague operated as subsidized organizationsS and the fifty to eighty independent theatre companies6 functioning with no reliable source of support, she introduced a severely limited system of city grants to be distributed to the independent theatres in Prague.

In 2000, the Prague City Council, under pressure from Brabencova, commissioned the Czech Theatre Institute to work out a detailed proposal for the transformation of theatre financing in Prague. It was this proposal that the City Council adopted in 2002, putting into effect the first phase of the transformation of Prague theatre organization and financing.

Building on the three principles mentioned above, the proposal considers in its preamble culture as a "basic human right" and mentions the role of the theatre as a means of"social cohesion." At the same time it calls the theatre an "industry" and spells out the economic advantages of a vital theatre network for the city, including the so called multiplication effect.7

The proposal then recommends creating a grant system that insures equal access to public financing for all theatres in Prague; achieving the "highest quality" of theatrical output; distributing and using funds transparently; and allocating funds competitively and non-politically according to a clear set of qualitative and quantitative criteria. The report also supports multiple-source financing by both the Ministry of Culture and the private sector. The proposal further suggests that theatres be operated as a partnership between the city and the individual theatres themselves.s

More specifically, the proposal recommends that over a period of four to eight years all theatres, including the existing subsidized organizations, transform themselves into one or another form of a not-forprofit institution. Public financing for the newly designated not-for-profit theatres would come in the form of four-year grants for which all theatres, regardless of their legal status, would be equally eligible. The grants would be distributed through the newly formed Grant Council that would function as a "bridge between the Prague City Council and the theatres. At the same time, it would be an independent panel of experts judging the


merits of the individual grant proposals."9 Finally, the proposal calls for a public commitment by the city assuring that the levels of financing of the newly transformed subsidized theatres remain the same if not higher over the period of the next four years.

Soon after adopting the proposal, the City Council published the Declaration of the Support of Professional Theatre by the Capital City of Prague to assuage the fears of the existing subsidized theatres and a number of special interest groups, such as the Actors Union. The most important points are: 1) a promise to "continue to support the activities of the newly transformed former subsidized organizations at least at the level of the current contributions," and 2) an assertion that the new system brings theatre "closer to the standards common in the countries of the European Union."JO

After consultation with the managing directors of several Prague theatres, three out of the sixteen existing subsidized companies agreed to transform their legal status from subsidized organization to not-for-profit organization and to apply for the first set of four-year grants. In 2003 and 2004, two additional subsidized theatres (until then operated by their individual city districts) joined in the transformation. The city plans to eliminate the institution of a subsidized theatre by the year 2008.JJ

Thus the Prague transformation actually began to work. After more than ten years of discussions, empty governmental declarations, finger pointing, and numerous proposals, the Prague City Council, in cooperation with the city's theatres, proved that the seemingly irreconcilable principles of a generous public support for the theatre and a true independence of the individual theatres along with equality of access to the public funds were indeed compatible. At the end of 2001, the ratio of the municipal support for the subsidized versus unsubsidized theatres in Prague was 90 to 10 percent in favor of the subsidized organizations, but in 2003, the ratio was about 80 to 20 percent.I2 Soon the field would be leveled.

One might, however, ask what exactly has changed. The City Council has publicly committed to "supporting the activities of the newly transformed former subsidized organizations at least at the level of the current contributions," and in the first phase of the transformation the yearly support for the former subsidized theatres will remain exactly the same.n But the new system of four-year grants has freed both the theatres and the city from what the managing director of the Theatre on Balustrade

47

calls a "bureaucratic Moloch."I4 Where previously even the most minute details of the budgets had been largely dictated by the operator of the theatres (i.e. the city), the transformed theatres now have complete control of the allocated funds over the period of four years.

But the transformation has also put the stated principle of multisource financing into effect. The not-for-profit theatres now may apply for additional grants from a number of governmental or non-governmental sources from which they were previously excluded, such as European Union cultural grants.IS

However, the most important advantage of the new system is the sense of freedom that the transformed theatres as well as the City Council now enjoy. Since the city is no longer an "owner" of the theatre, it no longer names the artistic and/or managing directors.l6 The City Council is relieved from undue stress and scrutiny, and the theatres themselves no longer resent government paternalism. The leadership decisions are now taken by the boards of directors of the transformed theatres in direct cooperation with the artistic staff, and the City Council gladly keeps its fingers out of that process.

Finally, according to Doubravka Svobodova, the managing director of the Theatre on Balustrade and a professor of theatre management at the Prague Academy of Dramatic Arts (whose theatre will begin the transformation process in July 2005), theatre is a dynamic entity that needs to constantly reassess its raison d'etre and its mission. Subsidized organizations with an automatic yearly flow of funding do not engage in that sort of dynamic reassessment. However, the need to re-apply for the funding every four years in a competitive environment forces each theatre to justify its existence, re-state its mission, ruminate on its existence, and if the circumstances so dictate maybe even perish and clear the way for another company to benefit from the available funding.t7

And the Critics The Prague transformation, however, has a number of critics who

see several flaws in the new model. They point to the ongoing presence of the political nomenclatura in the grant decision process. The theatre professionals only nominate the members of the Grant Council; the final decision rests with the City Council. Moreover, the decisions of the Grant Council itself are nominally only recommendations to the City Council, which, as a political entity, has the executive power to distribute the


individual grants. There exists a widespread fear among the independent theatre companies that because of the inherent crossover between the theatre establishment and the city political elitei8 the long-established flagship Prague theatres will inevitably be favored, and that newly formed companies with young unknown actors and directors will have a hard time obtaining adequate funding.

Furthermore, there is the problem of the "commercial" for-profit theatres. Unlike in England or the United States where there exists a clear dividing line between the West End or Broadway and pure non-profit theatres, in Prague there is a no such distinction. The rest of the oftenhighbrow theatre establishment eyes commercial theatres suspiciously, and the City Council is reluctant to include them in the new model of financing. The term "commercial" is a tricky one. For example, the established ABC Theatre housed in a city-owned space close to the Wenceslas Square specializes in relatively light commercial dramaturgy, seats about five hundred people, employs over seventy full-time artists and staff, and as a subsidized organization of the city, receives twenty million crownsl9 in yearly subsidies that will continue even as the theatre becomes a not-for-profit organization.20 On the other hand, the Fidlovacka Theatre on the outskirts of Prague, whose dramaturgy ranges from English sex farces and musicals to Chekhov, seats a little over five hundred, has a permanent company of thirty-five artists and a staff of thirty. It is, however, widely considered to be a "commercial" house and has so far received only a single one-time grant of three million crowns from the city, and a yearly contribution of 1.5 million from the city district where it is housed. The rest of its thirty-two million crowns yearly budget comes from ticket sales (whose prices are significantly higher than that in the other theatres), creative marketing, small corporate support, secondary activities, and a modest private endowment.21 The founder and artistic director of the Fidlovacka, Tomas Topfer, points out the incongruity and, as he calls it "absurdity" of the different standards applied to his theatre as opposed to the almost identical ABC, but he remains skeptical about his theatre's chance to receive a four-year grant form the City Council. The widely accepted image of his theatre as a "commercial house" is difficult to shake off.22

And in the Provinces Can the new model be applied outside of Prague? The original

49

transformation proposal from the Czech Theatre Institute specifically mentioned the uniqueness of the Prague theatre landscape and cautioned that "its findings and recommendations may not apply to other municipalities. "23 With the vast majority of independent theatre companies concentrated in Prague, the question of equal distribution of funds may be a moot point in the provincial towns. With the exception of the three other large cities in the Czech Republic, Brno, Plzeii, and Ostrava, the smaller towns usually operate only one large repertory theatre, and perhaps one or two non-professional student or studio spaces. The problem with the subsidized organizations in the provinces is their complete dependence on the will of the individual city councils and the economic situation in the often cash-strapped city or town. After the abolition of the Communist Party Regional Committees in 1991, operation of the municipal theatres was transferred to the cities themselves, who were put in the difficult situation of fully financing theatres that often serve a larger regional population that does not contribute to the tax base of the city budgets24. For example, a study commissioned by the City Council of the city of Pilsen found out, that more than 35 to 40 percent of the city's large municipal theatre audiences come from the larger region rather than the city itself.25

Since the Czech Republic is a comparatively small country, the concentration of a number of large, multi-ensemble regional theatres with their own opera and ballet companies in the same region often borders on the ridiculous. For instance, within approximately fifty square miles in Northeastern Bohemia, there are three large opera companies, all financed by individual, neighboring cities. Perhaps some of the expensive opera companies should be abolished and the cities should engage in coproduction activities, distributing the funds differently.

The provision of multi-source funding is perhaps the most debated point. In 2002, after more than ten years of political wrangling, the Czech Legislature finally created 14 administrative regions with semiautonomous administrations elected directly by the regions' populations. The new regional governments were given the power to keep and independently distribute taxes and to exercise more executive powers. Individual city councils and municipal theatre directors have demanded that the regions contribute funds for the operations of their theatres. At the beginning of 2004 several regional theatres received the first, albeit limited, financial contributions from the regional governments, thus taking the first


step toward diversification of their financing and diminishing their dependence on the cities alone.

The Association of Regional Theatres continues to lobby the Ministry of Culture to expand its "Program for Support of Regional Theatres," since the current involvement of the Ministry of Culture in financing the regional theatres is widely considered substandard, especially compared with the common practices in the countries of the European Union. If the concept of multi-sourcing in the regional theatres were to take hold, the financial involvement of the Ministry of Culture would need to be dramatically increased. Otherwise, the Ministry would be relegated to a status of an irrelevant institution, not unlike America's NEA.

Regional theatres are also attempting to involve the private sector in sponsoring their operations. However in the absence of a tax code that makes sponsoring attractive, and with a striking lack of tradition and willingness of private corporations to contribute to a public good, the financial support of the private sector remains minimal.

Finally, since the Czech Republic is now part of the European Union, regional theatres, are seeking "Structural Funds" from the EU, funds that are designed to strengthen the economic viability of selected regions of the newly admitted member states. However, in order to qualify for such funds, which often require an open economic system, the theatres may need to relinquish their status as subsidized organizations.

Despite the above problems, regional and municipal theatres remain the backbone and the workhorse of the Czech theatre network. They enjoy relative financial security, and, most important, they have the loyal support of their audiences. With the average attendance of over 85 percent capacity, sold-out school performances, and often more than 30 percent self-sufficiency26 they may be the envy of many regional theatres in the United States.

The success and stability of regional theatres does come with some cost. With often more than five plays in repertory, regular guest appearances in smaller regional towns and villages, and frequent school performances, their permanent artistic companies are often stretched to the limit. Their dramaturgy often tends to be relatively tame and secure, and with few exceptions, the regional theatres are not given to experiment. The average salaries of the actors are relatively low, and unlike in Prague, there are fewer opportunities for them to augment their income by TV, film, or commercial work. They suffer relatively high level of attrition especially of

51

young talent, who often consider their engagement in the regions as a mere springboard for an eventual career in Prague. But such problems are minor, compared with the service these companies provide to their communities and the work opportunities that they offer to hundreds of professional theatre artists. The regional companies embody the traditional Czech and Middle-European model of the theatre as a community builder and a provider of enlightened cultural services to the population. They, and their financial supporters, continue to carry on those traditions, and remain symbols of stability in an ocean of cataclysmic change.

Toward the Future The Prague Transformation shows that reorganization of the

Czech theatre has finally gained momentum. Nevertheless, Bohumil Nekolny of the Czech Theatre Institute considers unbearable the disproportion between the financial support of the municipalities, which contribute around 5 percent of their annual budgets to culture (with the major portion of the contributions going to the municipal theatres) and the state, which only allocates 0.6 percent of the budget to its Ministry of Culture, from which only a minute fraction goes to the theatres, (with the majority being "swallowed" by the National Theatre)_27 He calls for the legislative anchoring of the state financial support for culture at the level of other EU states (one percent of the state budget), and finally, he repeats the need of multiple sources of financing for the theatre fashioned after the existing models in the countries of the European Union.28

But the Prague transformation has shown the way to a strong future foundation for Czech theatre. Czech theatre remains financially healthy-if sometimes confusing. The Central European tradition of theatre as a community builder and a standard bearer of national culture is a strong guarantor of its survival no matter what economic system may be in place. As long as Czech audiences continue to fill the auditoriums to almost 90 percent capacity, the theatre will do well, no matter what the models of its financing.


