Antonin Artaud (Routledge Performance Practitioners) [1 ed.] 0367029774, 9780367029777

Citation preview

ANTONIN ARTAUD

Routledge Performance Practitioners is a series of introductory guides to the key theatre-makers of the last century. Each volume explains the background to and the work of one of the major influences on twentiethand twenty-first-century performance. Antonin Artaud was an active theatre-maker and theorist whose ideas reshaped contemporary approaches to performance. This is the first book to combine • • • •

an overview of Artaud’s life with a focus on his work as an actor and director; an analysis of his key theories, including the Theatre of Cruelty and the double; a consideration of his work as a director at the Théâtre Alfred Jarry and his production of Strindberg’s A Dream Play; and a series of practical exercises to develop an approach to theatre based on Artaud’s key ideas.

As a first step towards critical understanding and as an initial exploration before going on to further, primary research, Routledge Performance Practitioners are unbeatable value for today’s student. Blake Morris is an independent scholar and artist based in New York City. He has lectured on theatre and performance at universities in the United Kingdom, including the University of East London and Goldsmiths, University of London.

ROUTLEDGE PERFORMANCE PRACTITIONERS Series editors: Franc Chamberlain and Bernadette Sweeney

‘Small, neat (handbag sized!) volumes; a good mix of theory and practice, written in a refreshingly straightforward and informative style . . . Routledge Performance Practitioners are good value, easy to carry around, and contain all the key information on each practitioner – a perfect choice for the student who wants to get a grip on the big names in performance from the past hundred years.’ – Total Theatre Routledge Performance Practitioners is an innovative series of introductory handbooks on key figures in contemporary performance practice. Each volume focuses on a theatre-maker who has transformed the way we understand theatre and performance. The books are carefully structured to enable the reader to gain a good grasp of the fundamental elements underpinning each practitioner’s work. They provide an inspiring springboard for students on twentieth century, contemporary theatre, and theatre history courses. Now revised and reissued, these compact, well-illustrated and clearly written books unravel the contribution of modern theatre’s most charismatic innovators, through: • • • •

personal biography explanation of key writings description of significant productions reproduction of practical exercises.

Volumes currently available in this series: Robert Lepage by Aleksandar Saša Dundjerovic Frantic Assembly by Mark Evans & Mark Smith Jana Sanskriti by Ralph Yarrow Antonin Artaud by Blake Morris Roy Hart by Kevin Crawford and Bernadette Sweeney For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge. com/Routledge-Performance-Practitioners/book-series/RPP

Artaud in 1926 (image courtesy of Agence de presse Meurisse and Gallica Digital Library).

A N TONI N AR T AUD

Blake Morris

First published 2022 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informal business © 2022 Blake Morris The right of Blake Morris to be identifed as author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identifcation and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-0-367-02977-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-367-02979-1 (pbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-01983-8 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9780429019838 Typeset in Perpetua by Apex CoVantage, LLC

CONTENTS

List of fgures Acknowledgements 1

BIOGRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTEXT

ix xi 1

Part I: Artaud Growing up (1896–1920) 2 Part II: Artaud in Paris (1920–1936) 6 Part III: Artaud Le Mômo – Mexico, Ireland and the asylum years (1936–1948) 29 Conclusion 37 2

ARTAUD’S KEY WRITINGS

39

Historical context 41 The quest for a new language 44 The Theatre and Its Double (1938) 48 ‘Theatre and the Plague’ (1934) 65 Conclusion 71 3

THE THÉÂTRE ALFRED JARRY (1926–1929) Producing work at TAJ 77 Le Songe at Théâtre de l’Avenue 80

75

viii

CONTeNTS

The mise-en-scène 84 Critical reception 96 The end of the Théâtre Alfred Jarry 98 Conclusion 99 4

PRACTICAL EXERCISES

103

Part 1: Acting exercises 105 Part 2: Developing an Artaudian mise-en-scène 119 Element one – scenic décor and objects 128 Element two – lighting 128 Element three – sound 129 Element four – the actor’s movement 130 Combining the elements 130 Part 3: Staging a scenario 131 Glossary of names Bibliography Index

137 147 157

FIGURES

2.1 Lot and His Daughters (ca. 1520), anonymous, though often attributed to Lucas van Leyden, oil on panel.

54

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As with any text, this book has not been a solitary effort but was built on the research and with the support of a variety of people. I am particularly grateful to Kimberly Jannarone, who first introduced me to the works of Artaud and whose teaching and scholarship have been essential to the development of my understanding of his work. Throughout this process, she has been available to answer my questions and help me untangle some of the trickier aspects of his writing. I am also indebted to Erik Butler, who quickly responded to all my translation queries and whose understanding of the nuances of translation have been essential to my understanding of a difficult author’s work. I would be remiss not to mention my friend Cleo Cameron, who tolerated my constant discussions of Artaud over the time I spent writing this book and provided fantastic feedback on early drafts. Finally, an immense thanks to my editors, Franc Chamberlain and Bernadette Sweeney, whose insightful feedback has undoubtedly strengthened this work and helped me to fill gaps in my knowledge. Antonin Artaud’s works are abbreviated throughout the text in the following ways:

xii

ACkNOwLeDgeMeNTS

COLLECTED WORKS

(CW1) Artaud, Antonin (1968) Collected Works Volume 1. Translated by Victor Corti. London: Calder & Boyars. (CW2) Artaud, Antonin (1971) Collected Works Volume 2. Translated by Victor Corti. London: Calder & Boyars. (CW3) Artaud, Antonin (1972) Collected Works Volume 3. Translated by Alastair Hamilton London: Calder & Boyars. THE THEATRE AND ITS DOUBLE

(TD): Artaud, Antonin (2010) The Theatre and Its Double. Translated by Victor Corti. Surrey: Alma Classics. (TD Richards): Artaud, Antonin (1994) The Theatre and Its Double. Translated by Mary Caroline Richards. New York: Grove Press. OTHER WRITINGS

(SW) Artaud, Antonin (1976) Selected Writings. Translated by Helen Weaver and edited by Susan Sontag. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. (Artaud, 2019) Artaud, Antonin (2019) Artaud 1937 Apocalypse: Letters from Ireland. Translated by Stephen Barber. Zürich: Diaphanes. Translations of Charles Dullin Souvenirs et Notes de Travail d’un Acteur are the author’s unless noted. Where possible, I have used translations available in English.

1 BIOGR AP HY I N S OCIA L AND AR T I S T I C C O NT E X T

Madman. Mystic. Poet. Prophet. Visionary. Artists, scholars and critics often use these words to describe Antonin Artaud, one of the most influential figures of modern theatre (see, for example, Sontag, 1981; Knapp, 1980; Lotringer, 2015; Eshleman, 2001). The terms actor, director, theatre-maker and performance-practitioner are less often used. Artaud, however, was an active practitioner throughout the 1920s and 1930s, and his experience in the theatre was essential to the theories he developed. Challenging and enigmatic, Artaud’s work has had a profound influence on the development of theatre and performance. His lasting influence on the theatre is based on a series of essays, letters and manifestos published in the 1930s that outlined his visions for a Theatre of Cruelty, which were collected as Le Théâtre et son Double [The Theatre and Its Double] (1938). Susan Sontag provides an indication of Artaud’s influence in her introduction to his Selected Writings, written in 1973: [H]e has had an impact so profound that the course of all recent serious theater in western europe and the Americas can be said to divide into two period – before Artaud and after Artaud. No one who works in the theater now is untouched by the impact of Artaud’s specific ideas about the actor’s body and voice, the use of music, the role of the written text, the interplay between the space occupied by the spectacle and the audience’s space. (Sw, p. xxxviii) DOI: 10.4324/9780429019838-1

2

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

Almost fifty years after Sontag’s conjecture, artists continue to draw on Artaud’s ideas, with examples ranging from the immersive theatre of British company Punchdrunk (2000–present) to seminal punk artist Patti Smith’s recent recording The Peyote Dance (2019), created in collaboration with Soundwalk Collective based on Artaud’s writings about Mexico. Artaud has a reputation for theorising an impossible theatre with no practical application (Goodall, 1994, p. 5; Finter, 1997). He insisted, however, that his writings were a starting point for practice; he was ‘a man of the theatre’ (SW, p. 210), not simply a vulgar theoretician (Gardner, 2003, p. 109). This book builds on that context, positioning Artaud’s writings on theatre in relation to his work as a writer, actor, director and producer. PART I: ARTAUD GROWING UP (1896–1920)

Antoine Marie Joseph Paul Artaud was born on 4 September 1896 to Antoine Roi Artaud and Euphrasie Artaud (neé Nalpas). Artaud Senior was a well-to-do shipping agent from Marseille who chartered trade ships in the eastern Mediterranean; his mother was from the port of Smyrna on the Aegean Sea (present-day Izmir, Turkey). With his father often absent on business, Artaud’s mother was the family’s primary caregiver. Known throughout his life as Antonin, a diminutive for Antoine, Artaud grew up in Marseille and spent many of his childhood summer holidays with his maternal grandmother in Smyrna. Multiple biographers have noted the importance of Artaud’s early childhood experiences and family life in the development of his work, and particularly the work he created during and after his institutionalisation (Shafer, 2016; Stout, 1996). Some of the more influential aspects of his early childhood include the following: • •

His parents were first cousins, which resulted in a closely interconnected extended family. The death of his siblings – only two of his eight siblings survived until they were adults, Marie-Ange and Fernand. His sister Germaine’s death at seven months of age, just before Artaud turned nine, was particularly impactful (Shafer, 2016, p. 18).

•

•

At the age of five, he was diagnosed with meningitis; his father ‘procured a static electricity-producing machine’ to administer mild shock treatments, which was a common cure-all for a variety of ailments at the time (ibid.). He suffered from an intermittent stammer and frequent headaches, which persisted throughout the rest of his life (possibly related to this early illness).

His experience of meningitis started a lifelong relationship with physical ailments and neurological treatment. He would spend the majority of his life in and out of various asylums, sanatoriums and clinics and would undergo a more extreme form of electroconvulsive therapy towards the end of his life, when he was institutionalised at Rodez from 1943 to 1946. COLLÈGE SACRÉ-COEUR (1907–1914)

His deeply religious mother raised him in a Roman Catholic tradition, and ‘the young Artaud devoutly prayed for several hours each day’ (Höpfl, 2005, p. 249); for a period of time, he even considered becoming a priest. In 1907, at the age of nine, he began attending the Collège Sacré-Coeur, a bourgeois parochial school where he remained a student until he was eighteen. Two years earlier, France had passed a law establishing itself as a secular nation (Sherman, 1999, p. 74) and as David Shafer, one of Artaud’s biographers, has noted, ‘to send a child to a parochial school at the [time] was a strong statement on a family’s piety, if not hostility to the secular values of the French Republic’ (Shafer, 2016, p. 22). Artaud theorised theatre as a religious, holy experience (TD, p. 50), and the images he employed often reflected his Catholic upbringing (TD, pp. 91–92). It was at the Collège that Artaud first started writing poetry. The poets that excited him were challenging conventions and creating new forms, such as the American writer Edgar Allan Poe and the French poets Arthur Rimbaud and Stéphane Mallarmé. He began collaborating with his school classmates on a private literary journal around the age of 14, where he would publish his first poems under the pseudonym Louis des Attides (Esslin, 1976, p. 1). In 1914, his final year at school, he destroyed most of his written work and gave away his books BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

