If I were using the play The House of Trials to make some conclusions about comedia conventions, I would probably first point out the fact that comedia plays often dealt with the subject of honor. In modern American theater, I'm not even sure the word honor would pop into my head when I was describing a play, but honor is a prominent theme in Trials and most likely other Spanish Golden Age plays. The whole "I'll fix things so I'm found in the same room alone with the man I'm in love with" and the "My wife isn't a virgin so I must murder her immediately and should probably kill myself too" ideas found in Trials reinforce the theme that honor is important.
Another conclusion to be made about comedias is that there is a certain element of controlled chaos. Often times while I reading, I pictured a pretty simple set that really just consisted of a bunch of doors. There are plenty of well timed entrances and exits, and barely missed conversations that makes the play just work. Just like my previous example where women would choreograph a situation to get a man, characters were often finding themselves stuck in situations where they just had to go with it. Another example of controlled chaos is Castano disguising himself as a woman. Castano has to deliver a letter but doesn't want to be recognized so he disguises himself, but just before he embarks, Pedro thinks Castano is Leonor. With all of these quick, rapid-fire scenes and scenarios, I definitely think that the controlled chaos idea was used prominently in Spanish Golden Age plays.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Show and Tell Post #2 - The Clean House
Basic Information about The Clean House
After reading Eurydice and completely falling in love with both it and Sarah Ruhl, I decided to read another one of her plays. The first act of The Clean House was commissioned in 2000 by the McCarter Theatre Center in Princeton, NJ. It received its world premiere in its full-length form at Yale Repertory Theatre in New Haven, CT in 2004. It was also produced at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago in May 2006. An excerpt can be found here at Sarah Ruhl's website, but I read it in her anthology The Clean House and Other Plays, published in 2006. All of this information came directly from the text in the notes before the play.
Basic Plot
Lane and Charles, both doctors, are very busy and never see each other. Lane hires Matilde, a maid from Brazil, to clean her house. Matilde longs for her parents, who both died. Her father told her mother a joke, the best joke in the world, and she quite literally died from laughing, her father killing himself shortly thereafter. Matilde doesn't enjoy cleaning, so Virginia, Lane's sister, cleans for her while Matilde entertains Virginia with company and jokes. Coming up with and telling Brazilian jokes is Matilde's favorite thing to do.
One day when Virginia and Matilde are folding clothes, they come across red, silk underwear, "surely not Lane's". Charles is having an affair with one of his dying patients, Ana. Ana is Jewish, and their is a Jewish law, bashert, that states that if you find your soulmate, you are not required to stay with your married spouse, or feel guilty for leaving. Ana proceeds to take Lane's husband and maid, whom Lane fired, but then gets angry, everyone deciding to split Matilde's time between Lane/Virginia and Charles/Ana. While Charles searches for a cure for Ana, she moves in with Lane, who takes care of her. Finally, when Ana can take no more, she asks Matilde to tell her a joke so funny it will kill her. She does, Ana dies, Matilde tells the audience the story of how she thinks she was born, and the play ends.
(Note: The above is such a bland plot summary that I almost feel guilty for watering down Ruhl's play to these brief paragraphs. It's funny, beautiful, and I highly recommend giving it a read if you even slightly enjoyed Eurydice.)
Critical Take
The first dramaturgical choice Ruhl makes that I find noteworthy is the use of language as a binder and as a wall. Matilde, fluent in both American English and Brazilian Portuguese, has a very keen sense of humor that is hard to translate to English. Ruhl makes a note that all of her Brazilian jokes are just suggestions, and that she encourages the cast to come up with their own Brazilian jokes. Just like British humor, Brazilian humor is much different than what we're used to in the states. Lane and Virginia struggle to grasp her jokes, but Ana, from Argentina, delights in being able to communicate with Matilde in both Spanish and Portuguese. I find Ruhl's use of language very unique and exciting. When foreign languages are used in plays, we sometimes don't get translations (Chicago's Hunyak the Hungarian's "Not Guilty!" monologue is never translated). Ruhl included a section after her play with specific subtitles that are to be projected behind the actors. These subtitles include translating the Spanish and Portuguese that Ana and Matilde speak, as well as select stage directions that add another layer to scenes that are movement based and dialogue light. I thought it was brilliant that language could bond two characters together and simultaneously separate them from others.