NOTES

I See my article in the previous issue of SEEP 25, no. 2 (Spring 2005). z Bohumil Nekolny, "V Evrope . .. a u nas-Divadelnf systemy v zemfch Evropske unie" (In Europe ... and Here-the Theatre Models in the Countries of the European Union), Svlt a Divadlo 3 (2002): 145-160. 3 For a more thorough discussion on subsidized and unsubsidized theatres in the Czech Republic, see SEEP 25, no. 2 (Spring 2005): 49-52 4 Alena Brabencova, personal interview with author, 10 September 2004. 5 This includes the three subsidiary theatres in Prague that are financed and operated by their individual city districts. Even though those three theatres are not directly supported by the City Council, they too, as subsidiary organizations, are considered a part of the Prague transformation process. 6 Since many of the unsubsidized theatres come and go, statistics tend to differ on their exact number 7 The multiplication effect became something of a buzzword in the Czech Republic. It is a common factor in determining the financial support of theatres in Switzerland, and its basic premise is that theatrical activities engender all kinds of other economic growth in their vicinity. There were several economic studies in the Czech Republic that attempted to calculate the multiplication effect of the theatres in various cities, and their conclusions are often used as a means to obtain higher subsidies. s "Prazska divadelnf sit' jako kulturnf sluzba verejnosti" (Prague Theatre Network as a Cultural Service to the Public), Svlt a divadlo, 6 (2002): 10-12. 9 Ibid., 15. 10 Igor Nemec, et. a!., "Deklarace hlavnfho mesta Prahy o podpore profesionalnfho divadla" (Declaration of Support of Professional Theatre by the Capital City of Prague), Amendment 41=1 to the legislation 4F35/35 of the Magistrate of the Capital City of Prague on 11. 29. 2001. II However, one Prague theatre, the venerable Vinohradski divadlo, will remain a subsidiary organization of the City for the forseeable future. The theatre is what the Czechs call a "stone-buit theatre," with a magnificent Art Nouveu building, very large company with a history of star actors and a row of illustrious artistic directors, and a long tradition of rivaling the national theatre in terms of the scope of its productions. Since it is defined as a "Representative City Institution," and perhaps because the Prague City Council has never warmed up to the state-supported National Theatre, it was decided that the Vinohradski divadlo will remain "exclusively owned and

53

operated by the city''and thus defiantly stand up to the National. 12 Alena Brabencova et a!, Kultura v Praze, Vjrotni zprdva o financovdni kultury hl. M. Prahou v roce 2003 (Culture in Prague, Yearly Report on the Financing of Culture by the Capital City of Prague in 2003), (Prague: Odbor kultury Magistratu hi. M. Prahy, 2004), 10. 13 So for example, the long-established "Drama Club" in Prague has received a grant of over sixty million crowns for the next four years. This is exactly the same amount it would have obtained in direct subsidy before becoming a not-for-profit theatre, and since the Drama Club is one of the flagship studio theatres in Prague, it seems unlikely that its future grant applications will be rejected. 14 Doubravka Svobodova, personal interview with author, 8 September 2004. 15 The cultural policies of the EU bear a resemblance to its agricultural policies. The EU refuses to provide grants and support to states that heavily subsidize those industries, and consequently, the subsidiary organizations are excluded from EU grants. 16 However, the naming of the directors has been, with few exceptions, an open process emphasizing emphasizing competition and a high level of professionalism, and the weariness about such decisions has been more "theoretical" than real. 17 Svobodova, personal interview. 18 The social life in Prague resembles the Paris of Moliere's Misanthrope. Everybody who is somebody knows everybody else, and the cultural figures, including many actors and directors, mix freely with the politicians and vice versa. 19 For the monetary conversion to U.S. dollars, see my previous article in SEEP. 20 Brabencova, Kultura v Praze, 68. 21 Topfer, Tomas, et. al, Rozbor hospodaienf divadla na Fidlovatce 2003 (Economic indicators of the Fidlovacka Theatre 2003), {Prague: Divadlo na Fidlovacce, 2004). 22 Tomas Topfer, personal interview with author, 14 September 2004. 23 "Prazska divadelni sit jako kultumi sluzba verejnosti" {Prague Theatre Network as a Cultural Service to the Public), Svlt a divadlo, 6 {2002): 13. 24 There are two sources of income for the Czech cities and municipalities. First, they collect taxes and duties on selected goods and services, and second, they receive funds form the state budget, whose allocation is based on a complicated formula of their population size, their economic output,


cost of living, and other economic and social indicators. 25 Jan Burian, in "Na tema obce divadelniku" (Discussion About the Czech Theatre Association), Svlt a divadlo, 1 (2002): 93. 26 Ondrej Cerny, et. al., Divadlo v Ceski Republice (Theatre in Czech Republic 2002-2003- A Yearbook), (Prague: Divadelnf ustav, 2004), 817. 27 Furthermore, as a perhaps world-wide oddity, the Ministry of Culture finances all Czech churches, including the salaries of priests and pastors, church buildings, etc. The financing of churches constitues almost one fifth of the entire budget of the ministry. 28 Bohumil Nekolny, personal interview with author, 14 September 2004.

55

OLEG MENSHIKOV: DARING TO BE DIFFERENT

Olga Muratova

Born in 1960, Oleg Menshikov is part of what some in Russian theatre circles have dubbed "the generation of the three Ms," the other Ms being Y evgeny Mironov and Vladimir Mashkov. Each member of this talented trio has achieved enormous popularity both on stage and on screen. They are all approximately the same age and have demonstrated equal range as actors.

Menshikov is one of a group of extraordinary actors capable of individual interpretations of the parts they play. They usually direct themselves, having a clear picture of their characters' inner worlds. Depending on whether or not their interpretations agree with that of their directors, they can be either a director's dream or his/her nightmare.

Menshikov got his big break in 1980, while still a student at the Shchepkin Theatre School in Moscow. That year, he was noticed by several prominent directors, including Suren Shakhbazyan, Roman Balayan, Mikhail Kozakov, and even Nikita Mikhalkov. Almost simultaneously, Menshikov was offered parts in three different movies- a near impossibility in Soviet Russia for an actor who was still in training. He accepted the leading role in Zhdu i nadeyus (Waiting and Hoping),l a movie based on a novel by Viktor Smirnov. The role was that of Shurka, a member of a guerilla force operating behind enemy lines during World War II. Menshikov's Shurka is not "one of the guys"; he stands alone, away from the mainstream, and always goes against the grain. His comrades-in-arms are in their element with machine guns and hand grenades. They are all seasoned warriors, macho and somber. Shurka, in Menshikov's interpretation, sifts through official documents and papers. He is more comfortable with reading material than explosives. The actor dared to be different. He was only nineteen then, but as time would show, his personal views and artistic approach would take a powerful and influential final shape.

In 1982, Oleg was offered his second leading part in a movie. (Still a student, Menshikov was not officially allowed any roles in the professional theatre.) Kozakov was making a light comedy about life in a communal Moscow apartment of the 1950s. He needed a happy-go-lucky youth who, like a puppet master, could manipulate the tenants of a big apartment, but


he had to do so unobtrusively, with natural grace and ease. The actor that Kozakov was looking for had to be something of a young Andrei Mironov (a wonderfully talented actor of the 1970s, famous also for his singing and dancing abilities). A music-school graduate, a passionate pianist capable of improvisation, a fine singer, and a keen dancer, Oleg Menshikov was an obvious choice for the part. Pokrovskiye vorota (The Pokrov Gate), based on Leonid Zorin's elegiac comedy, made Menshikov a household name.

The third movie role that Menshikov obtained the same year was a minor one, but it had a major impact on his career. In Nikita Mikhalkov's Rodnya (The Kin), Oleg played the part of Kirill, a troubled young man waiting to be drafted. The actor was able to work with, and learn from, great stars of Russian film and theatre, such as Mikhalkov and Nonna Mordyukova. The friendships that arose while filming Rodnya (The Kin) proved very fruitful for the actor's future.

After graduation, Menshikov was accepted into the troupe of the Maly Theatre in Moscow, a prestigious and respected drama theatre that almost never hires fresh-out-of-school actors. After just one year of working at the Maly, Menshikov was conscripted for military service, but, like most promising actors of the time, he was able to "serve" in the Theatre of the Soviet Army. He was still an actor, but one who was obliged to take orders and unable to choose parts. During his service, he met Alexander Baluyev, who would later play the corrupt Russian general in The Peacemaker, a U.S. film starring George Clooney and Nicole Kidman. Incidentally, that part was originally offered to Menshikov, who rejected it for patriotic reasons. Baluyev and Menshikov co-starred in a play based on Boris Rakhmanin's novel Chasy bez strelok (The Handless Clock). They played two soldiers-one of whom can travel in time. Among other notable roles by Menshikov during his two years of obligatory service were Alyosha Bulanov in Alexander Ostrovsky's Les (The Forest), Lyonka in Alexei Dudarev's war drama Ryadovye (Enlisted Men), and Ganya lvolgin in a stage version of Fyodor Dostoevsky's Idiot.

In The Forest, Menshikov rejected the traditional approach to portraying the character. His Bulanov was not a profit-driven, unscrupulous gigolo wooing Raisa Gurmyzhskaya, a woman old enough to be his mother. Oleg's Bulanov was just a guy who was not bright enough to be a coolheaded predator but could easily adapt to any circumstances. He was equally ready to become Aksyusha's husband or Gurmyzhskaya's love toy. Oleg's unorthodox portrayal paid off again; Nina Sazonova, who had been

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playing Gurmyzhskaya for years, confessed that Menshikov's Alyosha was by far her favorite.

In Menshikov's portrayal of Ganya in The Idiot, the existential personality split ever present in Dostoevsky's characters organically intertwined with the actor's personal perception oflife and reality. The actor instinctively adopted the writer's doctrine that there are no absolutes in life and that every individual has a complex and contrasting nature, harboring both good and evil in his soul. The traditional one-dimensional, "all-black" interpretation of the character was discarded by the actor as alien to Dostoevsky's and his own vision. Oleg's Ganya hated himself for being what he was; his soul was not dead, but his poverty and the need to care for his mother and sister pushed him into sacrificing himself. Menshikov's Ganya didn't like the situation he was in but was ready to do what he thought was right for the sake of his family. His resolve was commendable. Menshikov's Ganya was not a type character; he was an individual struggling to adjust to cruel reality.

Menshikov as Ganya in Dostoevsky's The Idiot


After his discharge from service, Menshikov refused to return to what was for him the stifling atmosphere of the Maly Theatre. Instead, he was accepted into the troupe of the Yermolova Theatre. One of his first major roles there was the part of Sergei Lukin in Edvard R.adzinsky's play Sportivnye igry 80 go goda (Sports Games of 1980). Portraying a neurotic creature looking for love and compassion in a world of the insensitive and callous, Menshikov brilliantly conveyed the anxiety of the perestroika generation. Sergei's passivity, incompetence, and paralysis of the soul did not appeal to the actor, whose own stance is active and uncompromising. Perhaps what allowed Menshikov to come to terms with the role and play it magnificently for years was the theme of unshared tragic love that Sergei feels for his wife.

Since then, the unhappy-love motif has become central in the actor's art. None of Menshikov's characters has had a fulfilling relationship or been able to find bliss in love. All his loves are misunderstood, unshared, or abused. Whether Menshikov, the actor, has brought on stage and screen the baggage of his own personal experience still remains a mystery, since Menshikov, the person, has always shunned the world and has even hired bodyguards to block journalists, paparazzi, and numerous female fans. He painstakingly dodges all personal questions on those rare occasions when he does make a public appearance or grant an interview. Fellow actors who have crossed paths with Menshikov all admit that although he is very approachable professionally, he always keeps a distance personally, not letting anybody into his heart and soul.

Valery Fokin, the artistic director of the Y ermolova Theatre, said in an interview that, after joining their troupe, Menshikov realized that one thing that theatre lacked was the close-up. Menshikov's eyes, which reflect every single emotion and movement of his soul, undoubtedly need to be seen by people beyond the fifth row. Obviously, ample opportunity for that is provided by the big screen. So it is little wonder that from 1983 (an important cornerstone year of Menshikov's career) to 1989 the actor chose to appear in ten different movies. There were two films in 1983: Roman Balayan's Polyoty vo sne i nayavu (Flights in a Dream and When Awake) and Potseluy (The Kiss). In 1984, he played Vladimir Mezhirov in Mikhail Tumanishvili's Polosa prepyatstviy (Obstacle Course). The year 1985 brought him one of the title roles in Vyacheslav Krishtofovich's film Volodya bolshoy i Volodya malenkiy (Big Volodya and Little Volodya). Also in 1985, Oleg starred in yet another title role- that of Captain Fracasse in a remake of Abel

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Gance's 1943 version of Theophile Gautier's novel, directed by Vladimir Solovyev. In 1986 Menshikov appeared in three very different films: Alexander Proshkin's Mikhailo Lomonosov; Pyotr Todorovsky's Po glavnoy ulitse s orkestrom (Down the Main Street with an Orchestra); and Yury Kushner's Moy {yubimyi kloun (My Favorite Clown).

Of those movies, Moy {yubimyi kloun (My Favorite Clown) deserves special mention. The screenplay, based on the novel by Vasily Livanov, was written by Nikita Mikhalkov and Alexander Adabashian. The plot revolves around a talented clown, Sergei Sinitsyn, unhappily married to a woman he loves, who does not appreciate him. The Sinitsyns do not have children, and Sergei wants to adopt. When his wife (who opposes the idea) goes abroad on a prolonged business trip, Sergei uses that opportunity to bring home an orphan. The melodramatic plot is not of primary importance here- the part of Sergei is. Menshikov plays an individual who dares to be different, who is ready to forego the conventions of contemporary society in order to prove to himself that he is a human being. He sacrifices his career, his family, and the comfort and luxury (his wife is well-off) of his everyday life for the little orphan. He is willing to endure personal losses and deprivations for a loftier purpose. Menshikov believes that consciousness is one quality that separates human beings from animals. But consciousness can only arise out of conflict with reality. Consciousness is a product of stepping aside from the world and contemplating one's inner self with pain and anguish. On the other hand, consciousness cannot originate without society, requiring a certain frame of reference to be able to judge the self. Therefore, the actor and all his characters, both on screen and on stage, constantly judge themselves, juxtaposing their morality and actions with the norms of contemporary life. Menshikov, the actor, just like Menshikov, the human being, dares to be different and swim against the current if he strongly believes in a cause.

Menshikov finished his pre-1989 period with Alexei Sakharov's Lestnitsa (The Staircase) and Stanislav Govorukhin's Bryzgi shampanskogo (Splashes of Champagne). It is remarkable that the young actor managed to appear in so many movies within such a short time frame while being fully involved in theatre productions. What is even more remarkable is that he turned down almost twice as many movie parts as he accepted. Being that picky is not typical of an actor-in-the-making, especially during the shaky and unstable perestroika era.