3

4

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

to his friends. In response to his noticeable psychological distress and withdrawal from social life, his parents had a psychiatrist examine him. According to his brother Fernand, the psychiatrist diagnosed Artaud’s dislike of his parents as the primary problem (Shafer, 2016, p. 25); Artaud biographer André Roumieux attributes it to a rejection of his entire family unit, including his brother and sister whom he could not stand (Roumieux, 1996, p. 17). Whatever the exact cause, Artaud was admitted to La Rouguiere, a clinic near Montpellier, where he began treatments under the supervision of the renowned doctor Joseph in 1915 (Shafer, 2016, p. 25). Grasset INTRODUCTION TO INSTITUTIONALISATION (1915–1918)

Grasset was a leading professor at the University of Montpellier. His recent publication, Thérapeutique des maladies du système nerveux [Therapy for Ailments of the Nervous System] (1907), argued that nervous conditions were often related to relations between blood relatives and ‘religious excesses’, both of which Artaud exemplified (Shafer, 2016, p. 25). He diagnosed Artaud with neurasthenia – a vague diagnosis that covered a wide variety of nervous disorders associated with fatigue, irritability and depression – and administered a mixture of treatments that included hydrotherapy and mineral baths, as well as cocktails of narcotics and stimulants. This was Artaud’s first exposure to opiates, to which he would become increasingly dependent throughout his life. His treatment was interrupted in 1916, when he was conscripted into the French army to serve in World War I and stationed at a training camp in Digne, in south-eastern France. His service was brief. Within five months of his induction he was released from duty due to ‘an unspecified health reason’ and fully discharged the following year (Shafer, 2016, p. 26). Though morphine was a commonly prescribed drug for wounded soldiers during the war (Kamieński, 2016, p. 83), it is unclear if Artaud was able to receive the drugs he had been prescribed in his treatment. He would later claim he was discharged due to his sleepwalking, though his mother identified the reason as his nervous condition (Shafer, 2016, p. 26). Once again, his parents had him admitted to a series of sanatoriums to treat his nervous disorders, which were exacerbated by his experience of the war. He was sent ‘to Saint-Dizier, near Lyons, to

Lafoux-les-Bains, to Divonne-les-Bains, and to Bagnères-de-Bigorre before he spent two years at a Swiss clinic [Le Chanet] near Neuchâtel’ (Rowell, 1996, p. 18). At Le Chanet, where he was admitted in 1918, he was under the supervision of Dr Maurice Dardel. Dardel encouraged Artaud to write and draw as part of his treatment (Eshleman, 2001, p. 162). He also prescribed him morphine and laudanum, solidifying what became Artaud’s lifelong addiction to opiates (ibid.). Artaud’s chronic illnesses and resultant drug use affected his work and relationships in various ways. His friend and collaborator JeanLouis Barrault reflected in his memoirs, As long as [Artaud] kept his lucidity, he was fantastic. Royal. Prodigious in his vision. Funny in his repartees. He was completely lubricated with humour. But when, under the effect of drugs or illness, his escapades submerged him, the machine began to creak and it was painful, wretched. One suffered for him. (Barrault, 1974, p. 81)

Artaud always positioned himself as a patient in need of relief rather than a drug abuser: ‘I understand prohibiting the sale to addicts, but not to an unfortunate type like me who needs it so that he no longer suffers’ (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 43). Barrault corroborated this, reflecting that Artaud’s drug use was primarily medical rather than an exercise in expanding his consciousness: ‘from an early youth his bodily sufferings were cruel. To mitigate them, he took drugs’ (Barrault, 1974, p. 83). France did not implement a national social health insurance system until 1945 (Chambaud and Hernández-Quevedo, 2018), which meant that Artaud was often unable to access or afford appropriate drugs for his treatments. At times, aware of his increasing dependence on opiates, he would attempt to detoxify himself. During these periods, he would have experienced opiate withdrawal, which is characterised by physical symptoms ranging from aches and pains to excessive sweating, diarrhoea, nausea and vomiting (Farrell, 1994). When one such period of withdrawal occurred in 1924, he wrote to his friend and sometimes financial sponsor Yvonne Allendy that he was suffering from ‘violent gnawings’ and a ‘spinal column full of cracklings, painful at the top’ (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 101). Noting that it had been ‘some weeks’ since he had ‘stopped using any drugs’, he declared his detoxification ‘a waste of time’ (ibid.). BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

5

6

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

PART II: ARTAUD IN PARIS (1920–1936)

Dardel believed Artaud would benefit from a return to France and recommended he be placed under the supervision of Dr Édouard Toulouse. Toulouse was a renowned French psychiatrist who was running an asylum in the Parisian suburb of Villejuif as part of a major project reforming asylum care in France. He had a long-standing interest in the arts, and part of his research focused on the relationship between artistic genius and psychiatric diagnoses (Eshleman, 2001, p. 162; Shafer, 2016, p. 31). In 1912, he had founded the art, science and culture journal Demain, which ‘aimed at promoting a fuller, more integrated life-style on the basis of a fusion of scientific and “moral” thought’ (Esslin, 1976, p. 18). Dardel specifically recommended Toulouse based on Artaud’s literary ambitions: he thought the ‘the more vibrant cultural life in Paris and the guidance of Dr Toulouse would provide the patient with a therapeutic artistic outlet’ (Shafer, 2016, p. 29). After assessing Artaud, decided to take him on as a boarder, believing his home would Toulouse be a more conducive environment to support Artaud’s creative and artistic development than Villejuif (ibid., p. 33). Artaud boarded with Toulouse and his wife Jeanne through the end of 1920 (Esslin, 1976, p. 19). During this time, Toulouse provided Artaud with his first opportunities to write professionally. He contributed a wide variety of writings to Demain, ranging from an improved curriculum for the baccalaureate to reviews of art exhibitions and plays and was made him managing editor of the journal in March 1920 (Rowell, 1996, p. 159). Toulouse also helped him publish works in some of the leading reviews of the day, including the in-house magazine for the Theatre de l’Œuvre (Ho, 1997, pp. 13–14). This served as Artaud’s introduction to the professional theatre world in Paris. ARTAUD AND PARISIAN THEATRE

Artaud’s arrival in Paris coincided with a period of avant-garde experimentation that expanded and reshaped French theatrical traditions. Through the mid-nineteenth century, it was customary for authors to direct their own texts. If the author was not available, a stage manager was responsible for ensuring the text’s stage directions were followed to the letter. When there was a director, it was generally an administrative role: ‘the author, the actor and the scene painter were the artists of the theatre realm’ (McCready, 2016, p. 2).

By the 1920s, however, the role of metteur-en-scène had gained prominence in France through the pioneering work of André Antoine at the naturalist Théâtre Libre (1887–1896). Antoine promoted the ‘“exciting but obscure work” of directing – “an art that [had] just been born”’ (Jannarone, 2010, p. 138). This was followed by the innovative work of Lugné-Poë at the Symbolist Théâtre de l’Œuvre (1893–1929), the first director with whom Artaud would work. As Artaud developed his acting career, he continued to work with directors who were actively pushing the boundaries of theatre. His exposure to and participation in the cutting-edge theatre of the time shaped his practice in important ways.

Metteur-en-scène literally translates to ‘scene setter’ and refers to the director of a production. The role of was first brought to prominence by georg II, Duke of Saxe-Meiningen in germany (1826–1914), a german aristocrat who, in 1886, established his own court theatre troupe where he oversaw every aspect of the staging and production. The role was not officially acknowledged in France until 1941 when ‘the Vichy regime created the Comité d’organisation des entreprises du spectacle [Organizing Committee for the entertainment Industry] and first used the term’ (Jannarone, 2016, p. 107, n. 11).

During a failed attempt to sneak into a production at the Théâtre de l’Œuvre, Artaud had a happenstance meeting with Lugné-Poë (Shafer, 2016, p. 37). Lugné-Poë and Toulouse were friendly, and Toulouse initiated a formal introduction. This led to Artaud’s first volunteer roles in a professional theatre as a prompter and stage manager (Murray, 2014, p. 61). He was also given his first opportunity to appear onstage, in a non-speaking role in Henri de Régnier’s Les Scrupules de Sganarelle [Sganarelle’s Scruples] (1921). In an assessment of Artaud’s work decades later, Lugné-Poë ‘praised him for the originality of his make-up and the elegance of his movement which made him appear as “a painter who had strayed among actors”’ (cited in Esslin, 1976, p. 19). In October 1921, his maternal uncle, Louis Nalpas, a French film producer and the artistic director of the influential production company Société des cinéromans, arranged an audition with Firmin Gémier. BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

7

8

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

Gémier identified Artaud’s talent and referred him to Charles Dullin, who had established a new theatre troupe, L’Atelier, earlier that year. Dullin and Artaud were mutually impressed with each other upon meeting, and Artaud accepted Dullin’s invitation to join the troupe. ARTAUD AT L’ATELIER (1921–1923)

Dullin founded L’Atelier with the stated goal to ‘return to the great traditions of dramatic art’ and, from that ‘solid base’, discover ‘new forms in keeping with the spirit of our times’ (cited in Whitton, 1987, p. 71). The troupe consisted of five actors in addition to Artaud, and he was initially enthusiastic about joining Dullin’s troupe. ‘[I]t is curious’, he wrote to Yvonne Gilles, a young painter he had met in Paris, ‘that I with my tastes have fallen into something so congenial to my own mentality’ (SW, p. 17). Artaud described it as a ‘small group, something like L’Oeuvre or the Vieux-Colombier but even more special, if possible’ (SW, p. 17). It was both a theater and a school which applie[d] principles of instruction that were invented by [Dullin] and whose purpose is to internalize the actor’s performance. For in addition to the purification of the stage he is also interested in its renovation or, more accurately, its total originality. (Sw, p. 17)

They relocated to Néronville, a town about 100 km south of Paris, where they lived and trained communally, outside of the pressurised environment of Paris. Dullin programmed an intense training regimen of ‘ten to twelve hours a day’, which included gymnastics, concentration exercises, improvisations, and voice training, with a focus on diction and breath (Goodall, 1987, p. 119). This was the kind of theatre Artaud wanted to create, one ‘conceived as the achievement of the purest human desires’ rather than an entertainment to be attended for ‘momentary excitement’ (CW2, p. 130). According to Artaud, the troupe was engaged in the ‘important business of purifying and regenerating the customs and spirit of French theatre’ (CW2, p. 128). Together they were ‘rediscovering old secrets and a whole forgotten mystique of theatrical production’ (SW, p. 16). Indeed, in Dullin’s vision for the theatre, one can see many of the ideas that Artaud would continue to develop:

• • •

Dullin considered theatre a ‘complete art, sufficient unto itself’ which needed to rediscover its specific power as a medium (cited in Tian, 2018, p. 143). He was one of the original proponents in France of ‘a total theatre in which gesture, mime, colour, music and movement would rival dialogue in importance’ (Esslin, 1976, p. 20). He drew from East Asian performance techniques in his pursuit of a new kind of Western theatre (Tian, 2018).

Dullin’s theatrical theories and techniques were foundational to Artaud’s development as a practitioner, and the two years Artaud spent as a member of the troupe represent his most rigorous actor training (Deák, 1977; Jannarone, 2010, p. 145; Shafer, 2016, p. 39). DULLIN’S TRAINING PROGRAMME

Dullin had a successful career on stage and approached his training from an actor’s point of view. He brought an eclectic mix of techniques to his training, including his work as an actor in melodrama, his movement training with Jacques Copeau, and his early training with Antoine, whose naturalist techniques informed his approach to conveying inner worlds (Rose, 1983, p. 44). The goal of his training programme, as he described it, was ‘to form the complete actor’ (cited in Deák, 1977, p. 346). He wanted to form actors with a general culture, which they so often lack; to inculcate them from the very beginning with solid principles of actors’ techniques: good diction, physical training; to expand their means of expression to include dance and pantomime. (ibid.)