The second dramaturgical choice that Ruhl makes is that the singular, unchanging set functions as both Lane's living room, Ana's balcony, and Charles' hospital. At the beginning of the play, lines between where we are in a scene are never blurred, and action only takes place one location at a time. We move clearly from Lane's living room, to an entirely different scene that takes place on Ana's balcony, etc. As the play progresses, and lives become intertwined as relationships and stories overlap, the physical spaces start to blur as how people are connected to one another starts to blur. Lane is sitting in her living room, feeling bitter about her husband leaving her for his "soulmate", while Charles and Ana are picking apples from Ana's balcony. During this scene, apples from Ana's balcony fall in Lane's living room. Lane notices these apples, as these falling apples are intentional and clearing falling into Lane's world, not just on the ground. This blurring of worlds and relationships happens again, when Charles is in Alaska looking for a cure for Ana's cancer, and it snows from the balcony into Lane's house. Although we get to see characters change and interfere with others lives when they're speaking to each other, Ruhl creatively shows how you can affect someone else's life passively by just living yours.
Eurydice
The first quote I would choose to put on our publicity poster is "I didn't know an arguement should be interesting. I thought it should be right or wrong." Orpheus says this in The First Movement on page 213. I chose this quote because I think this encapsulates perfectly what I believe Sarah Ruhl's entire point to be in writing this play. Eurydice is filled with mirrors and parallels. A Nasty Interesting Man also happens to be played by the same actor who plays The Lord of the Underworld. Both Eurydice and Orpheus get frustrated when they both enter the underworld and stand on the things they are trying to read. Eurydice is separated by her father, and Sarah Ruhl was also struggling with losing her father in real life. The underworld and overworld look the same, yet hold entirely different feelings. On a very basic level, the fact that the Greek myth of Eurydice is ancient and yet is adapted into this modern, abstract retelling is a huge parallel. With all of that said, I think the quote I choose is a question posed that the play/Ruhl answers. Of course things aren't as simple as right and wrong. Things are never black and white. Life and death, relationships, language, setting... all "interesting" elements that most definitely aren't right or wrong/black and white. I like this quote because if it were on a poster, I think people would answer in their heads a soft "No." Eurydice responds to this quote beautifully. A production based on this quote would highlight the parallels. It would be full of life and vibrant imagery and beauty. It would be the antithesis of right/wrong/black/white.
The second quote I would choose would be "How do you say good-bye to yourself?". Eurydice says this to the stones in The Second Movement on page 225. In the scene she is describing how she died and how Orpheus looked. When Eurydice asks this question, I think it can be asked on two different levels. On the first level, she means this quite literally. Right before this question, she says, "I was not lonely / only alone with myself / begging myself not to leave my own body / but I was leaving. Good-bye, head -I said- / it inclined itself a little, as though to nod to me / in a solemn kind of way." As her soul made its journey to the underworld, she was leaving her physical self behind. She asks her question then, as someone would ask a question about a difficult experience they've yet to experience, like "How do you give up your first-born?" or "How do you tell your sister your mother died?" Eurydice is in a very distressful and odd situation.