In 1989, Menshikov left repertory theatre for good, and the ostensible reason was his role in Alexander Buravsky's allegorical drama


Vtoroy god svobody (The Second Year of Freedom). After p laying Sergei Lukin in Sportivnye igry 80 go gada (Sports Games of 1980), the actor was assigned the part of Robespierre in a mediocre play written in a broad, loud, and shallow journalistic manner by a former journalist. In one of his rare interviews, the actor said that he had left because he was fed up with playing and doing what he was told and wanted to make his own choices. He did not have anywhere particular to go; he was just leaving theatre to become the first freelance actor of the Soviet era. Daring to be different, sacrificing his career for something he believed in {like Sinitsyn in Moy lyubimyi kloun (My Favorite Clown), certainly paid off. In a month and a half, Pyotr Fomenko asked him to play the leading part in Caligula, Albert Camus's historical drama of the absurd. Destruction of the humane in a human being is the feature that makes Camus's play so close and understandable to Russians in the 1990s. For them, the end of the twentieth century was marked by the ability of men to forget morals for their personal gain and advantage. Caligula was a great success due in no small part to Menshikov's interpretation of the Roman emperor. In the role of Caligula, the familiar motif of being different and, perhaps, chosen (which is very close to the actor's nature) takes on a new theme of personal defeat, which would later become central to Menshikov's art. "Men die; and they are not happy,"2 proclaims the Roman Emperor in Act I of Camus's drama, and Menshikov seems to appropriate this leitmotif and keep it alive in his later stage roles: Chatsky in Griboyedov's Gore ot uma (Woe from Wit), and Nijinsky in Alexander Burykin's N. In the film roles of Sashka Sly in Kavkazsky plennik (The Prisoner of the Mountains), Andrei Tolstoy in Sibirsky tsiryulnik (The Barber of Siberia), Lyonchik in Mama, and Alexei Golovin in Est/Ouest (East/West), Menshikov would bring that motif to perfection.

Playing Caligula in theatre proved to be very satisfying, and Oleg's movie schedule eased up slightly. Between 1989 and 1994, he only appeared in four movies: Alexei Rudakov's Zhizn po limitu (Life as per Q!.Iota), Alexander Muratov's Moonsund, Natalia Ilyinskaya's Yama (The Pit), and Andrei Khvan's Dyuba-Dyuba. All those movies were profoundly psychological, but none of them achieved popularity with Russian viewers.

In the summer of 1991, Menshikov was invited to play Sergei Yesenin in Martin Sherman's play When She Danced, staged at the Globe in London. Vanessa Redgrave played the part of Isadora Duncan, who was briefly married to Yesenin. Just as in real life, Menshikov spoke only Russian in the play, while Redgrave spoke only English. The play ran for six months,

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eight times a week, and was a huge success. While in London, Menshikov chanced upon the diary of Nijinsky, a controversial Russian ballet dancer intentionally forgotten in his homeland after he had immigrated to Europe. Romola Nijinskaya, the dancer's wife, preserved the diary and published it after her husband's death. Menshikov commissioned Alexei Burykin to write a play based on the diary. The actor did not only play the leading character in the drama (entitled N), but also directed it himself. (It is remarkable that Oleg's natural modesty prevented him from billing himself as director.) Menshikov's Nijinsky constantly searched for his "self' and for a God that, to the dancer, was to be found inside a person rather than outside of human reach. Through his art, Nijinsky/Menshikov tries to unite people with the God within. N was another milestone on Oleg's path: he has since directed his stage works himself. In fact, in the late 1990s Menshikov would create his own makeshift3 theatre troupe, Theatrical Partnership 814, where he could effectively combine acting and directing.

In 1994, Oleg played Mitya, an NKVD agent, in Nikita Mikhalkov's film Utomlyonnye solntsem (Burnt by the Sun). The part of Mitya had been written specifically with Menshikov in mind. The character needed to sing, tap dance, play the piano, be able to charm all the women at Kotov's country house, and at the end of the day, ruthlessly arrest Kotov and deliver him, a former Red Army hero and Stalin's protege, to his execution in Moscow. Menshikov plays a complex character whose deep, romantic soul and undying love for his former girlfriend, presently Kotov's wife, Marusya Golovina (Ingeborga Dapkunaite), coexist with the heartless efficiency of a well-trained torturer. The constant inner struggle of Mitya, the professional, versus Mitya, the human being, plays out against the stifling background of the Stalin regime, ending in mutual defeat. After destroying the Kotov clan, Mitya cuts his veins in a bathtub. The acute conflict between reality and a man's inner world results in Mitya's emotional turmoil and subsequent ruin.

In 1996, Menshikov was invited to play a leading part in Sergei Bodrov Sr.'s The Prisoner of the Mountains. Based on the eponymous short story by Leo Tolstoy, the movie is modified to fit the realities of the war in Chechnya. Oleg plays the part of a seasoned soldier, Sashka Sly (inspired by the nickname of Sylvester Stallone, Sashka's personal role model), who finds himself in a Chechen prison together with a rookie conscript (Sergei Bodrov Jr.). Spending day after day with the naive and tenderhearted young man who harbors no hatred for the enemy, Sly gradually opens up and reveals his true nature. The tough veteran fights for money: his son is sick and the


Menshikov as Mitya in Nikita Mikhalkov's Burnt by the Sun

medical care is costly. Sashka is not an innate killer; the war is the only way for him to obtain the necessary amount of money quickly. Under the innocent boy's benign influence, Menshikov/Sly allows his inner self to shed layer after layer of protective shielding. Underneath the mask of cruel indifference and complete self-control, the audience discovers an orphan with a tragic life story.

Mikhalkov's film The Barber of Siberia was released in 1999, twelve years after the project was first initiated. The part of Cadet Andrei Tolstoy, written specifically for Menshikov in the 1980s, was designed to showcase the diverse talents and acting abilities of the actor who was then in his late twenties. Menshikov, as Cadet Tolstoy, sings arias from Mozart's Le Nozze di Figaro, waltzes, and fences gracefully. For various reasons, the production came to a standstill. When the project finally got off the ground, Menshikov was thirty-eight. Playing a wide-eyed and naive twenty-year-old became a challenge. Instead of Meryl Streep, who was originally intended to co-star

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Menshikov as Sashka Sly in Sergei Bodrov Sr.'s The Prisoner of the Mountains

Slavic and East European Performance Vol. 25, No.3

with Menshikov in the movie, Julia Ormond was cast in the role ofJane. The tragic love story of Andrei and Jane is important but definitely not central in the movie, which glorifies the noble heart and honor of the Russian officer. Nostalgia for what Russians could have had but irreversibly lost with the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917 permeates The Barber. Menshikov's Tolstoy is a tragic hero, an innocent victim of circumstances who willingly accepts punishment for a crime he never committed to save the honor of the woman he loves. About 80 per cent of the dialogue in the movie is in English, of which Menshikov demonstrates perfect command. In his next movie he would equally effortlessly speak French.

Also in 1999, Oleg was invited to star in the French film East/West made by Regis Wargnier. In this movie (Academy Award nominee for best foreign-language film, winner of the audience award at the Miami International Film Festival and the Palm Springs International Festival), Menshikov plays a Russian immigrant lured back to his home country by the government in 1946. Taking Stalin's promises of pardon and a better life at face value, Alexei Golovine (Oleg Menshikov) optimistically returns to the Soviet Union with his French wife (Sandrine Bonnaire) and their young son. On screen, Menshikov is brilliant in another tragedy of an individual who must choose between love for his wife and her potential freedom (she gets trapped in Russia with no legal possibility of returning to France), and his ostensible betrayal of his family.

Menshikov's third movie role of 1999 is that of Leonchik in Mama by Denis Yevstigneyev. Each of the titular members of "the generation of the three M's" stars in it. The movie is based on a true story of the Ovechkin family. Nine! Ovechkina, mother of eleven children, trained her offspring to compose and perform musical numbers. Having achieved popularity in Russia as a musical band, they came to a decision to flee the country and settle in London. They agreed that in case of failure they would all commit suicide. Their scheme did fail and they all shot themselves, with the exception of a fifteen-year old son and a seventeen-year old daughter. The three Ms-Menshikov, Mironov, and Mashkov- play brothers (in the movie, the name Ovechkin is changed to Yuryev, and there are no sisters) who meet again a decade and a half after the tragedy, summoned by their mother who has just served fifteen years in prison.

In addition to his film work, Oleg Menshikov has used his Theatrical Partnership 814 as a venue for self-expression in theatre. He has both acted in and directed three plays, which have stirred Russian theatre

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Menshikov as Andrei Tolstoy in Nikita Mikhalkov's The Barber of Siberia

Menshikov as Alexei Go Iovine in Regis Wargnier's East/West


lovers. The plays were sold out throughout their run even though the ticket prices far exceeded the customary rate. Menshikov played Chatsky in Griboyedov's Woe from Wit, Gunter in Maxim Kurochkin's Kukhnya (The Kitchen), and Uteshitelny in Gogol's drama Igroki (The Gamblers). All these characters are conflicted; all of them are torn between accepted conventions and their own inner convictions; and all of them let their inner truth win out, at the expense of their status in society. All three characters, in Menshikov's interpretation, seemed to be going against the grain, fighting for their own place in the sun, not allowing themselves to compromise their principles for the sake of norms dictated by society.

In the spring of 2005, Fillip Yankovsky's movie Statskiy sovetnik (Civil Counsellor) was released. Menshikov played the leading part of Erast Fandorin, a brilliant detective of nineteenth-century Russia. The movie is based on Boris Akunin's popular book series in which Fandorin successfully uses his deductive method to solve various crimes. Civil Counsellor is the third movie about the great detective's adventures,4 and in each one, Fandorin is played by a different actor. Critics were unanimous in calling Menshikov the most somber, unemotional, and even morose Fandorin of the three. The actor's part was very challenging. He had to appear on screen most of the film (and half of this time in close-ups) with no action and no lines. Menshikov's "passivity" is so graceful and looks so natural that the audience never suspects that it is the most challenging part of acting. In Civil Counsellor, Menshikov is once again paired with Nikita Mikhalkov, who plays Fandorin's nemesis-a corrupt state official pursuing his own political agenda. Menshikov portrays an untrusting and asocial human being, and the price for his professional talents and achievements is separation and loneliness.

A September 2004 issue of the Telenedelya (a guide for Russian TV programming in the United States) reports that Menshikov has signed a contract for two TV series. He will play Ostap Bender, the main character in Ilya Ilf and Yevgeny Petrov's satirical novel Zolotoy telyonok (The Golden Calf), a charming swindler and con artist with a cynical sense of humor, and Dr. Zhivago, the title character of Boris Pasternak's lyrical epic. Both productions are tentatively scheduled for release in 2005. If so, audiences will soon be moved by Menshikov's interpretation of Pasternak's tragedy of a Faustian man and a poet in post-revolutionary Russia (a theme very much in line with the actor's previous characters) and enchanted by the ingenuity and wit of an amoral trickster of the 1930s.

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NOTES

I If the text is published or the movie is distributed, the translated title is given in italics, otherwise the English translation of the title is not italicized. 2 Albert Camus, Caligula and Three Other Plays, trans. Stuart Gilbert (New York: Vintage Books, 1958), 8. 3 Unlike the majority of professional theatres in Moscow, Menshikov's troupe has neither a permanent place to rehearse and perform nor a set group of actors and technicians. The troupe reassembles and reorganizes every time there is a new project and disbands upon its completion. 4 The first Fandorin movie (Azazel) was shot in 2003 by Alexander Adabashian and starred Ilya Noskov. It won two TEFI awards (Russia's equivalent to the Emmy awards). The second one, Turetskiy gambit (The Turkish Gambit) was released in early 2005. It was directed by Dzhanik Faiziyev and starred Yegor Beroyev.

68 Slavic and East European Peifbrmance Vol. 25, No.3

AN INTERVIEW WITH OLEG MENSHIKOV

Helene Lemeleva

In March, Oleg Menshikov brought to New York a classic Russian play by Nikolai Gogo!, The Gamblers, which he staged in cooperation with the co-director Galina Dubovskaya. The following interview took place in Russian on March 12, 2005 at the Tribeca Performing Arts Center before the opening show of The Gamblers.

Helene Lemeleva: You have brought to New York The Gamblers, the last production of your theatre enterprise, Theatrical Partnership 814, which you directed and where you played one of the main roles. What determined your choice of the material? Why Gogo!?

Oleg Menshikov: Originally, when the whole story was beginning, my participation was not intended-either as the director, or as the lead. But I love Gogol, and this title often flashed across my mind. I find this author in general extremely interesting. And then, when there came the idea to transfer the whole setting to a Ukrainian village, it solved it. We did not have big ideas about Gogol, or The Gamblers. It happened by itself The title just came to us. We started the rehearsals naturally, and I am happy it went that way, because from the point of view of the director's work, I consider it to be my best piece.

HL: You have already shown it in Toronto and Boston. Today is the opening night in New York. Tomorrow there are two more performances here. How are you being received on this continent?

OM: Very well! But you know how it is on a tour-one city after another, we keep changing the scenery, the lighting- even now, they are still recording the lighting .... So, it's all rather stressful.

HL: In Moscow, The Gamblers is played on a small stage. Here the facilities where you present it are much larger than the Stage under the Roof of the Mossoviet Theatre. Did you have to make changes to your show to adjust it to the new conditions?

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Oleg Menshikov and Helene Lemeleva at the Tribeca Performing Arts Center, New York, NY

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OM: We don't make any major external changes. Everyone adjusts his performance to this new situation. Actually, in Russia we already played The Gamblers on larger grounds-when touring to St. Petersburg, Kiev, other places .... 120 seats-unfortunately, it is not commercially viable, and people organizing the tours will never agree to that.

HL: Speaking about that, 120 seats is the size of the Stage under the Roof of the Mossoviet Theatre in Moscow. Having chosen this stage, you sacrificed significant cash returns from ticket sales.

OM: Well, yes, we did, because it seemed to us that this particular story requires a small space. In general, I hate small stages! I don't like them, though I gave my best performances on a small stage. Nijinsky, Caligula ... So, there are many reasons for me to like them- but I don't. I can't stand being scrutinized, but here-yes, two hours on a very small stage. But this story dictated it: a slight turn of the head, which can be seen only from a close distance, a hint of smile, a subtle change of expression in the eyes ... There is a moment when we sit with our backs to the audience- which would look rather provocative on a bigger stage. So, it was our conscious decision that this play is to be presented on a small stage. But when we go on tours, it's different; we can't explain all those things to the organizers.