He combined a focus on breathing and diction – the first principle of his technique élémentaire [elementary technique] was that actors should ‘know how to breathe well and at the same time acquire the science of using one’s breath’ (cited in Gardner, 2003, p. 111) – with improvisational exercises that looked to attune actors to their inner emotional life, as well as the external stimuli of the world, including moral, political, geographical and aesthetic concerns (Deák, 1977, p. 347). BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

9

10

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

He was an early innovator of improvisation in France, and his students participated in two weekly courses on improvisational techniques. Dullin recalled that ‘outside of the diction exercise which he energetically resisted, [Artaud] was a diligent and receptive student’ who ‘adored [the] improvisational work to which he brought the imagination of a poet’ (cited in Deák, 1977, p. 349). Artaud praised these techniques as Dullin’s ‘most important method’ (CW2, p. 128). Dullin’s improvisations ranged from simple exercises for the actor, such as imagining they were crossing a mountain stream, to more complex improvisational scenes that included multiple participants. He sometimes used ‘Edgar Allan Poe’s poems and theoretical writings on poetry’ to guide the improvisation – works with which Artaud was intimately familiar from his days at Collège (Barba, 1995, p. 152). Barrault, who began studying at L’Atelier in 1931 and joined the troupe the following year, reflected that the improvisations focused on connecting the actors to their authentic selves. Dullin asked them ‘to feel before expressing’ (Barrault, 1974, p. 55). Likewise, Artaud proclaimed that the improvisations ‘force[d] the actor to think his actions through his soul, instead of acting them’ (CW2, p. 128). In his own vision for the theatre, Artaud would use improvisation both to strengthen the emotional athleticism of the performer and as a way to devise theatrical work. ARTAUD’S INTRODUCTION TO EAST ASIAN THEATRE

Dullin was the first person to introduce Artaud to techniques from East Asian performance traditions. Like Artaud, Dullin was first introduced to these traditions as an actor. He appeared in two adaptations of Chinese Yuan zaju plays, first in Antoine’s production of L’Avare Chinois (1908), and again at Jacques Rouché’s Théâtre des Arts in Louis Laloy’s Le Chagrin dans le palais de Han [Sorrow in the Han Palace] (1911). Zaju was a form of Chinese variety play from the Song dynasty (1127–1279) that became a mature dramatic form during the Yuan dynasty (1279–1368). The Yuan zaju typically consisted of four acts, with prologues or interludes and combined singing, dancing, acting and mime. To avoid censorship, the stories were drawn from early plays, popular legends or historical stories.

More influential was Dullin’s exposure to Japanese performance. In a letter to his friend and fellow poet Max Jacob, Artaud noted that the Japanese were their ‘masters’ and informed the troupe’s methods (CW3, p. 93). Dullin would not actually witness an authentic Japanese performance until 1930, when Tsutsui Tokujirō and his troupe came to Paris, but his interest in it developed as early as 1916. Writing to Copeau while serving in the army during World War I, he describes participating in an impromptu performance in which ‘one of the “three marvellous actors” integrated dance, speech and singing’ in a combination he declared to be ‘Japanese’ (cited in Tian, 2018, p. 134). Dullin was inspired by ‘the principles of the old Japanese theatre’, the origins and history of which strengthened his ‘ideas on a renewal of theatrical performance’ (cited in Tian, 2018, p. 135). In 1921, two important works on Japanese theatre were published in France, which further expanded Dullin’s understanding of the form: Arthur Waley’s The Nō Plays of Japan and Noel Peri’s Cinq Nô: Drames lyriques japonais [Five Nō Dramas]. Both books contained descriptions of Japanese Nō theatre, as well as examples of performance texts. His contemporaries were inspired by these texts as well. For example, in 1924, Suzanne Bing would use them to support her translation and production of Kantan with students at Copeau’s Vieux-Colombier (Baldwin, 2016, p. 38). For Dullin, Japanese actors’ ‘stylization [was] direct, eloquent, and more expressive than reality itself’ (cited in Tian, 2018, p. 137). He was particularly interested in Japanese actors’ non-naturalistic acting style, their controlled physicality and work without props. Dullin attributed this, in part, to their use of masks and marionettes, which heightened attention to the expressive potential of the full body. In Chapters 2 and 3, we will see how Artaud builds on these ideas through his practice at the Théâtre Alfred Jarry (TAJ) and the writings published in The Theatre and Its Double. Artaud’s first live experience of East Asian performance was in 1922. Dullin’s troupe had been performing in the south of France, and Artaud took the opportunity to visit his family in Marseille, which was hosting the Exposition Internationale Coloniale de Marseille (1922). There, he attended Cambodian and Vietnamese dance performances, including what was considered the highlight of the event, King Sisowath’s Cambodian Royal Ballet. While writing his seminal essay ‘Sur le Théâtre Balinais’ [On the Balinese Theatre] (1932), he reflected on the Cambodian ballet and ‘wondered if the final happiness is not comparable to BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

11

12

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

the solution of this particular Nirvana’ (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 41). His experience of Balinese performance nearly a decade later would be even more influential, but these early introductions, while a member of Dullin’s company, were an essential foundation for his later practice and the theories he developed. PRODUCTIONS AT L’ATELIER

L’Atelier was situated in Montmartre, an artistic district on the outskirts of Paris with a rough reputation. For Dullin, the theatre’s position away from the Boulevard theatres signalled ‘the image of a different repertoire, a different style of acting, a different audience’ (cited in McCready, 2016, p. 36). The theatre, Montmartre’s oldest, was small and under-equipped, ‘with a cramped, almost circular stage’ (Whitton, 1987, p. 78; Hewitt, 2017, p. 107). Echoing Copeau’s concept of le tréteau nu, Dullin declared, ‘the most beautiful theatre in the world is a masterpiece on bare boards’ (cited in Whitton, 1987, p. 76). His intention was to create a theatre that was accessible to the public, and advertisements boasted it was ‘the most affordable theatre in Paris’ (cited in McCready, 2016, p. 36). Dullin exposed Artaud to a wide range of plays, both classic and contemporary, French and foreign. He performed eleven roles throughout his time in the company, including Tiresias in the much-lauded première of Jean Cocteau’s Antigone (1922), which had sets by Pablo Picasso, costumes by Coco Chanel and music by Arthur Honegger (Esslin, 1976, p. 22). Critics praised his performance as Basilio, King of Poland, in Calderón de la Barca’s La vie est un songe [Life Is a Dream] (1922) – a role that Artaud considered to be ‘of tremendous range’ (SW, p. 18). One contemporary reviewer highlighted his deft handling of a challenging monologue in the second act, which he performed in a way that was ‘incomparably simple and marvellously royal’ (Larrouy, 1997, pp. 19–20). The reviewer noted that Artaud’s ‘discreet inflections’ and ‘subtle gestures [. . .] singularly emphasized the majesty of his character’ (ibid.). One of Artaud’s most praised performances was in the role of the marionette Pedro Urdemales in Jacinto Grau’s Monsieur de Pygmalion (1923). Urdemales is an archetypal rouge or trickster character from Latin American literature, and Dullin considered Artaud’s performance a ‘great personal success’, which was the ‘incarnation of the spirit of

evil’ (cited in Rose, 1983, p. 54). Various reviewers likened Artaud’s highly physical performance to ‘a bolshevist jumping jack’ and ‘monkey-like rustling’, while Lugné-Poë identified him as Dullin’s ‘finest collaborator’ in a fine production (ibid.). In addition to acting, Artaud was a talented draughtsman, and Dullin enlisted him to contribute technical designs for several productions (Esslin, 1976, p. 20). He designed the scenery for the Spanish Golden Age drama L’Hôtellerie [The Hotel] (1922) and the costumes and scenery for Lope de Rueda’s Les Olives [The Olives] (1922), Alexandre Arnoux’s Moriana et Galvan [Moriana and Galvan] (1922) and Calderón de la Barca’s La vie est un songe (1922). This provided Artaud with practical design experience with a director who wanted to bring together every aspect of the mise-en-scène to create a total theatrical experience. Mise-en-scène translates literally to ‘putting on stage’ and refers to all the elements of staging. This includes the lighting design, sound design, décor, props, costumes, the movement, characterisation and speech of the actors, the audience and the way they all interrelate.

ARTAUD’S BREAK WITH L’ATELIER

Artaud often pushed his performances to extremes that did not align with Dullin’s overall vision. Known for the outlandish make-up he wore for performance and his particularly gestural acting style, he ‘began to annoy Dullin by insisting on more and more bizarre interpretation of his parts’ (Esslin, 1976, p. 21). For example, while performing as a businessman in Luigi Pirandello’s La Volupté de l’honneur [Pleasure of Honesty] (1922), Artaud appeared on stage wearing highly stylised make-up of his own design, based on masks from Chinese performance. It was standard at the time for actors to apply their own make-up; however, Dullin stated that this ‘symbolic makeup’ was ‘just slightly out of place in a modern play’ (cited in Pronko, 1967, p. 9). The final break between them came during a production of Arnoux’s Huon de Bordeaux [Huon of Bordeaux] (1923), in which Artaud was to play Emperor Charlemagne. Artaud considered it the first time he had ‘found a role adapted to [his] skills’ (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 44) and, despite his increased misgivings regarding Dullin’s theatrical vision, was BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

13

14

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

looking forward to it. During one rehearsal, Artaud came onto the stage on all fours and crawled to the throne. Dullin asked him to try a different approach, noting that his movement was ‘a little too stylised’ (Deák, 1977, p. 352). Artaud, frustrated that Dullin was not able to access his heightened level of understanding, replied, ‘Oh well! If you insist on reality!’ [Oh! Si vous travaillez dans la vérité! Alors!] (cited in Esslin, 1976, p. 22, translation modified and emphasis added). Artaud pushed boundaries in performance as well. In 1948, after Artaud had died, Dullin reflected on his work at L’Atelier. He described the long beard Artaud had chosen for the performance in Huon de Bordeaux: ‘when he interpreted the role of the elder Charlemagne [he] swept the steps of the throne with a ringleted beard which made him look like a rabid poodle’ (cited in Sellin, 1968, p. 52). Though Dullin was impressed by Artaud’s ‘imposing attitude’ (ibid.), he replaced him after a few performances. When he joined L’Atelier, Artaud considered it strongly aligned with his own vision for the theatre. He considered it a ‘research laboratory’ where together they were developing new innovative forms at the boundaries of current theatrical practice rather than ‘a business’ pursuit (ibid.). Dullin, of course, was running a business, something exemplified by his role as a founder of Le Cartel des Quatre, which, at its root, was ‘a trade organisation to influence the reigning economic norms of French commercial theatre’ rather than a specific ‘aesthetic movement’ (Barba and Savarese, 2019, p. 80). This disconnect between Artaud’s purely aesthetic concerns and Dullin’s business acumen might have also contributed to Artaud’s frustration with and dismissal of Dullin’s work. Artaud stated, I left the Atelier because I was no longer in agreement with Dullin on the questions of aesthetics and interpretation. He had no method. Often at a dress rehearsal Dullin would change the entire mise-en-scène if he saw fit. (cited in Deák, 1977, p. 353)

His criticism that Dullin had no method is clearly inaccurate, but for Artaud, Dullin’s flexible approach betrayed the director’s responsibility to create a fully codified theatrical experience. In the Theatre of Cruelty, as Artaud would go on to theorise it, such changes would not be possible, inasmuch as every aspect of the performance would form part

of a specifically coded symbolic whole planned out in advance, regardless of what an audience might desire or expect. WITH THE PITOËFFS AT THE THÉÂTRE DES CHAMPS-ÉLYSÉES (1923–1924)