On the second level, Eurydice is asking, "How do you say good-bye to everything and everyone you know and love?" When you look at yourself, you did not become the person you are on your own. Experiences and people shape who you are. People, consciously or not, affect and shape your personality and who you are at your core. When Eurydice asks this, she's not only asking, How do I say good-bye to me, but how do I say good-bye to Orpheus and my life and where I live and the things I enjoy like music and dancing and a life on earth. How do you just say good-bye to life - to everything? The struggle in Eurydice is dealing with life in the underworld, learning the rules and language of death. Eurydice and her father have to time and time again come to terms with their current situations. Eurydice is a world where you never know what you're going to remember and forget, against your own will (by being dipped in the river) or just with the passage of time. Therefore, a production based on this quote would always have a sense of questioning, and would force the audience to think of what's important to them, or what they need to make important to them. This idea reminds me of Ben Watt's 100. What memory do you choose to relive for eternity? In Eurydice, the audience should leave with an urgency to discover what they hold as important, and maybe realize that the things they currently view as important, aren't.
Love! Valour! Compassion!
If a historian were to pick up a copy of Terrence McNally's Love! Valour! Compassion! and proceed to make a few conclusions about the worldview of the play's culture, that historian would most likely gather that USA circa 1994 was a fluid, abstract, existentialist, bizarre world that was struggling with AIDS.
I don't think this culture even views capital-T Truth, but rather abandons it altogether. Capital-T Truth is linear and realistic. L!V!C! is quite the opposite. At first glance the play seems naturalistic - set at a lake house over three prominent American holidays, with a bunch of men taking about all the things any good gay 90s man would discuss - musical theatre, Madonna, and AIDS. Pretty straight-forward. However, once that future historian started to delve into the work and started to notice the structure and dramaturgical choices in the play, he would see that this isn't a world where capital-T Truth exists. Capital-T Truth is dead. Characters break the fourth wall by not only addressing the audience, but also interrupting and commenting on what those fourth wall-breaking characters are saying. The plot, if given a 3D form, would look like this or maybe this. It loops back, repeats, or is fabricated by a character. Parts of the story are changed to better fit a character's memory.
What separates L!V!C! from the other well-made plays we've read is that this play is unconventional. It's sporadic. In The Glass of Water and The Children's Hour, things are clearly laid out and obvious. Stage directions are specific, characters almost seem like stock characters out of a commedia dell'arte piece, and by the end of the show, everything is tied up neatly in a nice little well-made play package. Not so with L!V!C!. Stage directions are vague and almost non-existant. One actor plays twin brothers. There's no bow at the end of the play either, instead ending with the line "Anyway."
Lines between reality and and fantasy are blurred. We don't really know if what characters are saying is true or not, nor do we know if anything is even on stage (Is there a lake, where a space like the Reilly could come in handy, or is it an imagined lake, with a portion of the stage doused in blue paint? Are there beds, or is the stage just cleverly lit? Does the house, an image so central and grounding, even belong on stage?) Order and firm conclusions are thrown out the door. Mr./Mrs. Historian would definitely enjoy presenting their findings on L!V!C!, because this play is the exact opposite of a well-made play, and the notion of any capital-T Truth.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
The Children's Hour
While Lillian Hellman's The Children's Hour definitely has very strong elements from the well-made play, she often deviates from this formula and adds her own twists and turns. ("Take that, Scribe!" Hellman probably thought as she wrote angstily about lesbians and the catty youths who agonize them.)
One significant departure from the well-made play form in this play is the focus on character rather than plot. While plot is significant in this play, the characters of Karen, Martha, and Mary take precedence. The "tragic lesbian" trope is present, so the focus on character deviates from plot over character. This is a significant dramaturgical choice because Hellman is showing how one small girl's words can ruin a woman's life, even pushing her to the point of suicide.
Another departure is the substance of the obligatory scene. After the secret had been set (Mary telling her grandmother her teachers were engaging in some "unnatural" acts), I thought for sure that the obligatory scene would be Karen and Martha revealing that they did in fact love each other. However, Martha reveals her love for Karen, Karen reveals the feeling is, in fact, not mutual, and then Martha kills herself. Mrs. Tilford reveals she made a mistake in accusing them, but this happens too late.