HL: What is the main driving motif of your work? Judging by the fact that you deliberately chose the small stage, it is definitely not commerce. Then, what?

OM: (Smiling) Well, it must be something else. What we call artistic criteria.

HL: Is that what comes first?

OM: Yes. In fact, it has always been like that for us. Well, of course, it's understandable; we are a theatre enterprise, and we need to earn money- but, so far, this has never come first. No, really, it's not that we are so elevated and think only of the spirit and nothing else exists for us (smiles)- but, thank God, that is not the primary concern. The financial aspect, I mean. Well, we don't luxuriate, but we exist . . . normally.

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HL: You enjoy recognition both as an actor and a director. If we were to imagine a purely artificial situation where you would have to choose just one of the two: acting or directing, which would you choose?

OM: Honestly? Neither!

HL: Neither!

OM: To escape somewhere . . . To travel ... To have a rest at the sea.

HL: You are tired ... The time difference is really huge.

OM: Perhaps ...

HL: But if we were to be serious?

OM: I'll tell you. . . . For me those two professions are so linked together. ... Our age is so ... strange. Who can now separate the two? If an actor is good-I am not trying to say that it's me- but if we are talking about a good actor, he can't help being the director of his role; he can't help seeing the show from the outside; he should know how to help a lessexperienced partner be on stage. That's what's called directing, in my view. And it is naturally, organically connected with acting. In other words, I did not make a shift to a new profession. It just seemed to me that there were people to whom I could say something-and they could believe me. And then it went naturally.

HL: Speaking about the freedom of self-expression, how relative is this notion for you? How much do you have to look back at the viewers, the critics, the box-office sales? How much do all these factors interfere with the creative process?

OM: You know, all of it does interfere, but as far as I don't have to do it- I won't. Look back, I mean. I can tell you that so far I have not been looking back. But this does not mean that a moment will never come when I will have to look back-at the ticket sales, the critics, the press, and so on. But so far, thank God, I don't. In other words, it must be that the problems that touch


me internally coincide with those of the people sitting in the audience-they touch them, too. That's what makes everything happen.

HL: You staged classics; you staged postmodernism. And would you turn to the Silver Age?

OM: Well, it depends on the material. .. . I don't know .... To convey the spirit of the Silver Age, that anguish .. .

HL: Is it not close to you?

OM: It was very close to me. But now ... It's moving further and further away. The Silver Age is a little closer to youth. At least, it seems to me that it is so.

HL: You travel in time; your profession allows you to do so. If you were offered to choose yourself an epoch, would you stay here or go back or perhaps run forward?

OM: You know, I'll answer in a banal way: I would just stay. I don't know what it was like before-in books, one can make everything sound beautiful. ... The future is even more obscure. "We don't choose the times, we live and die in them." I think, one needs to try to live worthily during this space of time-to be, to exist for this time period, given to us from above.

HL: Not long ago you played the leading part in the production of The Demon, based on the poem by Lermontov. After just a few opening performances, the play was taken out of the repertory. I, unfortunately, was unable to see it. What is the reason of the forced death of a newborn show-a show that was interesting and had promised success?

OM: If we are talking about the external reasons, the main one was the absence of Kirill Serebrennikov, whom I consider undoubtedly one of the most talented directors in our theatre today.

HL: But what do you mean by absence? He staged the play, didn't he?

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OM: He did, and we played it a few times, and then he disappeared for two months. And when we all gathered to play the next show, and he was away at some filming and could not come to continue, simply to conduct the rehearsals, I understood that it was a nightmare. And Kirill showed up only in a month and a half. I understand it all-he was staging plays somewhere else, directing a movie, and so on. But I also understood that without rehearsals with him, without his interference, it could not go on. Then time passed, and it all just dissolved by itself. Though not without my participation, to tell you honestly .... It was hard to perform in this play. Because of its title. Because of the things it talks about. I never expected it to be easy-it should be hard, but ... in this case ... Sometimes it was hard in a wrong way. In short, the external reason was Kirill's absence and the small number of rehearsals, and the internal reason was connected just with me and my reflections about ... the heaven and the earth-let's put it that way.

HL: You said in one of your interviews that you were not going to participate in the productions of your theatre enterprise as an actor. Is that right?

OM: No. I just have always said that I want Theatrical Partnership 814 to have as its aim not only serving my interests as a director and an actor but also working for the creation of other productions without my participation.

HL: Let's talk about your cinema works. Nikita Mikhalkov plans to shoot a sequel to Burnt by the Sun. Judging by the delighted reception by the American audience of the original movie, one can easily predict lively interest in a sequel. When is the film scheduled to appear?

OM: Nobody knows that, but, thank God, the scenario has been written. In my view, it is a wonderful and exciting scenario, and it is ready. But when he will start to film-that's the question.

HL: Is the film planned to be presented in this country?

OM: (With a smile) Well, what film is not planned to be presented in this country? Yes, I think so ....


HL: Now you are working on two new movies: the first Russian screen version of Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago and the film The Golden Calf based on the Soviet satirical novel by Il'f and Petrov. It is difficult to imagine two characters who would be more different from each other. How do you manage to embody both practically simultaneously?

OM: No-no-no, that's all just talk; don't believe it! There is no such a thing as simultaneously for me. Now I am working only on Doctor Zhivago; in April I'll be finishing it, and in May I am starting The Golden Calf.

HL: You have worked much in the West. Your theatrical debut in London brought you the Lawrence Olivier prize; you played on the Paris scene, acted in a movie by Regis Wargnier. . . . What do you think: do Russian and Western theatre and cinema cultures differ much? Are these different schools, different approaches to art, different types of perception-or are there no different schools but just different themes, directors, and actors, so ultimately everything depends on the person?

OM: I agree with the second statement. Though I understand that there must be some differences in schools-but who would say that Brando did not work in Stanislavsky's system? Well, he had never been to Russia, had not studied there, and had no idea what the Russian theatre school was, but if an actor or a director is good, there are all the systems in him, and all the schools are there .... Everything, everything- Meyerhold, and T airov, and Lee Strasberg, everything in the world!

HL: Has Omar Sharif, in your opinion, embodied Doctor Zhivago?

OM: Bless you, no!

HL: And, in general, can a Western actor play a Russian intellectual?

OM: I don't know .... Well, I think, yes .... It just seems to me that the tasks of that movie were different. The story it told was not about a Russian intellectual.

HL: In the post-perestroika period in Russia, a lot of movies started to come out to satisfy certain market needs: criminal TV serials, one-day butterflies in

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the genre of light comedy or melodrama, not demanding much intellectual investment from either the creators or the viewers, but enjoying huge popularity among the widest audience. It is a normal phenomenon. Such movies are made in every civilized country. But you have never appeared in these kinds of projects, despite the fact that they bring immediate fame and material well being. You have most likely been offered roles in such films more than once. And this means that you refused. Why?

OM: You've posed your question so well that it already contains the answer. That is why. Yes, really, it exists everywhere. And will always exist, and now it appears in Russia, too. But everyone makes his choice. And as far as I have an opportunity to choose, I choose. But nobody knows what will happen tomorrow. Tomorrow everything can be taken away from me, and I will act in these soap operas.

HL: As a cinema actor you are known in this country for the films Burnt by the Sun and East/ West. Russia knows you by a number of outstanding films, some of which-such as The Prisoner qf the Mountains-are also known in the West. If we look at such films as Moonsund, Burnt by the Sun, East/ West, and now also Doctor Zhivago-we can see that a certain image has been formed that unites all these stories, although they are set in different historical moments: a Russian intellectual at a critical time in Russian history. This is the image in which your talent is revealed, in my view, to its fullest. But now, having talked to you for an hour, I can judge it is not just an image- and not just roles. And I would like to ask you: at this time, also crucial for Russia, is it difficult for a member of the Russian intelligentsia to remain himself?

OM: You know ... This notion is so broad: Russian intelligentsia. But it seems to me that now it's disappearing so rapidly you can hear a whiz-both the notion and these people. Yes, certainly, they do exist. But there have always been so few .... And in this, perhaps, is their unique quality-that there are few of them, and there will never be many.

HL: Do they have to make a compromise with the time now more than ever before?

OM: No, the real intelligentsia does not, but it seems to me that the Russian intelligentsia, m a broader sense, got spoiled by constantly making


compromises. It compromises all the time, and it justifies itself all the time, saying that since we have a sense of guilt, we are already the intelligentsia. No, I don't agree with that. This is a subject for prolonged discussion, and we can get lost in it now. But the Russian intelligentsia at this critical time ... (after a longpause) I would like to take a look at them. No, seriously. I am not saying that there are none. But there are few. Very few.

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MROZEK'S SERENADE AND PHILOSOPHER FOX

Arnie! Melnick

Over the last two years, East River Commedia has done many plays by Slawomir Mrozek. We've performed them in theatres, parks, parking lots, and malls; in the United States and in Poland; and, most recently, at Tribeca's Collective: Unconscious where we presented the animal fables, Serenade and Philosopher Fox. There's definitely something about Mrozek that appeals to us, despite the fact that these plays clearly belong to the very specific context of the 1960s in Poland and may seem somewhat out of place in the United States. In reviews of our production, reviewers almost invariably call the plays "absurd," often using the term to suggest that the plays are foreign, incomprehensible, or irrelevent to U.S. audiences.

When Martin Esslin included Mrozek in the second edition of his influential book The Theatre of the Absurd, he anchored the playwright in a very particular historical moment and gave his work a label that really stuck. We were not surprised to learn that Mrozek himself still feels constrained by it. In an interview at the 2000 Reykjavik Literary Festival, he comments:

Wherever I've gone over the last forty years I've hardly been asked about anything but the Theatre of the Absurd, every interview starts with Martin Esslin, his book has been read in every university all over the world, for all the critics it became a mantra in their criticism .... I suppose, for me, it's okay because I am known, somehow, thanks to it, but bad because it makes no sense. The book is now very old, very dusty, and I think, I even hope, that a new generation will have new ideas and find a completely new approach.!

Mrozek's objection to being pigeonholed and his disappointment with the shortsightedness of readers seems valid given how rarely his plays are produced in the United States today. Still, several of the qualities of the absurd that Esslin points out- a bleak view of society and civilization, a powerful charge of violence, attention to "the inadequacy of the rational approach"-are of great interest to East River Commedia and say more


Bishop and Fox in East River Commedia's production of Mrozek's Philosopher Fox

about Mrozek's endurance than about his irrelevance. To us, these qualities seem very appropriate for U.S. audiences.

Of course, in many ways Mrozek is a little out of place in New York today, and that's undeniably part of the attraction. The strange exterior and foreign references of Mrozek's plays make the disconcerting familiarity beneath the work all the more striking. East River Commedia is interested in producing work that is not only relevant to our time and place, but that also questions what it means to be "relevant"; Mrozek's plays, half-political satire, half-parable, consistently ask just that question. The plays are full of unexpectedly intimate moments, and because Mrozek's critique of social and political institutions is first and foremost a critique of human nature, their dark humor is entirely comprehensible.

The first thing we learned about Mrozek was that he has to be played to be understood. His superb sense of comic timing only reveals itself onstage, and his use of pauses, silences, and tempo changes is so well

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controlled that in performance you can almost hear the meaning by listening to the rhythm. In fact, the rhythm often says more than the words themselves, which dance around their own core meanings with a lightness that entirely belies their context. And it didn't take much to realize that the plays' gravity is best expressed in their most wildly funny moments. During the most recent production at Collective: Unconscious, laughter became a measure of the production's accuracy. In the chuckles and guffaws that accompanied Serenade and Philosopher Fox, we heard both appreciation of the humor and the audience's startled recognition of the plays' underlying ruthlessness.

Serenade and Philosopher Fox do set out to be ruthless; both plays expose the insatiable and irrational desires that underpin human actions. In Serenade, Fox (the main character of both plays) tantalizes three attractive inhabitants of a henhouse, who take turns flirting voraciously with him. Each hen seems, despite the warnings of their rooster husband, not to recognize the danger Fox brings-or rather, they are irresistibly attracted to it. Fox

Fox in Mrozek's Serenade


Rooster, Red, Blonde, and Brunette in the henhouse of Mrozek's Serenade

adapts his seductive tactics to the individual hen, accusing romantic, sex kitten Blonde of not trusting him; using reverse psychology on the pseudopsychiatrist Brunette; and waiting patiently for Red-a man clad in a red satin robe and heels, and speaking with a thick Polish accent-to come to him.

Fox's murderous charm (not to mention his formidable knowledge of1980s love songs) goes a long way toward getting the hens to the very door of the henhouse, but the victim he actually extracts from the wire cage ends up being the overprotective Rooster. Despite his fear, Rooster is as easily manipulated by Fox as the hens, and in the end, he actually chooses to go, shirtless, with sequined briefs bared, into the mouth of the beast. Disturbingly, this is a "happy ending," leaving everyone with what they (more or less) wanted-the play's "villain" dead, the heroines free from his jealousy, the hero sated.

Of course, Fox is bound to be hungry again, and the stage is set for Philosopher Fox. But the hunger in this second play is of a more spiritual kind,

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triggered by Fox's chance encounter with a bishop sitting on a bench in the park. Trying to make the most of his opportunity, Fox reasons, demands, and finally pleads with Bishop to give him a religious validation for his bestial need to keep killing. Fox's desperate wish to justify the desires that seemed so straightforward in Serenade is suddenly revealed, and the effortless control that made the killer so attractive in the first play disappears.