After leaving L’Atelier, Jacques Hébertot, the head of the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées, hired Artaud as an actor. He was primarily assigned to the troupe of Georges and Ludmilla Pitoëff, Russian émigrés who had trained with Konstantin Stanislavski. Artaud was excited to work with Pitoëff, whom he had previously praised as a performer who gave himself completely to his art: ‘body, soul, nerves, blood’ to create work in which ‘there is no more art or theatre, there is life almost without shame’ (Virmaux, 2005, p. 32). Pitoëff positioned the director as the central creator of the theatre and asserted ‘the absolute autonomy of staging as an art’ (Whitton, 1987, p. 100); additionally, he focused on the essence or spirit of the text rather than ‘dogged fidelity to textual detail’ (ibid., p. 101). For Artaud, Pitoëff and fellow Cartel member Baty were directors who ‘know what they want and get it in good time’, in contrast to Dullin, who ‘never finishes’ (cited in Rose, 1983, p. 58). His more rigid, controlled method of staging than Dullin, and his desire to move beyond the letter of the text to convey its spirit, appealed to Artaud’s developing sensibilities. He mostly performed in minor roles during his time at the theatre, a fact that frustrated him and initially made him question his decision to join the troupe. He wrote to his long-term collaborator and love interest, the actress Genica Athanasiou, that he ‘very much regretted having accepted the engagement with the Comédie des Champs-Elysées’ (cited in Rose, 1983, p. 60). As he started to get more opportunities, however, he became more positive. While playing the roles of the black angel and a policeman in Molnár’s Liliom (1923), he wrote to her, ‘It is the first time I have had the feeling of being an actor, to see myself and feel myself in the theatre’ (ibid., p. 61). His work with the troupe continued to challenge him and push his capabilities. When cast as Jackson, a clown in Leonid Andreyev’s Larmes de Clown [He Who Gets Slapped] (1923), he felt disappointed by his performance. He wrote to Athanasiou, BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

15

16

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

For the first time I have the feeling of being plainly bad in a role [. . .] I have one scene where I am very good, the last scene, in which I play the clown’s inner state. But, all the external and physical part is absolutely rat-eaten. (cited in Rose, 1983, p. 64)

While there is no critical evidence that Artaud’s performance was poor – indeed, he was asked to reprise it in the revival six months later – his critique of his own physicality and the external aspects of his performance indicate his interest in the relationship between internal states and expressive gesture. Artaud’s style of acting continued to become more inflexible and idiosyncratic. Pitoëff’s daughter, Aniouta, ‘recalled that Artaud was often “brilliant” in a role in spite of his tendency towards immoderate and disturbing lamentation’ (Rose, 1983, p. 65). According to Jean Holt, another actor in the troupe, he was referred to, less generously, as ‘the barbed wire actor’ (cited in Sellin, 1968, p. 137, n. 87): whenever Artaud had to move, he stretched his muscles, he arched his body, and his pale physiognomy gave place to a hard face with fiery eyes. In this manner he would advance, manipulating his arms, hands, and legs; and he would zigzag, stretching out his arms and legs and tracing crazy arabesques in the air. (ibid.)

He was also becoming increasingly unreliable. Originally cast as the Prompter in Pitoëff’s seminal production of Pirandello’s Six personnages en quête d’auteur [Six Characters in Search of an Author] (1923), he disappeared a few days before the play’s opening and was given a much smaller role (Shafer, 2016, p. 45) – though he was recast in the role for the play’s subsequent revival (Esslin, 1976, p. 23). ARTAUD ON FILM (1924–1935)

It was at this time that Artaud was cast in his first film role: Monsieur II in Claude Autant-Lara’s experimental short Fait Divers [Various Facts] (1923). Artaud had a captivating screen presence and, by 1924, was starting to develop a successful career as a film actor. His professional pursuit of film was, in part, a result of family circumstances: his father died on 7 September 1924, which reduced Artaud’s financial support (Eshleman, 2001, p. 163).

Once again, he relied on his uncle Louis Nalpas, who, impressed by his work in Fait Divers, helped him to secure more jobs as an actor (Barber, 2013). After his father’s death, his mother moved to Paris, something Artaud had vehemently encouraged, according to his sister Marie-Agne (Shafer, 2016, p. 22). Heavily addicted to laudanum at the time, he perpetually struggled for money and lived with his mother when he couldn’t afford his own rent (Eshleman, 2001, p. 163). Until he travelled to Mexico in 1936, the two ‘were nearly inseparable’ (Shafer, 2016, p. 22). Artaud fully immersed himself in the cinema as an art form; he was devoted to the medium, calling it ‘more captivating than love’ (SW, p. 181). He appeared in twenty-three films, which served as his primary form of income until 1935. Some of the more notable examples include the monk Massieu in Carl Theodor Dreyer’s La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc [The Passion of Joan of Arc] (1928) and his appearance as Jean-Paul Marat in Abel Gance’s Napoléon (1927). The roles he played – religious figures, crazed revolutionaries, spiritual visionaries – and the intense energy he brought to them provide many of the images that continue to frame Artaud’s legacy (Jannarone, 2010, p. 5). ARTAUD THE SURREALIST (1924–1926)

As he pursued his career in cinema, Artaud also developed a relationship with the Surrealist movement, a collective of cross-disciplinary artists that emerged from the Dadaist contingent in Paris. Led by André Breton, the Surrealists called for art processes that would reveal the unconscious, and particularly the collective unconscious of the world. Despite his characteristically brief engagement with them – Artaud was formally a member of the Surrealist movement for only two years – they were a significant influence on his work (see, for example, Greene, 1971; Innes, 1993; Barber, 1999). Dadaism (1916 – mid 1920s) was an avant-garde movement established in Zurich, Switzerland, in 1916 as a response to the unprecedented bloodshed and destruction of world war I. The Dadaists rejected the bourgeois culture that led to the war and developed an anti-art practice that combined visual art, poetry, cinema and

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

17

18

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

performance to expose the absurdity of the world. Tristan Tzara, one of the founders of the Dadaist movement in Zurich, had moved to Paris in 1919 and was bringing the dynamic and subversive performance tactics of the movement to literary readings and cultural events in Paris. Many of the key players in the Dada movement in Paris, including André Breton, Max Jacob and Roger Vitrac would go on to form the Surrealist movement. For a good discussion of the movement in Paris see, Michel and Anne Sanouillet, Dada in Paris (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2012).

In the Surrealist movement’s first manifesto, published in 1924, André Breton defined Surrealism as follows: Psychic automatism in its pure state, by which one proposes to express – verbally, by means of the written word, or in any other manner – the actual functioning of thought. Dictated by the thought, in the absence of any control exercised by reason, exempt from any aesthetic or moral concern. (Breton, 1972, p. 26)

The Surrealists looked to what they considered the neglected areas of dreams, games and the ‘disinterested play of thought’ to bring forward the unconscious workings of the mind (ibid.). Through tactics such as automatic writing, a process that called for letting words flow freely from the mind to the page in an unedited stream of consciousness, or the exquisite corpse, in which artists collectively create a single picture without seeing the full contributions of each other artist, they hoped to tap directly into the deepest aspects of individual and collective consciousness. In 1925, Surrealist Maurice Nadeau wrote that ‘the immediate sense and purpose of the Surrealist revolution is not so much to change anything in the physical and manifest order of things as to create an agitation in men’s minds’ (cited in Short, 1966, p. 5). In 1924, Artaud published ‘Correspondance avec Jacques Rivière’ [Correspondence with Jacques Rivière] (1924) in the prestigious literary journal La Nouvelle Revue Française (NRF) (see Chapter 2). The NRF

was at the cutting-edge of the French cultural scene, and publication in it was an important step to the acceptance of the literary establishment. Breton read Artaud’s text and contacted him to set up a meeting, after which he invited him to join the Surrealist movement. Again, Artaud was initially enthusiastic. He stated that Surrealism ‘came at a moment when life had grown absolutely weary, had beaten [him] down, and where madness and death were the only ways out’ (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 56). The Surrealists’ ideas invigorated him, and he quickly took an active role in the movement, taking over as the director of the Surrealist Bureau de Recherches [Research Office] in 1925. The bureau was dedicated to evolving ‘means and ways for a Surrealist investigation within the confines of Surrealist thought’, which consisted of collecting examples of automatic writing and descriptions of dreams, hallucinations or visions, among other activities (Esslin, 1976, p. 26). He also served as editor for the third edition of La Révolution Surréaliste (1925). Entitled ‘Fin de l’ère chrétienne’ [End of the Christian Era], the issue featured many of Artaud and the Surrealists shared obsessions, including metaphysics, the occult, Eastern religion and an aggressive stance towards Catholicism. The bulk of the issue consisted of Artaud’s own writing (Shafer, 2016, p. 60). He wrote the two open letters for the issue, one to the thirteenth Dalai Lama Thubten Gyatso (1876–1933) and the other to Pope Pius XI (1857–1939), in which he rejected the corrupt culture of Europe in favour of what he considered the enlightened philosophy of the East. In his letter to Pope Pius XI, he denounced the canonical symbols of Catholicism: we only make shit of your canons, Index, sin, confession, priesthood; we imagine another war, war on you, Pope, dog . . . From top to bottom what triumphs from your Roman masquerade is the hatred of all immediate truths of the soul, these flames which burn in the same mind. There is no god, Bible or gospel. (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 61)

In contrast, the uncorrupted metaphysics of the East offered a path to spiritual enlightenment and a new understanding of the universe. In his open letter to Gyatso, he pleaded for an intervention that tapped into the pure spirit of the Dalai Lama ‘in a language that our minds, BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

19

20

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

contaminated by Europeans, can understand’ (ibid.). He would continue to look to Eastern philosophy and performance as inspiration in his quest to create a transformative, metaphysical theatre. Artaud’s relationship with the Surrealists quickly turned sour. He was formally expelled from the movement in 1926, only two years after he had joined. As Surrealism developed, it explicitly aligned itself with the French Communist Party, arguing a Marxist revolution was the best way to achieve the movement’s overall goals. In their denunciation of Artaud, they criticised him for his work in the commercial theatre and cinema and his insufficiently revolutionary thinking, claiming that he wanted to see in the Revolution no more than a change of the internal conditions of the soul, an attitude which belongs to the feeble-minded, the impotent and the cowardly. (cited in esslin, 1976, p. 29)

Breton’s denunciation is not totally inaccurate. For Artaud, a change in political power held no interest from ‘the point of view of the absolute’ (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 69). Instead, his artistic vision focussed on a revolution of the soul that went beyond fealty to any particular political ideology or allegiance with an economic class. He was interested in the fundamental transformation of humanity through a metaphysical experience (see Chapter 2). Artaud was one of many artists the Surrealists expelled in the late 1920s, including other figures who had made important contributions to the development of the movement. In the ‘Second manifeste du surréalisme’ [Second Manifesto of Surrealism] (1930), Breton stated that he must abandon silently to their sad fate a certain number of individuals who, in my opinion, had given themselves enough credit: this was the case for Messrs. Artaud, Carrive, Delteil, gérard, Limbour, Masson, Soupault, and Vitrac, cited in the Manifesto (1924), and for several others since. (Breton, 1972, pp. 129–130)

He expressed special vitriol for Artaud, who he dismissed as ‘an actor, looking for lucre and notoriety’ whose participation in Surrealism was simply ‘a role like any other’ rather than a genuine exploration of inner truth (ibid., p. 130).