A third departure I found is from the Just-in-Time Revelation. Mrs. Tilford swoops into the living room of the Wright-Dobie School, ready to beg for forgiveness because sweet little Mary made quite the blunder and, like, you guys aren't lesbians after all, lol, right?? But Karen gently lets Mrs. Tilford down with a polite, "Martha is dead." Whoops. Mrs. Tilford has come to apologize, but definitely not just-in-time.
I would even go so far as to say The Children's Hour does not end with a logical resolution. Mrs. Tilford asks Karen if she'll let her help her (Tilford help Karen), and if she'll write, and Karen responds vaguely and distantly. Mrs. T leaves, and the stage directions read "(Karen smiles as Mrs. Tilford exits. She does not turn, but a minute later she raises her hand.) Karen: Good-bye." Well. If that's not an ending that lacks logic and leaves you feeling empty, slightly confused, and wondering what just happened, I don't know what is.
As far as if The Children's Hour should be performed today, I say, "Why not?" Yes, it is problematic, and an extreme case of what happens when homophobia pushes people to the edge, but I think it's an important piece of theatre. Reading this question I think of Leigh Fondakowski's The Laramie Project and the Ole Miss football team. Ironic that another play with gay themes is causing a stir. At the same time, imperative that it be performed. Obviously, it's a functioning great piece of theatre because it showed the need for it to still be performed. That's the whole point of that play! Like TLP, TCH could easily be done today. The need for it to be seen and the message it carries can only help extinguish homophobia and hate.
A "technically good but probably shouldn't be produced today" piece of theatre that comes to mind is Dutchman by Amiri Baraka. It was performed as part of LSU's lab season a year or two ago, and while important and necessary when it was first written and performed in 1964 during the civil rights era, today it seems dated and blatantly racist. It had no place being performed for a modern, 2012 audience. I rarely sit in a show and think, "What the hell am I watching and why is this being staged?" but I did then, the only answer I came up with being that experimental college theatre students love shock and controversy and were going for an "insightful, call to action" show. I guess. Yikes.
One significant departure from the well-made play form in this play is the focus on character rather than plot. While plot is significant in this play, the characters of Karen, Martha, and Mary take precedence. The "tragic lesbian" trope is present, so the focus on character deviates from plot over character. This is a significant dramaturgical choice because Hellman is showing how one small girl's words can ruin a woman's life, even pushing her to the point of suicide.
Another departure is the substance of the obligatory scene. After the secret had been set (Mary telling her grandmother her teachers were engaging in some "unnatural" acts), I thought for sure that the obligatory scene would be Karen and Martha revealing that they did in fact love each other. However, Martha reveals her love for Karen, Karen reveals the feeling is, in fact, not mutual, and then Martha kills herself. Mrs. Tilford reveals she made a mistake in accusing them, but this happens too late.
A third departure I found is from the Just-in-Time Revelation. Mrs. Tilford swoops into the living room of the Wright-Dobie School, ready to beg for forgiveness because sweet little Mary made quite the blunder and, like, you guys aren't lesbians after all, lol, right?? But Karen gently lets Mrs. Tilford down with a polite, "Martha is dead." Whoops. Mrs. Tilford has come to apologize, but definitely not just-in-time.
I would even go so far as to say The Children's Hour does not end with a logical resolution. Mrs. Tilford asks Karen if she'll let her help her (Tilford help Karen), and if she'll write, and Karen responds vaguely and distantly. Mrs. T leaves, and the stage directions read "(Karen smiles as Mrs. Tilford exits. She does not turn, but a minute later she raises her hand.) Karen: Good-bye." Well. If that's not an ending that lacks logic and leaves you feeling empty, slightly confused, and wondering what just happened, I don't know what is.