The unwitting object of Fox's tirade, his "victim," is a cock in a torn red dress and fishnets, with a leash attached to the studded dog collar around his neck. Cock is a joyful relic of the amorous self-destruction of the previous play (he might even be Red, spared from the massacre in Serenade). He's completely trashed and even more eager than the hens to be devoured, as long as it's a good time. Like the characters of Serenade, if more extreme, Cock suggests that the desire for self-destruction is as irresistible as that for power. Fox's downfall reveals that desire to be more insatiable than hunger. Together the plays ask, what do we really want and why? Can we possibly know?

Fox and Red in Mrozek's Serenade

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The panting willingness of the chickens to be eaten also works as a form of theatrical commentary: the prey wants nothing more than to be good in the role of prey. Fox is similarly eager to demonstrate how much like a fox he can be-he constantly displays his "cunning" tricks for all to see. Of course, in announcing his menace, he defuses it. ("Did your husband not tell you who I am ... ? A fox, therefore a murderer"; "doubtless your Excellency knows I'm a bloodthirsty animal?") The plays' self-referential redundancy makes it clear that the pretext of using animals as a metaphor for humans is in fact not a pretext at all; the bestial impulses that drive humans are completely self-evident, and it is their distortions and convolutions that become interesting. In Mrozek's dialogue, language, which pretends to mask the characters' lust for power, sex, "truth," freedom, etc., in fact makes their motivations clearer and the framework of the play more apparent. If Mrozek seems foreign to U.S. audiences, it is partly because he eschews the emotional complexity of naturalism; in these plays, manipulation is sincerity.

Yet Mrozek's use of self-conscious archetypes and overstatement create an uncommon relationship with the audience. He manages to surprise by simply doing the most obvious thing. In Serenade, for example, coy exchange after coy exchange gets the audience laughing at the characters' failed attempts at subtlety, until Fox and Blonde suddenly drop the pretence of their conversation about "trust":

FOX: Please tie my hands. Then not only will you be completely safe but I will be completely unarmed. Can there be greater proof of trust?

BLONDE: The ribbon is not enough. I need a bigger guarantee. FOX: In that case I suggest we go to my place. I have handcuffs at home. BLONDE: Really? FOX: Handcuffs, chains, ropes, and even stocks. BLONDE: And you'lllet yourself be tied up?2

The palpable sexual tension and innuendoes of Serenade have completely anticipated the S&M references of this scene-at the very first mention of tying hands, the audience ought already to be thinking of handcuffs. Even then, when the thing that was being hinted at so broadly was actually said out loud, when Fox actually named his implements, the audience burst into

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Fox and his prey, Cock, with Bishop in Mrozek's Philosopher Fox

embarrassed laughter. The play itself laughs at the idea of leaving the discussion on a "nudge nudge, wink wink" level. The characters have every intention of taking the game much further than that. For East River Commedia, this scene was a kind of a path marker, a sanction even, urging us to take the production to much greater extremes of explicitness-not only in allowing the sexuality of characters' relationships to be presented, but in creating a direct and knowing bond with the audience.

It is very clear in Mrozek's plays that the relationship between language and action is not natural, that it is a transaction. Like any satirist, he uses archetypes and stereotypes to create recognizable characters that can broker this transaction, asking the audience to see reflections of themselves and their society in the work. This use of specific types should create a perfect opportunity to recontextualize the plays by updating the types. But East River Commedia found New York's endless variety too difficult to package. Our productions of both Serenade and Philosopher Fox drew more on


an overall sense of madness in New York, on the generalized extremity of the behavior we see all around us. Finding inspiration in the melodrama of sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, the fervor of the religious fanatic, the zeal of the sadomasochist, and the thoughtless brutality of the American torturer, our characters became familiar by allowing an in-your-face vehemence to show through the controlled language of the dialogue.

The excessiveness of these wide-ranging contextual references was matched in the production by an over-the-top theatricality that physically and emotionally stretched the limits of the text. By the middle of the second play, Fox is almost over the edge, physically exhausted by his attempts to play both Bishop's part and his own, and mentally in knots as a result of his own reasoning. Cock is even more visibly going to pieces. At one point, already on the verge of collapse, he cracks open a can of Budweiser and downs the whole can in one go. Beer spurts out of the can, sprays the audience, and gushes over the front of his torn dress. The huge burp assures the audience that there was no fakery in his performance. The physicality, like the language, relies on an almost gross overstatement that crosses the line

Fox and Cock in Philosopher Fox

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between the theatrical and the real-the characters seem to be genuinely on the verge of falling apart, destroyed by their own theatricality.

After so much flirting with disaster, the ending had to be a matter of life and death. In the final scene of Philospher Fox, Bishop refuses once and for all to speak to Fox, destroying all his Old World arguments with the simple baring of a pink, plastic, all-too-feminine breast, and then leaves. Cock asks, 'Where are we?"- to which Fox can only respond despairingly, "The end." The text ends there, but that final self-referential shrug, allowing an escape in theatricality, was not the gesture East River Commedia wanted. Instead, Fox strangles Cock. The death is violent, drawn out, and near pornographic, and when it's all over, Fox nestles up behind his victim, seeming to go to sleep. Unlike the bloody, chewing mouth that is the final image of Serenade, this scene was disturbingly peaceful-the lights went out very slowly. When the audience applauded, it did so hesitantly, as if afraid of waking Fox. It was as though the play, having coaxed audience members into identifying with Fox, was forcing them to admit this bond at the very

Blonde, Red, and Brunette following Serenade


moment in which it had become most distasteful. Unwillingly applauding a murder, the audience, like Fox, seemed conscious of only being able to do what it was programmed to do.

Having applauded, the audience seemed to want to forget the end entirely. Still, people lingered. There was one moment they did want to discuss: the entracte. After Serenade, the hens, dressed in mourning for their husband, come out of the henhouse. Three in a row, they begin to move side to side, dancing in the face of death. In many ways this is the real cathartic moment in these plays. As Marek Grechuta's song "W~dr6wka" plays, Red exits the stage, then Brunette, leaving an accelerating Blonde in stiletto heels, hair swinging, terrifyingly precarious and completely wild. The dance was irrational and inexplicably compelling, and it was almost impossible to think of it as a choreographed performance. Everyone wanted to know, where did it come from? Did Mrozek write it? Even the director answered that he hardly knew where it came from. The dance could almost be an eruption of Mrozek's subconscious, enacting the fight to stay alive that he describes as his reason for writing:

I have an unceasing need of organization and clarity, because I feel threatened by chaos and darkness. I believe that chaos and darkness are natural elements, our natural setting, of which we have more than enough. I am constantly blurred, torn, decentralized and consider that only through constant centrifugal work can I in some way balance this process, stay alive, protect myself from disintegration and madness.3

The dance strips off the pretense of control in the plays, in writing itself, and suggests that a "new approach" to the plays must be one that risks losing its balance. In this production we came closer than we expected to disaster. Just about everything fell apart; by the end of the run, the doors were falling off the chicken coop, there were holes in the wire, the shriveled Christmas tree had lost all but a few needles, several performers were injured. But the performances kept getting better. The more the show tested the boundaries of the stage, and the more the set went to pieces, the more the sense that something was really happening crept in. The considered and scripted choices that separate the performer from the character were revealed as a doorway through which chaos could enter the room. And as always with Mrozek, we recognized reality in this chaos by discovering our renewed

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ability to laugh. Watching Blonde slam Fox's hand in the door for the fourth time that week, we'd find ourselves delightedly, gleefully surprised as though seeing the production for the first time. Not knowing why or how, we discovered the play had taken on a life of its own, overwhelming even our intimate knowledge of its choreography with the feeling that anything could happen.

Serenade and Philosopher Fox by Slawomir Mrozek. Directed by Paul Bargetto. Trans. by Jacek Laskowski. Featuring Troy Lavallee (Fox), Ray Wasik (Rooster/Bishop), Rad Kaim (Red/Cock), Heather Benton (Brunette), and Michelle Guthrie (Blond). Dramaturgy: Arnie! Melnick. Set Design: Mimi Lien. Costume Design: Oana Ban Botez. Lighting Design: Allen Willner. Music Composition: Lucien Ban. East River Commedia, Collective: Unconscious, New York City. February 3 to 27.

NOTES I Ami Ibsen, "No One Believes Plays," interview with Slawomir Mrozek, Reykjavik, 2000, http:/ / au.geocities.com/masthead_21issue5/ Mrozek.html. 2 Slawomir Mrozek, Serenade, trans. Jacek Laskowski, in The Mrotek Reader (New York: Grove Press, 2004), 545-6. 3 Qtoted in Halina Stephan, Transcending the Absurd: Drama and Prose of Slawomir Mrotek (Amsterdam; Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1997), fn. 10.


BARD'S SUMMERSCAPE 2004: SHOST AKOVICH AND HIS WORLD

Mary Keelan

During the summer of 2004 Shostakovich and His World, a festival of theatre, music, dance, and film played at the Richard B. Fisher Center for the Performing Arts at Bard College, located in the village of Annandale-on-Hudson, ninety miles north of New York City. Opening in June of2003 to universal accolades, the Frank 0. Gehry "frugally" designed performance building ($62 million) startles visitors experiencing it for the first time. Walking across the pastoral campus, one sees the building rise like a glistening mirage in a meadow stretching along the river highland, facing the Catskill Mountains. Its shimmering concrete, glass, and steel structure houses two main theatres: the nine-hundred-seat Sosnoff and the two-hundred- seat Theatre Two; and for students, rehearsal spaces in the Stewart and Lynda Resnick Theatre Studio and the Felisitas S. Thorne Dance Studio. The high-tech acoustics, designed by Yasuhisa Toyota, and versatile lighting imbedded in the architectural design seem to cry out: "Come, perform, enjoy!" In the summers of 2003 and 2004, Bulgarian, Czech, and Russian artists, among many others, did just that, introducing many rarely performed works.!

Shostakovich and His World delighted the 2004 summer audiences who were introduced to interpretations of Shostakovich, Gogo!, and Akhmatova by such theatre groups as the Alexandrinsky Theatre, Potudan, and AKHE from Russia, and the Credo from Bulgaria. A Russian film festival, which complimented the stage performances, presented cinematic works with music composed by Shostakovich and scenarios inspired by GogoJ.2

The featured programs at the SummerScape 2004 were: Gogol's Inspector General; Gogol!Shostakovich's The Nose; Shostakovich's Cherry Tree Towers; and Akhmatova/Marvin/Levi's Guest from the Future, all of which I saw in preview, premiere, or dress rehearsal. As a longtime resident of the Hudson Valley, I welcomed the opportunity to see seldom-staged Slavic and East European works at Bard's SummerScape Festival.

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I. The first production of the festival was Meyerhold and Korenev's

1926 version of Gogel's Inspector General in a new interpretation by Valery Fok:in, co-produced by the Alexandrinksy Theatre (the A.S. Pushk:in Russian State Academic Drama Theatre) of St. Petersburg and the Meyerhold Center ofMoscow. On opening night-July 8, 2004-buzz was everywhere in Gehry's incandescent lobby air at the Sosnoff Theatre. Most of the predominantly Russian-speaking audience knew that Fok:in's Moscow production had recently received the Russian Festival of Performing Arts Golden Mask award for best large-scale production.

Fokin created a grotesque, tragicomic spectacle richly layered more through the music and movement than through the dialogue. Decorum was quickly dispensed with as Khlestakov, played by Alexei Devotchenko, spun increasingly out of control. The lush Tsarist-era costuming, at once elegant and motley, contrasted with Alexander Borovsky's lopsided opening set, in which a skewed building and shifting doorway suggested a world gone topsyturvy. Once the agile rake Khlestakov and his shadow servant Osip, played by Yuri Tsurilo, careened into the town and occupied the home of the mayor, played by Sergei Parshin, the townspeople's volcanic gullibilityexpressed by atonal music-began to pulsate beneath the surface. The audience, caught up in the suspenseful deception that is plotted more specifically by Fokin than by either Gogo! or Meyerhold, laughed loudly at the dark jokes conveyed through the "musical realism."

When the handsome stern-faced Khlestakov arrived at the mayor's home, the mayor's wife and daughter (played by Svetlana Smirnova and Elena Zimina respectively), clearly charmed by the outlandish behavior of the stranger, entertained him with a romantic play. Swirling and spinning in a bouffant spectacle, the two women hunger for Khlestakov's favors and sing together as doubles of each other's appetites in a wittily staged piece of meta theatre.

Fokin translated Gogol's pillorying of bureaucratic bungling into visual images with the aid of Leonid Desyatnikov's score, which blended the surreal with the satiric-all perfectly timed. Melodic dissonance always conveyed the comedic intent. Sergei Gritsay's asynchronous choreography of arms, legs, heads, and torsos constantly created new configurations that then disassembled. This initially appeared overly stylized in its exaggerated angularity, but it soon made sense. No one was connected with any one else; misrule was the only rule.


"' ...... Inspector General, directed by Valery Fokin, at Bard SummerScape 2004

The many in the audience who understood Russian responded instantly with laughter to the moments of unadulterated comedy; the supertitles, by Anna Oralova, and the program synopsis, by Jonathan Levi, helped those not familiar with the text, which had undergone significant changes from Gogol's original. As Pesochinsky explains in the program, "Fokin's new staging uses the text written for Meyerhold's production, based on Gogol's early variants of the play and also incorporating some elements from Gogol's other writings, including Dead Souls, The Marriage, and The Gamblers." But reading Meyerhold's version would not have helped much, because "Fokin discards quite a few of the episodes and motifs that were specifically important to Meyerhold in 1926."

For his re-interpretation, Fokin concocted something deliciously baroque and bawdy, but even the frivolity of a wedding celebration contained sinister and diabolical overtones. The duped, cardboard-like officials, doomed to repeat their ingrained stupidity, amuse us ominously, at our peril. Remake, the vocal group that sang blithely from afar, could not dispel the dark mood at the heart of Fokin's staging of society's grimmest foibles. Although I recognized a debt to Gogo!, this Inspector General was an entirely new work.