In 1927, reflecting on the time he spent associated with the Surrealists, Artaud wrote, Surrealism was this virtual hope, intangible, and probably as seductive as any other, but which stimulated you, in spite of yourself, to take one last chance, to grapple with any phantoms if ever they are able to deceive the mind. Surrealism could not restore my lost essence, but it taught me to look no longer for the impossibility of stability in the activity of thought, and to learn to be content with the ghosts that my mind drags behind me. (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 56)

His expulsion from the movement would not end his association with its key players. He remained close to many of the leading members, and they would be essential allies during and after his institutionalisation in the late thirties and early forties. THÉÂTRE ALFRED JARRY (1926–1929)

Through his association with the Surrealists, Artaud met the two collaborators with whom he would pursue the most concentrated theatrical venture of his career: Roger Vitrac and Robert Aron. Together, they founded the Théâtre Alfred Jarry (TAJ) in 1926, which emerged from their belief that there was no longer ‘anything in the world that [could] be called theatre’ (CW1, p. 22). It was Artaud’s first attempt to put his theatrical vision into practice. Vitrac was a playwright who had been associated with the Surrealists since 1921. He met Artaud in 1924, and they immediately connected through their shared ‘obsession with the notion of death and with the interplay of the body/soul dichotomy’, as well as a mutual interest in the same artistic works, such as the poems of Lautréamont and the works of Alfred Jarry, the theatre’s namesake (Knapp, 1985, p. 48). By 1925 they were good enough friends to go on a summer holiday together (Auslander, 1980, p. 357). When they returned from holiday, they discovered that Vitrac had been expelled from the movement for his work in the theatre (ibid.). Artaud was expelled the following year, which cemented their friendship through a mutual animosity towards the Surrealist movement. Unlike Artaud and Vitrac, Aron was never officially part of the Surrealist movement, though many of his friends and associates were active BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

21

22

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

members (Rapti, 2016, p. 86, n. 2). While studying for a degree in language and classics at the University of Paris (more commonly known as the Sorbonne), Aron was the president of the Cercle International d’Etudiants [International Students’ Circle]. In that position, he organised a lecture series featuring important figures in French culture such as Eric Satie, Fernand Léger and Jean Cocteau (Melzer, 1977, p. 132). The series was positively received, and as a result, he was invited to join the editorial team of the NRF, where he was introduced to Artaud and Vitrac. Artaud first attempted to stage one of Vitrac’s play in December 1925, when he approached Lugné-Poë to direct a production of Les Mysteries de l’amour [The Mysteries of Love] at the Théâtre de l’Œuvre. The play would not première, however, until 1927, as part of TAJ’s first season of productions. TAJ would also première Vitrac’s work Victor ou les enfants au pouvoir [Victor, or Power to the Children] (1928). These are often considered to be the best examples of Surrealist theatre, despite Vitrac’s expulsion from the movement (Auslander, 1980; Rapti, 2016, p. 94). TAJ was an ad hoc theatrical venture with no set company, venue or sustainable funding. In a statement requesting subscribers to help fund the theatre, they identified it as ‘a non-profit making venture without commercial aspirations’ (CW2, p. 112). Instead, they were searching ‘in vain for something that might even suggest the idea of absolutely pure theatre’ (CW2, p. 15). On 26 September 1926, they approached Yvonne and René Allendy to help ‘find some money’ for the productions. The Allendys managed to raise around three thousand francs to fund the first season (Melzer, 1977, p. 132). Over the course of two years, they mounted four productions. More often discussed for the scandals they caused than their theatrical merits, they represent the bulk of Artaud’s work as a theatrical director. As such, they serve as primary examples of his attempt to put into practice a ‘total theatre formula’ (CW 2, p. 31), something I discuss further in Chapter 3. LE COQUILLE ET LE CLERGYMAN [THE SHELL AND THE CLERGYMAN] (1927–1928)

While his work as a film actor was primarily commercial, Artaud also authored film scenarios and published film criticism and theory in pursuit of a ‘pure cinema’ that took advantage of the medium’s specific

attributes (SW, p. 150). Initially, he believed that film had the potential to ‘go far beyond theatre’ in achieving his artistic goals (SW, p. 181). He wrote at least ten scenarios for film, which he hoped to direct and produce himself. Unable to finance their production, he deposited his manuscripts at the Société des auteurs de films [Society of Film Authors, SAF], an institute that made scenarios available to film directors (Shafer, 2016, p. 90). Only one of Artaud’s scenarios would be produced during his lifetime, Le Coquille et le Clergyman [The Shell and Clergyman] (1928). Le Coquille et le Clergyman depicts the sexual fantasies and hallucinations of a priest who is lusting after a married woman, and Artaud considered it an experiment in how to create a film that can ‘resemble and ally itself with the mechanics of a dream without really being a dream itself’ (CW3, p. 62). Germaine Dulac (1882–1942), treasurer of the SAF and one of the few women filmmakers in France at the time, discovered Artaud’s manuscript and decided to produce it (Williams, 2014, p. 80). The resulting film is often considered the first example of Surrealist cinema (Barber, 1999; Virmaux and Sanzenbach, 1966). There was some tension between Artaud and Dulac during the production. She had originally cast Artaud to play the clergyman, but his work in Dreyer’s Jeanne d’Arc conflicted with the film’s scheduled shoot (Williams, 2014, p. 146), timing that some have suggested was intentional (Barber, 2013, p. 38). He later tried to integrate himself into the production and, when shut out, objected publicly to a number of Dulac’s interpretations. The Surrealists, who viewed Dulac ‘as an opportunistic interloper’, joined Artaud’s denunciation and protested the première, leading to what is known as the Ursilines Club Incident (Barber, 1999, p. 10). According to the account Alastair Hamilton includes in Artaud’s collected works – which has become the most dominant of the various accounts in English – Artaud and a few friends attended the film’s première at the Studio des Ursilines and ‘protested so violently that they were turned out of the cinema’ (CW3, p. 239). Like many of the events associated with Artaud, details are sparse and often conflicting: some accounts identify Artaud as the leader, who, with the aid of the Surrealists, interrupted the projection of the film and shouted insults; others claim ‘neither Artaud nor Germaine Dulac was present’ and that it wasn’t clear who was responsible (Virmaux, 1966, p. 156). The incident has since been mythologised as a ‘near-riot’ and has overshadowed BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

23

24

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

critical reception of the film itself, as well as the reputation of Dulac, who was ‘quite literally written out of cinematic history’ in subsequent French encyclopaedias (Murray, 2014, p. 101). Though he denounced Dulac’s interpretation at the time, by 1932, he had revised his views and claimed the film as an important precursor to Surrealist cinema (Barber, 2013, p. 38). Indeed, Dulac’s vision for the cinema echoed Artaud’s in many ways: • • •

She was interested in ‘an art of sensation. A story conceived, not on dramatic givens, but on emotive givens’ (cited in Murray, 2014, p. 103). She wanted to create a ‘pure cinema’ (Williams, 2014, p. 131), one which was based ‘not on reflection, but on life itself’ (ibid., 84). To achieve these goals, she created a specific ‘grammar of cinema, explaining how particular techniques enabled the expression of thought on screen’ (Murray, 2014, p. 103).

Her focus on the senses, the creation of a medium-specific language, and attempt to create work in touch with real life were all ideas Artaud was pursuing as well. Artaud was becoming increasingly pessimistic regarding the future of cinema as a medium. The transition from silent film to talking pictures – films with spoken dialogue, as opposed to interstitial titles – represented cinema’s total capitulation to commercial pressures. Artaud declared talkies ‘an absurdity’, ‘the very negation of cinema’ and the abandonment of the medium’s potential (SW, p. 172). He was not totally opposed to sound in cinema – his final film scenario, La Révolte du boucher [The Butcher’s Revolt] (1930), called for voices ‘in space, like objects’ (CW3, p. 38) – but he was opposed to cinema becoming another literary form of storytelling. For Artaud, ‘the words spoken are only inserted to emphasise the image’ and must be accepted on a ‘visual level’ (CW3, p. 38). He envisioned words as part of the film’s soundscape, contributing to the sensations and rhythms of the moving images. In 1932 he wrote to Louis Jouvet, ‘I am ever more convinced that the cinema is and will remain an art of the past. One cannot work in it without feeling ashamed’ (CW3, p. 231). He acted in a few more films, in part due to the necessity of earning a paycheck, but he no longer felt passionate about cinema’s potential. His rejection of the medium (or perhaps he would say the medium rejected him) arose from a view

that theatre would better serve his goals. In his pursuit of a specifically cinematic language, however, one can see the consistency in Artaud’s overall vision. Though he worked in different media throughout his life, he always pursued a pure, medium-specific language that could help reveal universal human truths. EXPOSITION INTERNATIONALE COLONIALE DE PARIS (1931)

In 1931, Artaud attended the Exposition coloniale internationale in Paris, where he witnessed a performance of Balinese dances. Balinese artists had not previously performed in the West, and in addition to Artaud, other influential artists attended the exposition. One of them was Étienne Decroux, who had worked with Artaud as an actor at the Théâtre Alfred Jarry, and Barrault, whom Artaud would meet the following year at Dullin’s L’Atelier. The performance would have a transformative effect on Artaud’s understanding of theatre. Bali was a colony of the Netherlands at the time, and the performances took place in the exhibition’s complex of Dutch pavilions. The Dutch had created their pavilions in a style drawn from the indigenous cultures of Bali and Java, and they were decorated with impressive examples of indigenous arts and crafts. There were also displays outlining the efficacy of Dutch colonial organisation regarding everything from agriculture and religion to medicine and public health. While the exhibition was generally met with widespread enthusiasm, there were criticisms of its glorification of colonialism and exoticisation of colonised populations (Mileaf, 2001, p. 242). The performers reported poor conditions: Anak Angung, the head musician, said that ‘the Dutch kept us Balinese apart, like serfs, and we saw little of Paris or foreigners’ (Clancy, 1985, p. 399). In May 1931, the Surrealists circulated a tract, ‘Ne visitez pas l’Exposition Coloniale’ [Don’t visit the Colonial Exhibition], which ‘attacked the French government for its exploitation and oppression of colonized peoples and portrayed the Colonial exhibition as a denigrating ideological force’ (Mileaf, 2001, p. 243). In protest, they staged a counter-exposition, La Verité sur les colonies [The Truth About Colonies], that attacked the ‘chauvinistic and commercial values’ of the exposition (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 108). The next month, on 28 June, the Dutch pavilion was subject to a large fire, which destroyed several of the buildings and large collections of BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

25

26

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

irreplaceable indigenous art, including the main pavilion and everything in it (Times, 1931). Though the cause of the fire was ruled to be the result of an electrical fault, there were persistent accusations of arson, especially against the Surrealists (Savarese, 2001). The Dutch erected a second, smaller pavilion, which, with increased publicity due to media coverage of the fire, was well attended. The programme of performances at the pavilion primarily featured popular dances – none of the most sacred Balinese temple dances were included. The ninety-minute performance consisted of truncated samples of forms performed outside the temple (legong, kebyar, the gong dance, kebyar duduk), followed by a secular dance (janger) and finishing with the dance drama colanarang, a magico-exorcistic ritual of recent composition. (Savarese, 2001, p. 68)

Artaud attended the exhibition in July, and while it is impossible to say exactly what dances he saw, from his descriptions it is likely he would have seen a janger and possibly a barong or colanarang, each of which could last several hours in their original context (Foley, 1992). Though these were popular dance forms, they were not framed that way for the public, in interviews before the exhibition. The troupe’s leader, Tjokorda Gde Raka Soekawati, promoted the idea that they were ‘almost always sacred dances’, which was repeated in subsequent media coverage (cited in Rickner, 1972, p. 40). The combination of ‘gestures, words, sounds, music’ he saw at the exhibition represented a model for the type of pure theatre Artaud wanted to create. It was an ‘objective, animated enchantment’ that offered a new understanding of the underpinning spiritual nature of the universe and could reconnect us to its fundamental meaning (TD, p. 52). As I discuss in Chapter 2, Artaud’s understanding of these traditions in their historical and cultural contexts was limited (Foley, 1992; Savarese, 2001; Tian, 2018), but the experience was an essential inspiration for his Theatre of Cruelty. BACK TO THE THEATRE (1932–1935)