As far as if The Children's Hour should be performed today, I say, "Why not?" Yes, it is problematic, and an extreme case of what happens when homophobia pushes people to the edge, but I think it's an important piece of theatre. Reading this question I think of Leigh Fondakowski's The Laramie Project and the Ole Miss football team. Ironic that another play with gay themes is causing a stir. At the same time, imperative that it be performed. Obviously, it's a functioning great piece of theatre because it showed the need for it to still be performed. That's the whole point of that play! Like TLP, TCH could easily be done today. The need for it to be seen and the message it carries can only help extinguish homophobia and hate.
A "technically good but probably shouldn't be produced today" piece of theatre that comes to mind is Dutchman by Amiri Baraka. It was performed as part of LSU's lab season a year or two ago, and while important and necessary when it was first written and performed in 1964 during the civil rights era, today it seems dated and blatantly racist. It had no place being performed for a modern, 2012 audience. I rarely sit in a show and think, "What the hell am I watching and why is this being staged?" but I did then, the only answer I came up with being that experimental college theatre students love shock and controversy and were going for an "insightful, call to action" show. I guess. Yikes.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
The Glass of Water
Unfortunately for me, my dramaturgical spidey sense failed me both while reading and after reading Eugène Scribe's The Glass of Water.
Fortunately for me, I was paying attention in class when we briefly discussed Water and the two odd pieces changed by the translator were made clear to me.
The first moment in the play that did not fit in with the rest was when the Duchess and Bolingbroke kiss and then slap each other smartly on the cheek. For the first two acts of Scribe's play, the Duchess and Bolingbroke are at each other's throats. They engage in a 24-hour armistice, where they complete small favors for each other, and then resort back to their sneaking, battle-like relationship. They are a threat to the other and are always competing in a battle of wits. And yet, after all of this back-and-forth-ness, they realize... they've been in love all this time? "You are the first man who has ever defeated me . . . and, if I were not already married, you would know no peace until I had wed with you," the Duchess remarks. They then claim the first and second privileges of husband and wife (a kiss and a slap, respectively) and then bow to each other and leave. Ok... A very strange moment in the play that was never even hinted at in the previous two acts.
The second moment in the play that did not seem to fit in with the rest was when the Queen looks out of her window and takes notice of the new, handsome guardsman. Again, what..? Looking strictly from a level of class perspective, a queen would never be involved or even take up an interest in a mere guardsmen. That aside, it just doesn't fit in with the rest of the plot. Why would the queen fall in love at the end of the play? Her story line should have ended when Masham and Abigail got together, and yet, the Queen has this odd wave of a love interest just as the curtain falls. While the bulk of Water fits together, this last moment definitely seems out of place in this otherwise well-made play.
Fortunately for me, I was paying attention in class when we briefly discussed Water and the two odd pieces changed by the translator were made clear to me.
The first moment in the play that did not fit in with the rest was when the Duchess and Bolingbroke kiss and then slap each other smartly on the cheek. For the first two acts of Scribe's play, the Duchess and Bolingbroke are at each other's throats. They engage in a 24-hour armistice, where they complete small favors for each other, and then resort back to their sneaking, battle-like relationship. They are a threat to the other and are always competing in a battle of wits. And yet, after all of this back-and-forth-ness, they realize... they've been in love all this time? "You are the first man who has ever defeated me . . . and, if I were not already married, you would know no peace until I had wed with you," the Duchess remarks. They then claim the first and second privileges of husband and wife (a kiss and a slap, respectively) and then bow to each other and leave. Ok... A very strange moment in the play that was never even hinted at in the previous two acts.
The second moment in the play that did not seem to fit in with the rest was when the Queen looks out of her window and takes notice of the new, handsome guardsman. Again, what..? Looking strictly from a level of class perspective, a queen would never be involved or even take up an interest in a mere guardsmen. That aside, it just doesn't fit in with the rest of the plot. Why would the queen fall in love at the end of the play? Her story line should have ended when Masham and Abigail got together, and yet, the Queen has this odd wave of a love interest just as the curtain falls. While the bulk of Water fits together, this last moment definitely seems out of place in this otherwise well-made play.
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