Inspector General, directed by Valery Fokin, at Bard SummerScape 2004


II. When the lights came up at the end of the dress rehearsal for the

production of Shostakovich's, Moscow: Cherry Tree Towers [Moskva Cheryomushkz], director Francesca Zambello leaned forward in her seat in Theatre Two, instantly capturing the attention of the assembled cast, many of whom were singers from former Soviet republics. Oblivious to the applause of friends, the press, and the house audience, the acclaimed director continued working with the performers, fine-tuning the production in preparation for the six performances scheduled for that weekend.

This was the American premiere of Moscow: Cherry Tree Towers. The staging in Theatre Two allowed for the experimentation for which Zambello is recognized. The sparkle and zest of the production came from Shostakovich's music, as adapted and conducted by Sergei Dreznin, who infused the satiric tone of the story with his own musical wit. At times, he and his musicians created a cabaret feeling of intimacy for the audience.

Maintaining a fast-paced piano rhythm for the four male dancers, Dreznin conveyed the comforting reassurance of traditional Russian folk music and love ballads while injecting irony through songs such as "Workers of the World Unite." The satire on urban housing problems was never hardedged, nor did it succumb to sentimentality. Though this type of satire might have been highly topical when it was first performed at the Moscow Operetta Theatre on January 24, 1959, the Bard audience was able to relate to a work that transcends the immediacy of its own time. The musical deals with the struggles of three couples competing for an apartment in a new high rise government building being erected on the outskirts of Moscow-in Cheryomushki, or Cherry Trees. They succeed in gaining the coveted prize only after misadventures, disputes with officials, and subterfuges intended to mislead their competitors.

The set by G.W. Mercier for the production of Moscow: Cherry Tree Towers was designed to create the feel of a TV soap opera in which the camera can zoom in on the happenings in one family's life, simultaneously capturing what is going on somewhere else in another apartment or in the street. To the right, an interlocking, moveable scaffolding, painted a crimson orangered, suggested the skeletal structure of a Moscow apartment building and provided the frame for acrobatic dancing and lovers' duets.

A beautiful effect was thereby produced; the metal structures on stage complemented the open girders in the auditorium, as if all were part of one single stage setting. When the scene shifted to the street, large

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cement-looking blocks were pushed onto the stage to become a bench or car, changing colors to suit the setting. To the left an enormous video screen flashed scenes corresponding to the subject of a given song: Moscow streets, Soviet-style apartments of the 1950s, classic books, museum rooms, touring maps. The overall effect of the media projections was distracting; the music and libretto did not need visual illustration. To the side of the scaffolding, a piano and accordion, supplemented at times by other instruments, kept up the fast-paced momentum of the piece.

The Russian audience particularly enjoyed the nostalgic fun of this Communist-era musical, which seemed to bring back many memories.

III. Perhaps the most awaited event at the Bard SummerScape 2004

festival was the American Symphony Orchestra's performance of Shostakovich's comic opera in three acts, The Nose, directed by Francesa Zambello and conducted by Leon Botstein, the president of Bard College and music director of the American Symphony Orchestra. I attended a performance on preview night in late July; the Sosnoff Theatre was filled with a standing-room-only audience who had come to hear and see a rarity. Shostakovich's operatic version ofGogol's story was premiered in January of 1930 at the Maly Theatre in Leningrad, but it was never revived in the composer's lifetime; the opera was not rehabilitated in the USSR until1974.

In Gogol's fantastic tale, the loss of a nose by a public official and his quest for its return via a classified ad is treated as an ordinary everyday event. Eventually, the missing appendage is returned to its rightful owner. Inspired by Gogol's grotesque satire, the twenty-one-year-old Shostakovich composed his first opera, The Nose. It was considered by one critic as "an autobiographical opera" and "his first creative and social manifesto."3

The opera focuses on a government official, Major Kovalyov (played by Igor Tarassov) who draws many others into an extended chase to reclaim his missing nose. Even with his newly reattached nose, Kovalyov's paranoia intensifies, and he blames Madame Podtotschina (played by Makvala Kasrashvilli) for his dilemma, since she is involved in seeking a husband for her daughter (played by Lauren Skuce), who with her mother dances and sings a sexy duet.

The SummerScape production eschewed seriousness as well as the temptation to rely too much on slapstick. The American Symphony Orchestra contributed a formidable sound, accenting the satiric and allowing


Sketch by Georgi Alexi-Meskhishvili, costume designer, for The Nose, directed by Francesca Zambello,

at Bard SummerScape 2004

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The Nose, directed by Francesca Zambello, at Bard SummerScape 2004

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the absurd to resonate. At times, however, the musicians so overpowered the singers that the theatrical aspect of the opera often seemed secondary to its musical form. Fortunately, Francesca Zambello, working in close collaboration with set designer Rafael Viiioly, and costume designer Georgi Alexi-Meskhishvili, effected a balance between the two. The sets moved with precision and grace, engaging the audience's imagination throughout all the bizarre happenings. The opera was sung in Russian with supercities by Cori Ellison.

IV. Three of Gogol's short stories: The Overcoat, Nevsky Prospekt, and

White Cabin, were presented at the festival in new interpretations by Russian performance artists under the rubric Petersburg Tales. The performers were selected and invited to Bard by Jonathan Levi, managing director of SummerScape 2004. Levi described to me his discovery of one of the groups: "It was late November, a month of slush and little light .... A few steps off Nevsky Prospekt [in St. Petersburg], a tiny puppet theatre, the Potudan, was performing a marionette version of Gogol's story Nevsky Prospekt in the basement of Dostoevsky's house."

The three different versions of Gogol's Overcoat presented at SummerScape 2004 bore scant resemblance to each other. Each was in a different medium, and each came from a different period. There was a celebrated Soviet silent film from 1926, directed by Grigori Kozintsev and Leonid Trauberg; an animated work-in-progress from 1978, created by Yuri Norstein; and a clown performance by the contemporary Bulgarian Credo Theatre.

The Kozintsev/Trauberg eighty-four-minute silent film, in a quality restored print with well-lit scenes, powerfully evoked the profound loneliness of the clerk, but it was slow moving. The screening came alive because of the music, in the form of a live piano accompaniment, joyously played by Sergei Dreznin (whose stunning musical adaptation of Shostakovich's Moscow: Cherry Tree Towers I would not hear for another few weeks). I asked Dreznin if he had composed a score for The Overcoat. He laughed a "no," saying he simply watches the film and improvises as he goes along, although he confessed to having done one run-through the previous day. His energetic improvisation was the result of a combination of his own brilliance on the piano, his sensitivity to the work of the filmmakers (subsequent collaborators with Shostakovich), and his intuitive grasp of Russian character and culture.

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The puppet company Potudan's marionette production of Gogel's Nevsky Prospekt presented at Bard SummerScape

Different music was heard at The World of Yuri Norstein film program in early August. As the spectators filed into the screening center, the strings of the American Symphony Orchestra were tuning up to play the premiere of composer Alexander Bakshi's Dialogue with the Overcoat, which was written to accompany Norstein's "masterwork-in-progress." In his exuberant introduction, Jonathan Levi advised the audience that they were "in for a treat." He described Norstein as "the greatest living animator," who was such a "stickler for detail" that he finished but twenty-two minutes of his animated Overcoat in twenty-five years. It proved to be a spellbinding expenence.

Also in August, AKHE, the three-person Russian engineering theatre ensemble, presented in Theatre Two their version of Gogel's White Cabin as part of Nightscape, "a cabaret of informal entertainment." AKHE was founded in 1989 by St. Petersburg actors and artists Maxim Isaev, Pavel

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Semtchenko, and Vadim Vasiliev, who left the Russian Yes/No Theatre and began to stage their structured happenings in both Petersburg and Moscow. Andrei Sizintsev is the composer and Vadim Gololobov the lighting designer. Their 2004 tour, which included venues in France, Germany, Mexico, Spain, and Italy, brought AKHE to SummerScape at Bard College. AKHE, which has already attained cult status among the performing arts avant-garde of Eastern Europe, is now generating interest worldwide on the basis of their perplexing and unnerving performances.

As the diverse crowd took their seats, they were confronted by a strangely calming opening image: a spotlight shone on a lone chair facing upstage and another illuminated a woman, her hair in curlers, seated at a whirring film editing machine, seemingly watching something. Otherwise there was silence but for the gradual piercing sound of Latvian composer Nick Soudnick's music. Fifteen minutes remained before the start of the performance, but AKHE was already controlling the audience, preparing them for what was to follow.

Gogol's White Cabin presented by AKHE (Russian Engineering Theatre) at Bard SummerScape 2004

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The drama resided in images. When the woman protagonist rose from her editing machine and sauntered over to the chair at the front of the stage with her back to the audience, rumbling, frightening sounds announced a lighting shift, first making visible a man smoking and reading, then a bearded sailor in white beret entangled in bubble gum. All the male roles were played by Pavel Semtchenko and Maxim lsaev. Twittering sounds suggested hovering birds. The spotlight staggered across the stage, illuminating two bearded men smoking, then a sailor standing on a chair and constructing a noose. The music intensified as he positioned his head and allowed himself to drop only to have the rope break. A red liquid spilled down onto him, which he then licked. The eyes of the spectators zigzagged and darted about the stage, unable to stay focused on a single character. The scenes shifted kaleidoscopically. As a clump of newspapers wafted down from above, someone appeared dressed in news print, and a red-hatted man struggled to remove papers from a briefcase as the entire stage became filled with newspapers. The red-hatted man swung the briefcase at the woman, eventually pouring wine into a box she was holding, but the sailor, costumed in newspaper, disentangled himself, dancing away, naked, only to become ensnared in a web of rope crisscrossing the stage.

For the next hour the three AKHE performers mesmerized the audience with what they refer to as "living body installations." Their ingenious maneuvering among the intertwining ropes produced a war of entanglement and extrication. Images within images proliferated, resulting in auditory and visual hallucinations. The spectators were assaulted by silent film projections, smells, fire and smoke, masks, transforming colors, dolls with porcelain mugs, bourbon-spewing marionettes, lip-synching manuscripts, phone books, and musical instruments screeching to such a crescendo that some audience members clasped their hands to their ears. The minimal props manipulated by the cast seemed to have their own souls.

The DVD of AKHE performances was unfortunately sold out, although some CDs remained. At midnight, after the show, the perplexed audience wanted more information and explication.4

SummerScape 2004 produced a beautifully printed program describing all the events, with additional essays by practitioners and scholars. I could only hope that there would be full archival documentation that would contribute to electronic-based performance-studies scholarship. SummerScape 2004 was possible not only because of the visionary planning of Leon Botstein and Jonathan Levi, but also thanks to support and


underwriting from many generous sponsors and donors, including POM Wonderful, pomegranates, for The Nose. Ticket prices were realistic for the region, with senior, student and "rush" honored. As Richard Fisher, principal donor to the center and chairman emeritus of Morgan Stanley, comments, "It's absolutely essential to develop financial support for risk-taking performing arts centers."

NOTES

I See: Sharon Marie Carnicke, "Henrietta Yanovska and Kama Ginkas Premiere in the United States," Slavic and East European Petformance 24, no. 1 (Winter 2004). 2 Shostakovich, who as a young musician played the piano for silent films, is credited with the scores of thirty-seven films. 3 Solomon Volkov, Shostakovich and Stalin (New York: Knopf, 2004), 65. 4 See AKHE's website: www.akhe.ru.

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WHEN AMERICANS PLAY CZECHS: SVE]K OFF BROADWAY

Veronika Tuckerova

Theatre for a New Audience in November 2004 presented the American premiere of Colin Teevan's Sve;k, based on Jaroslav Hasek's The Good Soldier Sve;k and directed by the Lithuanian Dalia lbelhauptaite. The play was first performed by the Gate Theatre in London in 1999. It starts with the undercover detective Bretschneider and Svejk sitting at a white clad table in Prague's Chalice Pub. Bretschneider reads Pratski noviny, dogs are barking in the background. It is the pub owner's wife, not Svejk's charwoman as in the original Hasek's novel, who pronounces the novel's famous opening lines: "And so they've killed our Ferdinand,"! having in mind, of course, the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the emperor Franz Joseph's nephew. The props are unexpected: spotless white tablecloth, wine glasses rather than beer mugs, and the lean figure of Bretschneider in a hat and a raincoat, reminiscent of an efficient British spy rather than a clumsy Czech.2 The lean and tall figure ofJosef Svejk is also striking; the image of the "Good Soldier" as a corpulent man was created almost simultaneously with the novel by Hasek's friend Josef Lada in a serialized comics adaptation of the novel for a Czech newspaper, and this is the image any Czech associates with Svejk. The very first impression from the British play thus promises a fresh reinterpretation of the novel.

Rather than a new interpretation, however, we get a play well informed by the long tradition of theatrical adaptations of Hasek's epic novel. The first Czech play based on Sve;k dates from 1921, still during Hasek's life, when only the first two of the planned six volumes had been published. Hasek completed another two volumes before his death in 1923. Among the famous adaptations was the one by Max Brod and Hans Reimann; in this version Sve;k has been played on many European stages since the beginning of the 1930s. Perhaps the most influential dramatization of Svejk was the one written by Brecht, Gasbarra, and Lania, directed by Erwin Piscator and with Max Pallenberg as Svejk. This version from 1928-29 also marked an important stage in the development of Brecht's epic theatre-a theatre that fundamentally changed the relationship between the actor, the role, and the audience, and opposed the


.... 0 w

Svejk, based on Jaroslav Hasek's The Good Soldier Svejk, directed by Dalia Ibelhauptaite

Josef Lada's illustration of Svejk

popular model of Stanislavsky's theatre. The epic and episodic character of the novel called for a new theatrical practice. The character of Svejk is one that the reader cannot identify with and, when transposed to theatre, allows for the sort of estrangement that Brecht tried to achieve through a variety of theatrical means. A number of musicals, operettas, and even operas inspired by the novel testify to the popularity of Svejk; among them, for example, there is the 1952 opera by the American composer of Czech lineage, Robert Kurka, famously staged in 1960 by Berlin's Komische Oper.