Over the next few years, Artaud would continue to develop his theatrical vision and look for opportunities to put it into practice. He

presented several public lectures and published some of his most important essays, including ‘La Mise en scène et la Métaphysique’ [Production and Metaphysics] (1932) and ‘Le théâtre et la peste’ [The Theatre and the Plague] (1934). It was at this time that he published the two manifestos for the Theatre of Cruelty: the first in the NRF in 1932 and the second in 1933, through rival publisher Éditions Denoël. In 1932 he worked as Louis Jouvet’s assistant director on a production of Alfred Savoir’s La Patissière du village, ou Madeleine [The Village Pastry Chef, or Madeleine] (1932). Artaud made several suggestions for a more symbolic mise-en-scène; his vision, however, did not align with Jouvet’s ‘more literal interpretation’ of the play (Rose, 1983, p. 170). For example, Artaud suggested he include about twenty dummies five metres high, of which six would represent the most typical characters of the play, with their prominent features, suddenly appearing and trudging along solemnly to the tune of a military march, which would be bizarre, full of Oriental consonances, in the midst of light signals and flares. each of these personages could have a badge and one of them could carry the arch of triumph on his shoulders. (Cw3, p. 217)

The use of oversized objects, inert dummies and mannequins, percussive sounds and rhythms and overtly symbolic interpretations were consistent with the kinds of choices Artaud made at TAJ. While he found Jouvet’s more restrained approach ‘interesting’ – especially his use of scenery, which almost captured the ‘spirit’ of the play – he was disappointed with the overall production and found it ‘flimsy and hopeless’ (CW3, p. 225). For Artaud, Jouvet had not gone far enough in exceeding the limitations of the playwright’s script (ibid.). LES CENCI (1935)

In 1935, he was finally able to secure financing to mount a production under the aegis of the Theatre of Cruelty: Les Cenci [The Cenci] (Di Ponio, 2018, p. 203). Les Cenci was an adaptation of the English poet Percy Bysshe Shelley’s play, The Cenci (1819) and the French author Stendhal’s short story, ‘Les Cenci’ (1837). It is based on a true story of an Italian count who raped his daughter and killed two of his sons. In retribution, the family hired assassins to murder him, for which they BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

27

28

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

were ultimately charged and condemned to execution. Artaud emphasised the play’s cruelty, and specifically its themes of incest, revenge and familial murder. Shelley’s play is categorised as a closet drama – a literary text written in dramatic form but not intended to be staged – and wasn’t performed until 1886, when the Shelley Society produced a private showing in London (Cameron and Frenz, 1945). In France, Lugné-Poë directed a production in 1891. Artaud, however, declared his work had nothing to do with those previous versions: his was an ‘original play [. . .] not what one would call an adaptation’ (Schneider and Cody, 2002, p. 130). Though Artaud’s assertion of his adaptation’s originality is overstated (he makes few substantial changes to Shelley’s text), his direction of the work emphasised its aspects of cruelty and violence. Artaud’s theatrical vision was compromised from the start by the demands of his financiers, his publisher Robert Denoël, and the socialite Lady Iya Abdy. Abdy played the starring role, Beatrice, and Denoël’s wife, Cécile Bressant, played Lucretia. Though some critics praised Lady Abdy’s presence on stage – Pierre Jean Jouve noted that her ‘dignity and versatility’ was the key element holding the production together (Sharpling, 2004, p. 38), and Fortunat Strowski, the influential critic for Paris-Midi, called her ‘an admirable artist’, if not an ‘actress’ (Blin et al., 1972, p. 132) – overall their performances were widely panned. Other than these casting choices, Artaud asserted absolute control over every aspect of The Cenci. He insisted that Roger Blin, his assistant director, carefully transcribe his directions so that he could create a fully codified production, per the theories he had laid out in his manifestos (Jannarone, 2010, p. 166). The play premiered 6 May 1935 at the Théâtre des Folies-Wagram in Paris. As with the productions at TAJ, Artaud’s use of a traditional proscenium theatre limited his ability to create a fully immersive experience. In an article for La Bête Noir, a few days before opening night, Artaud was careful to caution that the production was ‘not Theatre of Cruelty yet but is a preparation for it’ (Blin et al., 1972, p. 103); critics still considered it through this lens, however, which had set high expectations for an entirely new theatrical experience. Opening night reviews were mixed; while critics recognised the innovative staging and design of the work, they considered the production to be messy and ineffectual overall (ibid., pp. 127–142). For example, Strowski called it ‘a noble effort, not always entirely successful

nor entirely skillful’ that nevertheless deserved ‘attention and praise, even where it disappoints our legitimate expectations’ (ibid., p. 132); likewise, a review in Le Temps called it ‘deserving, if not respect, at least goodwill’ (ibid., p. 130). While many of the acting performances were ridiculed as overwrought – Artaud was generally derided as a ‘deplorable’ actor, if a captivating stage presence (ibid., p. 131) – there was praise for the mise-en-scène and Artaud’s potential to develop his vision. Raymonde Latour’s review in Paris-Midi was one of the more positive: One can either love or detest this unusual play, but one should not remain indifferent to the courage and audacity of the effort. The beautiful costumes, the skillful sets, the music, the staging, the passion of the performers and the violent tone of the Cenci seemed to deserve more excitement. (Blin et al., 1972, p. 128)

Most audiences, it seemed, detested it, and it closed after seventeen performances. PART III: ARTAUD LE MÔMO – MEXICO, IRELAND AND THE ASYLUM YEARS (1936–1948)

Artaud had hoped The Cenci would enable him to raise funding for his next production, ‘the one he dreamt of, his scenario for Conquest of Mexico’ (Schneider and Cody, 2002, p. 129). Instead, he felt ‘betrayed by the production’, which he considered a devastating failure (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 123). He declared that it ‘deviated in part from the framework of the kind of theater’ he wanted to create and wasn’t a true representation of the Theatre of Cruelty (SW, p. 343). Partially in response to Les Cenci’s failure, Artaud felt compelled to leave the confines of Europe in search of a more authentic culture. ARTAUD IN MEXICO (1936–1937)

Fascinated by Mexico, which he believed ‘possesse[d] a cultural secret which the ancient Mexicans bequeathed her’ (SW, p. 372), Artaud set out to fund a trip there. He wrote to the French minister of foreign affairs, Pierre Laval, requesting government support for a research trip, BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

29

30

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

which resulted in the Mexican Legation in Paris commissioning him to study Mexican art and culture and present a series of lectures in Mexico City. In January 1936, Artaud boarded a ship to Veracruz, where he would arrive one month later. He was welcomed into the French community in Mexico City and became an active participant in cultural and intellectual circles. His association with Surrealism was an asset, as the movement was highly prized amongst the intellectuals and artists he encountered. He spoke before the Liga de Escritores y Artistas Revolucionarios [The League of Revolutionary Writers and Artists], participated in a congress for children’s theatre and presented three lectures at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México [National Autonomous University of Mexico], which were published in the government periodical El Nacional (Shafer, 2016, pp 132–135). Artaud’s lectures extolled the magic of the ancient world and looked to offer ways of moving beyond European rationalism. Despite the popularity of Surrealism amongst his audiences, Artaud, in his usual style, renounced it, declaring in a lecture that ‘Surrealism is out of style in France’ and that the ‘Surrealists attitude was a negative attitude’ (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 133). He explicitly rejected their revolutionary Marxism, telling the audience that Marxism ‘does not accord with the facts’ and that the ‘revolution invented by Marx is a caricature of life’ (SW, p. 357). Instead, he encouraged his audiences to look towards indigenous populations, whom he believed were in touch with a magical vitality that underpinned human existence. In his lecture ‘Premier Contact Avec la Révolution Mexicaine’ [First Contact with The Mexican Revolution], he declared the ‘the Mexican revolution is a revolution of the indigenous soul, a revolution to win back the indigenous soul as it was before Cortes.’ (SW, p. 369) This was slightly out of touch with the political atmosphere of the country, which was split between the traditions of the ‘conservative Catholics and Soviet-inspired Communist Party’ (Leach, 2004, p. 163). In ‘Ce Que Je Suis Venu Faire Au Mexique’ [What I came to Mexico to Do] (1936), published in El Nacional shortly after he arrived in Mexico City, Artaud declared European culture ‘in a state of bankruptcy’, with nothing ‘to offer the world but an incredible pulverization of cultures’ (SW, p. 371). In Mexico, he hoped to find a new idea of man. Man confronted by the inventions, the sciences, the discoveries, but as only Mexico can still present him to us, I mean with this armature

on the outside, but carrying deep within him the ancient vital relations of man with nature that were established by the old Toltecs, the old Mayas-in short, all those races which down through the centuries created the grandeur of the Mexican soil. (Sw, p. 372)

He did not find what he was looking for. In Artaud’s view, European influences had already corrupted Mexico City and most of the Mexican artists with whom he interacted. The one artist he spent ‘considerable time’ with was Maria Izquierdo, whom he believed was ‘in communication with the true forces of the Indian soul’ (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 131). For Artaud, her ‘honest, spontaneous, primitive, troubling paintings’ were ‘a sort of revelation’ (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 131). When he returned to Paris, he brought back thirty of her paintings, which were exhibited in Montparnasse in 1937. Izquierdo hoped an exhibition would raise her profile in Europe and also provide enough money to help Artaud get treatment for his ongoing addiction to opiates (Shafer, 2016, p. 131). Overall, Artaud was disappointed and depressed by Mexico City and resolved to seek out a more authentic Mexican culture. He raised funds for a trip to the Sierra Tarahumara, which was the territory of the Rarámuri people in North-West Mexico. Artaud was particularly interested in the Rarámuri peyote rites, which he believed contained a magical force that could reveal to him the nature of the universe. In accounts written during his institutionalisation years after the experience, Artaud describes travelling with a guide by foot and horseback to their remote mountain region, a six-day journey. Shortly before arriving in their territory, he discarded his ‘last dose of heroin in a stream’ in preparation for ‘a completely new consciousness-raising experience with peyote’ (Shafer, 2016, p. 138). There is no direct evidence indicating how long Artaud stayed with the Rarámuri, but based on letters he sent from Mexico, his later recollections and accounts from people who remember his visit, it is likely he spent around six weeks there in September 1936 (Krutak, 2014, p. 36). Felipe Armendariz, a local schoolteacher who lived nearby, described a strange French poet who stayed with them. According to Armendariz, Artaud recited poems and they listened, despite not having a shared language, ‘because his gifts as an actor, his facial expressions, were extraordinary’ (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 137). He claimed they ‘had a BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

31

32

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

great veneration’ for him and would carry him across the mountain in a sedan chair (ibid.). Erasmo Palma, a Rarámuri elder renowned for his skills as a troubadour and a poet, likewise remembered Artaud’s visit, though he was only eight years old at the time (Krutak, 2014, p. 40). According to his own accounts, Artaud convinced the Rarámuri to let him participate in a peyote ritual during the final period of his stay, but he was unable to complete the peyote dance due to fatigue (in part caused by heroin withdrawals). Artaud believed his inability to perform the rites prevented his breakthrough to a deeper level of spiritual understanding: ‘from now on something hidden behind this heavy grinding and which equalizes dawn and night, this something left out, will serve . . . in my crucifixion’ (cited in Hertz, 2003, p. 25). In this way, Artaud’s experience led him to the edge of a new spiritual perception but left him with the feeling that something key was still missing. Whether Artaud engaged in any peyote rites at all is still a source of speculation. Lars Krutak has argued that it is unlikely, based on the time of year he visited (which did not coincide with when the Rarámuri’s major peyote rites occurred), the general secrecy of the tribal elders concerning the peyote rites and the similarity of Artaud’s accounts to previously published works (Krutak, 2014). Krutak suggests he might have witnessed or participated in a minor funeral rite, with ‘a peyote “curing” component’, rather than the full peyote ritual Artaud describes (ibid., p. 33). Overall, Artaud spent eight months on his trip to Mexico. He remained depressed when he returned to Mexico City, and his friends, as well as the personnel at the French Embassy, were concerned for his well-being. The French ambassador to Mexico arranged a waiver of the exit fee (twenty pesos), and on 31 October 1936, Artaud boarded a boat back to France. He arrived on 14 November and immediately underwent treatments for his drug addiction in Montparnasse (Shafer, 2016, p. 142). ARTAUD IN IRELAND (1937)

In 1937, his friend René Thomas, with whom Artaud was staying in Paris, gave him a unique cane carved with thirteen decorative knots. Artaud believed these were ‘magic signs representing moral forces and a prenatal symbolism’ and that it was the most sacred relic of the Irish

church, the Bachall Ísu, or Staff of Jesus (Thévenin and Knapp, 1965, p. 115; Artaud, 2019, pp. 69–70). This might have been the reason for his next journey, a trip to Ireland. Though Artaud’s exact intentions for going to Ireland are unclear, it is variously ascribed to his desire to return St. Patrick’s cane to its rightful homeland, discover the authentic culture of the Irish Druids and witness the impending apocalypse (Artaud, 2019, p. 69). In contrast to his trip to Mexico, Artaud’s journey to Ireland was entirely unofficial. After requesting sponsorship from the Irish Free State Legation in Paris, he received a ‘non-committal letter of introduction’ from Art Ó Briain, the Irish minister to France and Belgium (Artaud, 2019, p. 70). On 14 August 1937, he arrived in Cobh, a port in the south of Ireland in County Cork and immediately headed to Galway. He spent the next month travelling through rural Ireland, basically penniless and unable to communicate due to his limited English language skills and complete lack of Gaelic (ibid., p. 71). On 8 September, he arrived in Dublin, where he ‘became destitute and stayed in hostels for the homeless’ (Artaud, 2019, p. 72). His mental health deteriorated throughout the journey, and Artaud had increasingly apocalyptic visions. In a letter to the Paris-based journalist Anne Manson on 14 September, he declared that he held ‘the Cane of JesusChrist and it’s Jesus-Christ who is giving me orders about everything that I am going to undertake’ (ibid., p. 46). That same day he wrote a letter to Anie Besnard and René Thomas with a vision of apocalypse that would be brought about by the cane: [I]n around 20 days from now you will hear a great thundercrack resound over the world, because the cane of Jesus-christ will be instrumental in the end of the world and it will need to battle against the antichrist. (ibid., p. 49)

His final letters from Ireland were to Jacqueline Breton, André Breton’s wife, to whom he sent a protective spell on 17 September: to the First One who dares to touch you. I am going to beat his little gob of a fake proud cock to a pulp.

(Artaud, 2019, p. 61)

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

33

34

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

Artaud’s mental state worsened, and he ‘had several violent altercations with the Dublin police’, which culminated in an incident at the Jesuit College where he was arrested on 20 September (ibid. p. 72). Held at Mountjoy Prison, he was uncooperative with representatives from the French consulate and gave them false information, claiming to be Antonéo Arlaud Arlanapulo, born in Smyrna on 29 September 1904 (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 152). He was repatriated to France, which he later claimed was ordered by the intelligence services who found him ‘too revolutionary’ (ibid.). His troubles continued on the boat when he allegedly became aggressive with the steward and chief mechanic, who had entered his room to make a repair. As a result, Artaud was confined to a straitjacket for the rest of the journey. ARTAUD IN ASYLUM (1937–1946)

The boat docked at Le Havre, France, on 30 September 1937, and Artaud was involuntarily detained on the order of the police, who claimed he was a danger to himself and others. He was transferred to Quatre-Mares, a psychiatric hospital in Sotteville-lès-Rouen, where he was confined unbeknownst to his friends or family. It took until December for Artaud’s mother to confirm his location, by which time his condition had worsened, and he was unable to recognise her (Shafer, 2016, p. 153). Concerned and wanting to be closer to him, his mother arranged his transfer to Sainte-Anne’s in Paris’ fourteenth arrondissement, where he was admitted 1 April 1938. It was at this time that NRF editor Jean Paulhan published Artaud’s seminal collection of writing on theatre, The Theatre and Its Double, in an edition of four hundred copies as part of Gallimard’s Collection Métamorphoses (Esslin, 1976, p. 51). Artaud initially considered collecting his various texts into a single collection around 1935 while writing and producing his adaptation of The Cenci. Before he left for Mexico in 1936, he gave drafts of his various essays to Paulhan and urged him to publish them as soon as possible. This was at least partially motivated by financial concerns – Artaud needed an advance to help supplement his income during his travels (Shafer, 2016, p. 129). He corrected the proofs for the text between returning from Mexico and heading to Ireland. When it was published in February 1938, Artaud was too incapacitated to be aware of its publication or personally promote it. Despite this, the book was of great interest to the French cultural scene and

‘interest in him re-awakened among the intellectuals of Paris’ (Esslin, 1976, p. 51). Jacques Lacan, who would go on to become one of France’s most influential psychoanalysts, was in charge of Artaud’s diagnosis at SainteAnne. He declared that Artaud could not be rehabilitated and that his ‘hopeless mental state [would] no doubt prohibit him from any creation’ in the future (Shafer, 2016, p. 155). During his eleven months at the hospital, he refused to see any visitors and was declared incurably insane. On 27 February 1939, he was put in a straitjacket and transferred to a much larger asylum, Ville-Évrard, just east of Paris in Seine-Saint-Denis. At Ville-Évrard, Artaud was diagnosed with paranoid delirium and, because he was considered untreatable, did not receive a systematic programme of treatment; instead, he was shuffled between different wards – the ward for maniacs, for epileptics, for cripples, for undesirables (Eshleman, 2001, p. 174). Despite this lack of treatment, Artaud started to communicate with his friends and family again, writing letters to his mother, Dullin, Breton and his friend Roger Blin, among others. He was increasingly agitated about being confined and desperate for heroin, which he often requested. He started writing spells cursing his enemies and benefitting his friends (Rowell, 1996, p. 11). In one, addressed to Roger Blin in 1939, he threatened to have ‘[a]ll those who banded together to prevent [him] from taking heroin [. . .] pierced alive’ (ibid., p. 149). After the outbreak of World War II, the clinic suffered severe food shortages due to war rationing; patients were regularly left without adequate food, and Artaud’s deterioration increasingly distressed his mother. The conditions in the asylum worsened when Paris was occupied by the Germans in June 1940. The previous October, Adolf Hitler had signed a decree that ‘gave authority to certain physicians, designated by name, to decide whether persons whom they judged, after proper assessment, to be incurable should be accorded a mercy death’ (Mueller and Beddies, 2006, p. 98). Fearful for his life, his mother enlisted the Surrealist poet Robert Desnos to have him transferred out of Nazi territory. Desnos was close with Gaston Fredière, who was the head of psychiatry at Rodez, an asylum in the territory of Vichy France. In February 1943, after some bureaucratic manoeuvring, Desnos and Fredière were successful in having Artaud transferred to Rodez. BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

35

36

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

Vichy (1940–1944) was the territory still under French control after the german occupation in world war II. The Vichy government cooperated and collaborated with the Nazis, including the Nazi’s genocidal policies towards Jewish people and other minorities. Conditions in the Vichy asylums, however, were relatively better than they were in the areas directly under Nazi control. In 1954, Artaud’s one-time collaborator, Robert Aron, would publish one of the most influential considerations of the period: Histoire de Vichy, 1940–1944 [History of Vichy, 1940–1944] (1954).

Fredière had a long history with the Surrealists and was aware of Artaud from his association with them in the early ’20s. Unlike Lacan, Fredière believed Artaud could be rehabilitated and took a personal interest in helping him to recover both physically and mentally, even inviting Artaud to eat at his house with his family (Lotringer, 2015, p. 152). Artaud later described himself as arriving at Rodez ‘like a “living corpse”’ and thanked Fredière for putting him ‘back on a diet fit for a human being, rather than for a ravenous beast, martyred and poisoned the way [he] had been kept for five years and four months in French mental institutions’ (Lotringer, 2015, p. 19). According to Fredière, for the first few months after Artaud arrived at Rodez, ‘he was doing absolutely nothing’ (Lotringer, 2015, p. 193). Similar to Artaud’s earlier doctors, such as Toulouse, Fredière was interested in the therapeutic qualities of creative expression and encouraged Artaud’s artistic activity. He had him write and draw as part of his treatment (including work on translations of English texts, such as Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland). More controversial was Fredière’s use of electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). ECT was a relatively new mode of therapy – it was invented in Italy in 1938 – in which high-voltage shocks were applied to a patient in order to induce seizures (Sadowsky, 2017, p. 30). In an interview with Sylvère Lotringer, Fredière noted that it ‘was the only treatment in the therapeutic arsenal at the time’ for someone suffering from Artaud’s mental illness, and Fredière insisted it was relatively benign. Over the course of his time at Rodez, Fredière administered Artaud with fifty-two electroshock treatments, which he claimed was the

reason ‘that [Artaud] started writing again, responding to his friends’ (Lotringer, 2015, p. 175); Artaud, however, denounced the electroshock treatments throughout the rest of his life. FINAL REST HOME (1946–1948)

In 1946, Artaud’s associates, led by playwright Arthur Adamov, rallied on his behalf to have him released from Rodez (Taylor-Batty, 2007, p. 60). Blin, Paulhan and Adamov organised a gala at the Théâtre Sarah-Bernhardt, where famous actors performed Artaud’s poems, and they sold his manuscripts and drawings; this raised enough money to pay for his care at a rest home run by Dr Achille Delmas in Ivry-surSeine, one of Paris’ south-eastern suburbs (ibid., p. 61). In these final years, Artaud would give a lecture at the Théâtre du Vieux-Colombier and record his last piece of work, Pour en finir avec le jugement de Dieu [To Have Done with the Judgement of God] (1947), a radio broadcast that would not be aired until after his death. Artaud isolated himself in a rundown and disused part of the grounds at Ivry-sur-Seine. He lived in a two-room apartment that overlooked a garden, separated from the other residents at the clinic. Artaud insisted on living in this part of the grounds, despite Dr Delmas’ attempts to dissuade him, because he believed that the poet Gérard de Nerval, to whom he felt a spiritual connection, and the revolutionary JeanPaul Marat, whom he portrayed in Abel Gance’s Napoléon (1927), had previously walked there. Though it was unlikely either had ever been to Ivry-sur-Seine, their imagined presence made Artaud feel connected to a longer literary and artistic history (Shafer, 2016, p. 183). It was here that he died on 4 March 1948, likely due to an overdose of chloral hydrate, though he was also suffering from intestinal cancer (Taylor-Batty, 2007, p. 65). He was found alone seated at the foot of his bed, only a year and a half after his release from Rodez. CONCLUSION

In a letter written towards the end of his life, Artaud stated, The civil status of the man I am, Antonin Artaud, problematically bears 4 September 1896 at eight o’clock in the morning as his date of birth. And, as place of my entry in this life Marseille, Bouches-du-Rhône, France, 4 rue du Jardin des BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

37

38

BIOgRAPHY IN SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC CONTeXT

Plantes, on the fourth floor. However, I object to all this, I needed more time, I mean tangible, real, verified, actual, authentic time to become the edgy and irrepressible asshole that I am. (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 13)

For Artaud, his birth date did not fix him in the world. Rather, it was his total experience that shaped him into the exacerbating figure that history has recorded. Artaud’s legacy as an artist is tied into his biography in unique ways, in part due to his focus on excavating the depths of the self both physically and spiritually. As his friend and the editor of his complete works, Paule Thévenin has stated, Artaud ‘worked ceaselessly’: wherever he was and at all times, no matter how uncomfortable his position was, whether he was at a table, in the subway, among friends, he took his little school-boy’s notebook from his pocket and wrote and drew in it. (Thévenin and knapp, 1965, p. 106)

He was dedicated to pushing his ideas beyond theory and into action, even at the expense of his own physical and mental well-being. The next chapter covers some of Artaud’s major publications, with a focus on the writings he collected in The Theatre and Its Double. These words and ideas were not meant to remain in books, however; in whatever discipline he was working, Artaud strove to put ideas into practice. His writings provide pathways for practitioners to discover a theatrical language and practice rather than documenting or outlining a specific system. As you further engage with Artaud’s ideas, consider how they might inform your own theatrical vision. The point is not to re-create Artaud’s challenging experiences, but to see how his perspective and ideas can help you build your own specifically theatrical language.