In some respect, this new production follows in the footsteps of Piscator. Similarly to the German director, Teevan used only the first two volumes of the picaresque novel and maintained its episodic structure. He chose a few key episodes rather than attempting to bind the episodes by a unifying plot, a practice common to some of the earliest adaptations but totally alien to the novel. The play starts with the assassination of the Archduke Ferdinand, lingers on Svejk's encounters with bureaucratic


machinery, whether psychiatric or military, in "the rear," and follows Svejk to the front, which forms the beginning of tbe second volume. It goes beyond the scope of the novel when it presents some actual fighting at the front, not to be found in Hasek's novel. The play's ending achieves a sense of completion by having Svejk return to the table at the Chalice Pub. A serious tone, added by the realistic cannonade in the background, followed by one or two brief moments betraying Svejk's genuine bafflement, are missing in Hasek; they, however, accentuate the customary interpretations of Svejk as an anti-war and anti-military satire.

But most of the play is humorous, swift, and crisp. The stagecraft is a modernist rendering of the lower-class and far less artistic original Sve;k. Cabaret style permeates some of the episodes and marks the most innovative and enjoyable scenes. The canine motif introduced by barking in the first scene is recurrent and culminates in an amusing operetta-like encounter between Colonel Kraus and Lieutenant Lukas. Lukas takes a walk with his newly acquired pincher, not knowing that his butler Svejk stole the dog from colonel Kraus. It is this incident that leads to LukaS's and Svejk's being sent off to the front. A scene ensues when the oblivious Lukas runs into his superior promenading on Prague's corso: the ever increasing and accelerating voices of the colonel and Lukas turn into barking staccato; the pincher completes the trio. A stylized representation of speech recurs also in a later episode when Svejk delivers Lukas's amorous letter by mistake to the addressee's husband. The betrayed husband screams in Hungarian, and his incomprehensible speech- gibberish, in fact- now mimics the Hungarian intonation. Actors impersonate animals, Lukas's cat and canary, which Svejk introduces as friends, with a deadly result that everybody (the audience and the reader that is) but Svejk expects: only a few yellow feathers remain from the canary. In a shift typical of this production, LukaS's lover who arrives uninvited resembles a 1920s cabaret-like, blase courtesan, rather than an aging provincial housewife. Songs, pantomime, and acrobatic movements contribute to the sense of the 1920s cabaret-extravaganza.

The stage is bare and not especially imaginative. Yellow walls are splintered with black; a clock decorates the wall. An occasional prop includes a large suitcase and a typewriter, suggesting the writer Jaroslav Hasek, who included some autobiographical references in the novel. Two characters complement the action on stage: the figure of a Footnote providing additional information and brief commentaries (the Footnote

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Stephen Spinella as Svejk in the American premiere of Colin Teevan's Svejk, directed by Dalia Ibelhauptaite

appears as a soldier, as a butler, as a reporter for The Animal World, a journal where Hasek worked as an editor), and a man in a striped suit and a bowler hat, a Franz Joseph character, some sort of controlling intelligence, who appears above the stage and personifies a higher or divine authority. These two characters mediate between the audience and the events on the stage. They supply the voice of the author, almost entirely missing in the novel, one of the reasons that we can only cautiously call the book a satire. The Footnote and the larger than life Emperor function as devices producing an effect of estrangement, breaking the fictional theatrical space by introducing another perspective of a different degree of fictionality.

The songs are reminiscent of songs in Brecht's plays that often are not part of any of the roles. Most of the songs in Sve;k were composed by Lenny Pickett, with lyrics by Colin T eevan. The songs both suggest the meaning of the play (one song is titled "The Little Man of History") and the sense of time and place ("0 Austria My Fatherland"); or comment on


the action on stage ("As the Soldiers Marched Away") and some add a local Czech texture, such as the Czech colloquial song "Kazda holka da." If we see Teevan's play as influenced by Brecht's theatre, we must admit that Piscator and Brecht came up with a solution that is not dated even today. Piscator's production was very innovative for its time; the German director used various visual means, such as stills of Prague, a film of Georg Grosz, puppets and photomontage.3 It used moving belts, a new invention, to emphasize the novel's steady epic movement. A contemporary audience, of course, is accustomed to modern theatrical techniques, as well as a theatre that freely breaks the Aristotelian unities of time, place, and action, while taking them for granted.

Any translation depends on an interpretation. Teevan's Svejk depends on two interpretations: one that helped the translation from Czech to English, and one that enabled the transposition of the literary text into a play. Svejk has traditionally been read as an anti-war satire, both in official Czech (Marxist) criticism, as well as abroad (most significantly due to the Brecht's 1942 play Schweyk im zweiten Weltkrieg, which sets a Svejk character in the Second World War), and this is also the interpretation behind Teevan's version. This is revealed by an occasional interpretive remark in the play emphasizing the absurd situation of a man caught in the machinery of military bureaucracy, such as "I find myself in a vicious circle," and "You can't get crazy over things you can't control." The play echoes the Brechtian "small man" caught in the larger context of history. The Emperor's words, "You are the footnote," addressed to the audience toward the end of the play, generalize Svejk's experience: an individual is a mere footnote to the "official history." Hasek's own description of Svejk is less tendentious.

The original novel is perhaps more complex and elusive; it rarely comments directly, but rather exposes the corruption of the bureaucratic system and its representatives by using Svejk's innocence as a foil. The extraordinary richness of the novel's language with its wealth of Czech idiom and use of numerous other languages (above all, German), is mostly lost in English translations. The play's transposition of speech into barking in the scene when Colonel Kraus shouts at Lukas is thus an interesting and original solution to the question of the representation of the novel's linguistic richness.

There is no doubt that the popularity of the novel since its first publication owes much to the figure of Svejk himself. It is also the figure

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of Svejk that has led to the various, often contrary, interpretations. Is Svejk an idiot, is he a fool, or is his idiocy (certified by the state, as he happily admits) only a mask that helps him survive? In the recent production, Teevan's Svejk (Stephen Spinella) has a lively, happy face, and joyously declares his official idiocy. He is swifter than the novel's Svejk. He eludes interpretation in the same way that the character in the novel does, due to his composite nature. This is perhaps what allowed such varied and often far-fetched interpretations, both in the Czech and world context. Hasek's limited description of Svejk can be found in the novel's "Preface" where he describes Svejk as a "quiet, unassuming, shabbily dressed man," yet a "heroic and valiant good old soldier."

The Marxist critics (along the same lines as Brecht) read Svejk as a subversive character, willfully attempting to undermine the AustroHungarian state "from below." It took a while for the Czech critics to accept Svejk as an important literary work; in the beginning, many ignored the book, considering it a form of a low entertainment. Official Czechoslovak scholarship then exploited the popularity of the book and the character and insisted on their "anti-imperialist" content.

In the United States, Svejk has often been read from yet another angle: through the prism of other, later anti-war novels, primarily Heller's Catch-22, but also Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five. The reviewer of the play in the New York Times, Caryn James, refers to this tendency: "[I]t is possible to see how Hasek's themes echo through the past century, even if his novel was not the direct influence on books like Catch-22 or Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five that many blithe claims make it seem." But even James likes to draw the parallel: "There is something Svejkian, though, about Heller's Yossarian, the ordinary guy trapped in the twisted logic of army regulations. "4 In a more scholarly analysis, J.P. Stern saw the affinity between Svejk and Catch-22 in that both heroes behaved similarly in the circumstances of a war that is presented as a "self-contained pursuit." Stern claims: "The obvious direct influences of Hasek's work on Mr. Heller's occur where the conflict between the military machine and the private person is presented in its crassest and most absurd form."5 Although Stern admits that Heller did not count Hasek among the writers who influenced him, he still discerns the influence of Hasek in the humor of Heller's later novel.

Svejk's behavior is at the crux of the diverse interpretations. The New York Times reviewer mentioned the word "svejkism" (translated here


not very precisely as "extreme passivity"), apparently the anglicized version of the Czech fvejkovat, which in Czech describes playing truant, malingering, pretending stupidity out of passive resistance. But as the Czech critic Blaiicek pointed out, Svejk is anything but passive.6 On the contrary, Svejk is the only citizen who is enthusiastically patriotic and who insists that despite his rheumatism, Svejk's charwoman Mrs. Muller pushes him to the draft committee in a wheelchair, while he holds up his crutches and shouts: "To Belgrade, to Belgrade!" Another cliche has it that Svejk above all tries to survive; also this is a doubtful claim if we consider that Svejk never thinks about his immediate needs, but rather openly embraces any situation that he finds himself in, not calculating and not thinking about consequences. Perhaps there is a need for a new, more nuanced interpretation of the novel, a reading that would pay a close attention to the text. Teevan, in his own words, focuses on Svejk's "simple non-political desire to survive the madness." In this, Teevan perhaps makes a first step in this new direction, and in his liveliness, Svejk does more than merely survive. This play is not groundbreaking, but it is a funny, lively and entertaining extravaganza that occasionally raises more serious questions, if not about war, then certainly about life.

Works Consulted:

Blazicek, Premysl. Has"kuv Svejk. Praha: Ceskoslovensky- spisovatel, 1991. Hajek, Jiri. ''Jaroslav Hasek a divadlo." In Scina (12/83). Hasek, Jaroslav. The Good Soldier Svejk and his Fortunes in the World War.

Trans. Cecil Parrott. London: Penguin Books, 1973. Hasek, Jaroslav. The Fateful Adventures of the Good Soldier Svejk. Book I.

Trans. Zdenek K. Sadlon and Emmett M. Joyce. Bloomington, IN: First Books, 1997.

James, Caryn. "The Model of a Soldier (But No Model Soldier)." The New York Times, Wednesday, 17 November 2004.

NOTES

I I use Cecil Parrott's translation of The Good Soldier Svejk in all the quotations from the novel. The English reader can now read the novel in three translations: Paul Selver's from 1930, Sir Cecil Parrott's from 1973,

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and, most recently, in the 1997 translation by Zdenek Sadlon and Emmet Joyce, which, however, so far includes only the first volume. 2 The shift in style is brought to the audience's attention when Svejk is reprimanded and asked to tidy himself up: "We may be Czechs, but the world doesn't have to know!" 3 Jiff Hajek, 'Jaroslav Hasek a divadlo," Scina (12/ 83): 3. 4 Caryn James, "The Model of a Soldier (But No Model Soldier)," The New York Times, Wednesday, 17 November 2004. 5 J.P. Stern. "War and the Comic Muse : The Good Soldier Schweik and Catch-22," in Comparative Literature 20, no. 3 (Summer, 1968), 204. 6 Premysl BlaZ!cek, Hafkuv Svejk (Praha: Ceskoslovenslcy spisovatel, 1991).


OFF THE RAILS: WITKIEWICZ'S CRAZY LOCOMOTWE

BY THE TRAP DOOR THEATRE

Kevin Byrne

Machines are worshiped because they are beautiful, and valued because they confer power; they are hated because they are hideous, and loathed because they impose slavery_!

Any successful production of Stanislaw lgnacy Witkiewicz's Crazy Locomotive must find a way to convey the type of contradictory attitude toward technology emblematic of the inter-war years. Like the inevitable train crash that punctuates The Crazy Locomotive, the growth of technology throughout the twentieth century had an almost fated quality for thinkers such as Russell and Witkiewicz. This seemingly unstoppable charge forward of technology, as appropriate today as it was in 1923, is one of the compelling reasons artists keep returning to Witkiewicz's proto-absurdist masterpiece. The play is such a glorious mess, and I find encouraging the fact that there are U.S. theatre companies brave enough to embrace Witkiewicz's linguistic, philosophical, and dramaturgical gallimaufry. A recent production by the Chicago-based Trap Door Theatre during the 2005 New York International Fringe Festival did just that with manic humor and an intense pessimism that bordered on the nihilistic. For all the talk in the play about collisions and explosions, the real drive of this production was toward its own annihilation; it cancelled itself out like a Qletzalcoatl locomotive swallowing its own caboose.

The content of The Crazy Locomotive is really a collection of Witkacy's (as he was known to his friends) various interests. He loved trains/ was fascinated with particle physics, and had a strange affinity for pop culture. Oh yes, he also obsessed over how the unmooring of personal identity, a by-product of the machine age, was pushing the civilized world to the brink of collective insanity. In an hour, on a nearly bare stage, with a cast of six, the Trap Door was able to mash all ofWitkacy's objectives together to amazing effect. Under the helmsmanship of Beata Pilch, who also directed this show, the Trap Door has established itself in Chicago as proselytizers of all things Witkiewicz: the company's debut production ten years ago was The

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Trap Door Theatre Company's production of The Crazy Locomotive, directed by Beata Pilch

Madman and the Nun, and they have mounted a string of the playwright's works since then. Also, Witkiewicz's writings on the Theatre of Pure Form have become the aesthetic grounding of the more successful productions the company has produced over the past several years. Witkacy advocates a synthesis of all design and production elements of a theatre piece to force upon it an "internal, formal logic, independent of anything in 'real life."' Regardless of whether the Trap Door production was written by Fernando Arrabal or adapted from an Emile Zola novel; the resulting "absolute freedom" describes perfectly how the staging, live music, and use of different media all work in tandem to create the systematized lunacy for which the company is justly renowned.3

Trap Door's Crazy Locomotive was, really, a study in Witkiewicz appreciation. As the audience entered the space, the actors performed a kind of pre-show performance. Three robed individuals circled an altar on which


a doll was perched. Dressed as a baby, a woman entered and was subsequently killed by an old man spouting non-sequiturs and malapropisms. This scenario, not part of the Crazy Locomotive text, was instead taken from Witkiewicz's writings on Pure Form. Despite its tangential connection to the actual play, the scene highlighted certain themes that are at the heart of Witkacy's oeuvre: the infantilism of humankind and the randomness of violence (slapstick or otherwise).

Following the pre-show, the play proper opened with several characters preparing a train for departure. Onstage, however, no such contraption actually appeared. The only set piece was a rubberized brain, about the size of a large television set, which was placed center stage. The obvious implication-the play is taking place inside someone's head-was clearly made but never became overly tiresome. In the course of the show, the brain was caressed and battered, stood upon and jumped off of by many of the characters. In the set's only concession to anything train-like, the brain occasionally emitted puffs of steam. This economic design completely ignored the rather detailed set directions of the playwright, but in doing so, freed the actors to explore a highly expressionistic, almost eurhythmic, acting style. The cast was wholly committed to this aesthetic, which gave the play a wonderful humor and menace. In particular, Trap Door veteran Nicole Wiesner brought a demonic intensity to her role of the initially innocent but easily corruptible Julia. After Julia's debasement aboard the locomotive, Wiesner's delivery oflines such as "Nothing beautiful can exist in this world! The human animal always interferes and spoils everything!" combined a fury and sadness of the newly fallen.

The bulk of the first half of the play is an extended dialogue on the nature of space and time between the locomotive engineer Sigfried Tenser and his fireman Nicholas Slobok. The characters' struggle to comprehend the relativity of motion cannot be disentangled from their mutual sexual obsession with Julia or their increasingly frantic alienation from other human beings both on the locomotive and on the ground. To demonstrate this, the actors literally threw themselves into their roles. John Gray brought a simian agility to Slobak that contrasted well with the Caligari-esque performance of Carl Wisniewski. In his stage directions, Witkiewicz is very explicit that the gradually increasing speed of the locomotive is to be represented by projected landscapes rushing by the train's windows. In this production, the urgency and energy of mechanical motion was absorbed into the bodies of the performers onstage. By degrees the actors became louder, faster, and

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more repetitive as the throttle was pushed down. Like many characters in Witkacy's work, those in Crazy Locomotive

are other than what initial impressions would have the audience believe. Both Slobok and Tenser reveal themselves to be master criminals and mass murderers hiding behind the guise of their blue-collar professions. The Trap Door production added interesting costume changes to symbolize the characters' unmasking. After ducking behind curtains, Slobok and Tenser emerged dressed in the military garb of the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany, respectively. (The actors also donned unconvincing- almost cartoonishaccents.) It was a sophisticated directorial choice. Pilch wasn't trying to give the show a contemporary resonance by updating its iconography of totalitarianism with twenty-first century examples, but was instead attempting to demonstrate the insight and prescience of Witkacy himself as an artist and thinker. The Crazy Locomotive was written in 1923, and

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Witkiewicz (with memories ofWorld War I) realized the machine age would further push the Western world toward more efficient forms of wholesale slaughter. "Is this the beginning of mechanized madness?" a character screams at the play's climax. The train collides with another train, it slams into its own future, and the result is apocalyptic. According to Pilch and the Trap Door production, Witkiewicz divined the massive destruction of Europe by staring into the well-stoked belly of the steam engine.

The train fulfills the homicidal desires ofTenser and Slobok. In the epilogue of the playtext, Witkacy describes a group of rescue workers sifting through the rubble. Trap Door opted to convert the entire epilogue into a short film projected on the back wall of the theatre space (specially created for the production by Carrie Holt de Lama). To the strains of tinny piano music, a montage of carnage was shown while the characters blandly described their disappointed thoughts on their disappointing deaths. After

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an amped-up stage production in which characters were constantly running through the theatre space and engaging the audience directly, the piece ended on a curiously sterile note. I wondered if the production was reflecting back to us our own desensitivity to mediatized violence or perhaps was announcing the obsolescence of theatre in the age of mechanical reproduction, with all subtlety and danger ironed into a two-dimensional passivity. Did I just watch a play commit suicide? As the credits started to roll, I thought of Walter Benjamin, whose ruminations on technics and technology have also reached oracle-like status since his death. Commenting on how "sense perception ... has been changed by technology," Benjamin wrote: "[Mankind's] self-alienation has reached such a degree that it can experience its own destruction as an aesthetic pleasure of the first order. "4

When the show ended, everyone in the audience clapped loudly.

The Crazy Locomotive by Stanislaw Ignacy Witkiewicz. Directed by Beata Pilch. Trans. by Daniel Gerould and C.S. Durer. Featuring John Gray, John Kahara, Beata Pilch, Carolyn Shoemaker, Nicole Wiesner, and Carl Wisniewski. Assistant Director: Andrew Krukowski. Set Design: Ewelina Dobiesz. Lighting Design: Richard Norwood. Sound Design: Anna Czerwinski. Film Design: Carrie Holt de Lama. Costume Design: Beata Pilch. Trap Door Theatre, New York International Fringe Festival, Theatre at the Center for Architecture, New York City. August 23 to 27.

NOTES 1 Bertrand Russell, "Machines and the Emotions," in Sceptical Essays (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1928), 83. I would like to thank my colleague Margaret Araneo for bringing this quote to my attention. 2 He started photographing locomotive engines at the age of fourteen. See Carter Ratcliff, "In the Theatre of the Self," Art in America 72, no. 4 (1984): 162-171. 3 Stanislaw Ignacy Witkiewicz, "On a New Type of Play," in The Madman and the Nun and The Crazy Locomotive: Three Plays, edited and translated by Daniel Gerould and C.S. Durer (New York: Applause Books, 1989). 4 Walter Benjamin, "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction," in Illuminations, trans. Harry Zohn (New York: Schocken Books, 1968), 242.


CONTRIBUTORS

KEVIN BYRNE is an adjunct lecturer at ~eens College and works as an assistant editor on Theatre journal. He is a Ph.D. candidate in the Theatre Program at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York.

MARY KEELAN, a former university teacher and library system manager, is a theatre reviewer in New York's Hudson Valley. She is a Ph.D. candidate in the Theatre and Film Certificate Program at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York.

HELENE LEMELEV A was born in Moscow and graduated from the Moscow State Linguistic University. She is a Ph.D. candidate in the Comparative Literature Program at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York. Her main area of concentration is Russian Symbolism and its Western European parallels.

AMIEL MELNICK has been working with East River Commedia as a dramaturg since her graduation from Columbia University in 2003. She has published articles on several West African playwrights and is currently studying contemporary Slovenian theatre in Ljubljana.

OLGA MURATOV A teaches many of the courses in the Russian Studies minor program (including Russian drama and literature) at John Jay College of Criminal Justice. She is a Ph.D. candidate in the Comparative Literature Program at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York where she is writing her dissertation on nineteenth-century Russian drama. She is a frequent contributor to SEEP.

ELISABETH RICH is Associate Professor of Russian at Texas A&M University. She has published essays and reviews in The Nation, Washington Post, and Civilization/The Magazines of the Library of Congress, as well as in many leading Russian and American scholarly journals. She is a frequent contributor to SEEP.

STEPAN SIMEK is Assistant Professor of Theatre at Lewis and Clark College, Portland, Oregon. He has directed a number of modern Czech

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plays in his translations in Seattle and Portland, and he travels regularly to Prague to research Czech theatre after the fall of Communism

VERONIKA TUCKEROV A is a native of Prague and a graduate student in the Department of Germanic Languages at Columbia University. She received her M. Phil. degree in Comparative Literature at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York. She is a regular contributor to the Czech art and literature journal, Revolver Review.

Photo Credits

Three Sisters, Karamazovs, The Banquet, and The Women Courtesy of the Mayakovsky Theatre

Serenade and Philosopher Fox Courtesy of Piotr Redlinski and East River Commedia

Inspector General © Viktor Sentsov Courtesy of the Alexandrinsky Theatre and Bard SummerScape

The Nose Sketch: © Georgi Alexi-Meskhishvili; courtesy of Georgi Alexi-Meskhishvili and Bard SummerScape Photo:© Ken Howard; courtesy of Ken Howard and Bard SummerScape

Nevsky Prospekt Courtesy ofTheatre Potudan and Bard SummerScape

White Cabin Courtesy of AKHE and Bard SummerScape

The Good Soldier Svejk Courtesy of Theatre for a New Audience

The Crazy Locomotive Courtesy ofT rap Door Theatre


MARTIN E. SEGAL THEATRE CENTER PUBLICATIONS

Witkiewicz: Seven Plays Translated and Edited

by Daniel Gerould

This volume contains seven of Witkiewicz's most important plays: The Pragmatists, Tumor Brainiowicz, Gyubal Wahazar, The Anonymous Work, The Cuttlefish, Dainty Shapes and Hairy Apes, and The Beelzebub Sonata, as well as two of his theoretical essays, "Theoretical Introduction" and "A Few Words about the Role of the Actor in the Theatre of Pure Form."

Witkiewicz . . . takes up and continues the vein of dream and grotesque fantasy exemplified by the late Strindberg or by

Wedekind; his ideas are closely paralleled by those of the surrealists and Antonin Artaud which culminated in the masterpeices of the dramatists of the absurd-Beckett, Jones co, Genet, Arrabal-of the late nineteen forties and the nineteen fifties. It is high time that this major playwright should become better known in the English-speaking world.

Martin Esslin

USA $20.00 PLUS SHIPPING $3.00 USA, $6.00 International

Please make payments in U.S. Dollars payable to: Martin E. Segal Theatre Center Mail checks or money orders to:

Circulation Manager Martin E. Segal Theatre Center

The CUNY Graduate Center 365 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10016-4309 Visit our web-site at: web.gc.cuny.edu/mestc/

Contact: [email protected] or 212-817-1868


THE HEIRS OF MOLIERE

FOUR FRENCH COMEDIES Of THE 17tH AND 18TH CENTURIES

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TRANSLATED AND EDITED BY MARVIN CARLSON

The Heirs of Moliere

Translated and Edited by: Marvin Carlson

This volume contains four representative French comedies of the period from the death of Moliere to the French Revolution: Regnard's The Absent-Minded Lover, Destouches' s The Conceited Count, La Chaussee's The Fashionable Prejudice, and Laya's The Friend of the Laws.

Translated in a poetic form that seeks to capture the wit and spirit of the originals, these four plays suggest something of the range of the Moliere inheritance, from comedy of character through the highly popular sentimental comedy of the mid eighteenth century, to comedy that employs the Moliere tradition for more contemporary political ends.

In addition to their humor, these comedies provide fascinating social documents that show changing ideas about such perennial social concerns as class, gender, and politics through the turbulent century that ended in the revolutions that gave birth to the modern era.

USA $20.00 plus shipping $3.00 USA, $6.00 International




New York, NY 10016-4309 Visit our web-site at: web.gc.cuny.edu/mestc/

Contact: [email protected] or 212-817-1868


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TRANSLATED AND EDIT D IIY DA I GFROULD I< MARVIN CARLSON

Pixerecourt: Four Melodramas

Translated and Edited by: Daniel Gerould

& Marvin Carlson

This volume contains four of Pixerecourt's most important melodramas: The Ruins of Babylon, or Jafar and Zaida, The Dog of Montatgis, or The Forest of Bondy, Christopher Columbus, or The Discovery of the New World, and A lice, or The Scottish Gravediggers, as well as Charles Nodier's "Introduction" to the 1843 Collected Edition of Pixerecourt's plays and the two theoretical essays by the playwright, "Melodrama," and "Final Reflections on Melodrama."

"Pixerecourt furnished the Theatre of Marvels with its most stunning effects, and brought the classic situations of fairground comedy up-to-date. He determined the structure of a popular theatre which was to last through the 19th century ... Pixerecourt determined that scenery, music, dance, lighting and the very movements of his actors should no longer be left to chance but made integral parts of his play."

Hannah Winter, The Theatre of Marvels

USA $20.00 plus shipping $3.00 USA, $6.00 International




New York, NY 10016-4309 Visit our web-site at: web.gc.cuny.edu/mestd Contact: [email protected] or 212-817-1868


Contemporary Theatre in Egypt contains the proceedings of a Symposium on this subject held at the CUNY Graduate Center in February of 1999 along with the first English translations of three short plays by leading Egyptian playwrights who spoke at the Symposium, Alfred Farag, Gamal Maqsoud, and Lenin El-Ramley. It concludes with a bibliography of English translations and secondary articles on the theatre in Egypt since 1955.

(USA $15.00 plus $3.00 shipping. Foreign $12.00 plus $6.00 shipping)

Zeami and the No Theatre in the World, edited by Benito Ortolani and Samuel Leiter, contains the proceedings of the "Zeami and the No Theatre in the World Symposium" held in New York City in October 1997 in conjunction with the "Japanese Theatre in the World" exhibit at the Japan Society. The book contains an introduction and fifteen essays, organized into sections on "Zeami 's Theories and Aesthetics," "Zeami and Drama," "Zeami and Acting," and "Zeami and the World."


Four Works for the Theatre by Hugo Claus contains translations of four plays by the foremost contemporary writer of Dutch language theatre, poetry, and prose. Flemish by birth and upbringing, Claus is the author of some ninety plays, novels, and collections of poetry. The plays collected here with an introduction by David Willinger include The Temptation, Friday, Serenade, and The Hair of the Dog.

(USA $15.00 plus $3.00 shipping. Foreign $ 15.00 plus $6.00 shipping)

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Theatre Research Resources in New York City is the most comprehensive catalogue of New York City research facilities available to theatre scholars, including public and private libraries, museums, historical societies, university and college collections, ethnic and language associations, theatre companies, acting schools, and film archives. Each entry features an outline of the fac ility's holdings as well as contact information, hours, services, and access procedures.


Please make payments in U.S. Dollars payable to: Martin E. Segal Theatre Center. Mail checks or money orders to:



New York, NY 10016-4309 Visit our web-site at: web.gc.cuny.edu/mestc/ Contact: [email protected] or 212-817-1868