2 AR T AU D’ S K E Y W R I TINGS

Artaud was a prolific writer. His complete works, scattered and sometimes contradictory, stretch over twenty-six volumes, much of which remains to be translated into English. They include poetry, manifestos, film criticism, scenarios for the cinema and the theatre, a novel, letters, notes and fragments of unfinished writing. Though a small part of his overall output, Artaud’s writings on theatre and performance were central to the ideas he explored throughout his life. His most influential works on the subject are collected in The Theatre and Its Double (1938), which consists of essays, manifestos, letters and notes forwarding his radical artistic vision for the Theatre of Cruelty. In these texts, Artaud combines a theoretical reimagining of the theatre with concrete plans for action. Those looking for an outline of an Artaudian system of performance, however, will be disappointed. While his manifesto for a Theatre of Cruelty features a section labelled ‘Technique’, Artaud does not present a technique for theatre, so much as he offers theatre as a technique. Artaud’s writing can be challenging to a modern reader. The subjects to which he consistently returns – violence, sexual depravity, pestilence – retain their power to shock almost one hundred years after they were written. Indeed, this was an important part of his vision, as he

DOI: 10.4324/9780429019838-2

40

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

looked to bring forth and purge the darkest aspects of the human psyche through a process of spiritual awakening, something he considered a cruel but necessary process. Artaud wanted his theatre to work directly on the participant’s emotional and physical being: participants must know ‘that they will not come out [of the experience] unscathed’ (CW2. p. 17). He wanted to discover the ‘pressure points’ for human emotions and to puncture and irritate them ‘as if the muscles were flayed’ (TD, p. 98). Because of this, working with Artaud might be triggering for people who have experienced sexual assault, addiction or mental health issues. It is important to keep this in mind as you push towards the ‘cruel’ extremes that characterise Artaud’s vision and make sure you take care to create an environment based on consent, boundaries and mutual respect. Artaud’s work also reveals prejudices and attitudes prevalent at the time, particularly regarding the exoticisation of indigenous cultures. While he venerates indigenous traditions, he also appropriates them, observing them through a colonial lens. He integrated into his theatrical vision the aspects of these traditions that inspired him, without a full understanding of their cultural context. Though it is outside the scope of this text to do this in every instance, where possible I have attempted to provide historical and cultural context for these traditions and point readers to resources for additional reading. Those encountering his work in English have the added barrier of translation. Translation inevitably flattens the linguistic nuances of the original French, and English translators interpret his writing in different and sometimes conflicting ways. One example is the French word esprit, which in French means both spirit and mind. Translators must make a choice as to which word to use in English, which removes the term’s full connotative meaning. Kimberly Jannarone argues that, while translators tend to default to mind, spirit is more appropriate in most cases because Artaud uses the term to refer to ‘the abstracted elements of a person, including thought, attitude, a general way of being, acting, and perceiving’ (Jannarone, 2010, p. 88). These debates can be found throughout the literature, and those who cannot read Artaud in the original French might find it beneficial to compare the different translations available (see Bibliography).

HISTORICAL CONTEXT

Artaud begins The Theatre and Its Double with the assertion that ‘life itself is in decline’, its ‘universal collapse’ the foundation of the ‘demoralization’ of the present day (TD, p. 3). He wrote the book’s essays during the interwar period, and the recurring themes of decay, violence and disease reflect the tumultuousness of the era. For Artaud, it was essential to make art that engaged with, rather than distracted from, the period’s ‘crude, epileptic rhythm’ (TD, p. 53). AVANT-GARDE RESPONSE TO WORLD WAR I

Artaud’s work is part of a larger reaction amongst avant-garde movements to the horrors of World War I: •

•

•

•

For artists participating in the international Dada movement (1916– 1924), the war revealed the absurdity and pointlessness of life and art as it was being conducted; they advocated for a total shattering of existing norms in response to the bloodshed and destruction of the period. Likewise, the French Surrealists rejected the rational modernity that led to the atrocities of the war and embraced the irrational logic of dreams and the subconscious. They aligned themselves with the revolutionary political programme of the French Communist Party, something that was partially responsible for their break with Artaud (see Chapter 1). In Italy, the Futurists (1909–1944), fascinated with the potential of modern technology, extolled war as a thing of beauty and aligned themselves explicitly with the emerging fascist political parties. Futurist poems evoked the sound of bullets flying on the front and the potential for a new modern era, while Futurist theatre looked to replace the actor with lights and machines. In Germany, the German Expressionists (1905–1934) worked across visual art, literature, theatre and film with a focus on creating heightened emotional states through unsettling juxtapositions. The uncanny mise-en-scène of German Expressionist film was characterised by jagged shapes, distorted images and unusual camera angles.

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

41

42

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

Artaud’s vision synthesises many of the darkest aspects of these avant-gardes, with the Surrealist exploration of the unconscious, the shock tactics of Dadaism, the glorified violence of the Italian Futurists and the heightened emotional states and uncanny aesthetics of the German Expressionists coming together in his vision for a Theatre of Cruelty. METAPHYSICS

Wider philosophical and intellectual currents of the interwar period also influenced Artaud’s theories. Particularly important were the discussion of metaphysics, the branch of philosophy that concerns itself with the fundamental nature of the universe and the principles of first causes. Artaud considered poetry’s ‘proper value’ to be found in its ‘metaphysical scope, its degree of metaphysical effectiveness’ (TD, p. 31), and he looked to create a metaphysical European theatre. Metaphysics was prominent amongst certain artistic and intellectual communities in Europe, who, responding to the aftermath of World War I, entertained ‘apocalyptic fantasies fuelled by violent metaphysical pessimism’ (Jannarone, 2010, p. 35). Artaud spent extended periods of the interwar period filming in Berlin, and Jannarone notes that his embrace of metaphysics, esotericism and the occult were influenced by the ‘darker tone’ these ideas took in Germany (ibid., p. 69). One aspect of this was his embrace of the ‘leading energies of Gnosticism’ (SW, p. xlv), a set of philosophical and religious ideas that framed the universe as entangled in a cosmic battle between good and evil. Gnosticism refers to a set of religious systems that developed in the first and second centuries of the Common era. Coming from the greek word for ‘knowledge’, γνῶσις [gnosis]. gnostic thought was based on the feeling that there was an ‘irreparable rupture between the realm of experience (pathos) and the realm of true Being – that is, existence in its positive, creative, or authentic aspect’ (Moore, 2021). In the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century, there was a revival of gnostic thought in europe, particularly in France, where Jules Doinel established the first modern gnostic church in 1890 (Trompf et al., 2018).

Sontag outlines some of the ways that Gnosticism informs Artaud’s vision, including metaphysical anxiety and acute psychological distress – the sense of being abandoned, of being an alien, of being possessed by demonic powers which prey on the human spirit in a cosmos vacated by the divine. (Sw, p. xlv)

In Artaud’s view, evil was the essential state of the world. It was ‘continuous’, while good was ‘an external façade’ that had to be ‘desired’; it could only come as ‘the result of an act of will-power’ (TD, pp. 73–4, emphasis added). For Artaud, evil could only be defeated on the edge of apocalypse, ‘when all forms are on the point of returning to chaos’ (TD, p. 74). Theatre was one way to bring us to this edge, if only it could find the proper language, the proper metaphysical form, to provide a glimpse of true, uncorrupted reality. One might question what Artaud means by reality. He never fully clarifies his concepts of universal truths, primal archetypes or the cosmic forces that underpin the universe; he does, however, make clear that the problem preventing our access to this reality is the cultural corruption of the West. The West (and especially Europe) had buried the universe’s cosmic truths, and the Theatre of Cruelty was an excavation process. He could not articulate these truths, however, because until we reached that state, it was impossible to know what it looked like. Theatre was a way to rediscover them. THE THEATRE SCENE IN PARIS

Artaud’s writings were also a direct rebuke to what he termed the ‘disgusting modern French theatre’ (TD, p. 55). For Artaud, the theatre of the period was an aestheticised form of conspicuous consumption for bourgeois audiences. The worst offenders were the Comédie-Française, which Louis XIV established as a state theatre in 1680 (Hemmings, 1994, p. 1), and the ‘distinctly commercial entertainment’ of the Boulevard du Temple, Paris’ first entertainment district, established in 1759 (Cuddon, 2012, p. 95). By the nineteenth century, boulevard drama ‘became a generic term for popular French drama’, and the district’s multitude of theatres showed primarily melodrama, farce and domestic comedy (ibid., p. 94). For Artaud, A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

43

44

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

none of these theatres presented work that reflected the apocalyptic energy of the period. In an article previewing L’Atelier’s production of La Vie est un Songe (1922), Artaud attacked both types of theatre. He denounced false-theatre that is deceptive, easy, middle-class, a theatre for soldiers, bourgeois, businessmen, wine merchants, water-colour teachers, adventurers, whores and Prix de Rome, as put on by Sacha Guitry and the Boulevards and the Comédie-Française. (Cw2, p. 130)

At the beginning of 1922, Comédie-Française programmed the Cycle Molière, in which they staged Molière’s works in chronological order (McCready, 2016, p. 106). In 1925 Artaud excoriated the theatre in an open letter to its director, Émile Fabre. He compared it to a brothel, called Molière a ‘twat’ and generally denounced it as having no ‘right to perform any play, past future, or present’ (cited in Braun, 1982, p. 180). For Artaud, it was essential to replace these theatres, ‘born under the sign of pleasure [and] relaxation’, with a ‘[u]seful theatre’ that facilitated a metaphysical transformation (TD, p. 139). THE QUEST FOR A NEW LANGUAGE

Artaud continuously blamed theatre’s ruin on the authority of the playwright. He declared any theatre that based all the aspects of a production around a playwright’s script was ‘mad, crazy, perverted, rhetorical, philistine, anti-poetic and positivist’ (TD, p. 28). His theatrical vision required the destruction of the ‘old duality between author and producer’ who would be ‘replaced by a kind of single Creator’ responsible for crafting the production’s unique theatrical language (TD, p. 66). For theatre to realise its potential, it was necessary to ‘indicate what differentiate[d] it from the script, from pure speech, literature and all other predetermined written methods’ through a specifically theatrical mode of communication (TD, p. 75). The first task in achieving this was to ‘break theatre’s subjugation to the text’ (TD, p. 63). In a letter to Jouvet, Artaud declared it ‘the duty of a good director to betray an author, if necessary, in order to turn his play into an impressive performance’ (CW3, p. 225). Artaud’s critique should be

considered in light of Jouvet’s refusal to follow his staging suggestions for La Patissière du village, ou Madeleine; the sentiment expressed, however, is consistent with his consideration of how play texts should be approached. Indeed, he expressed something similar in a letter to the author André Gide proposing a collaboration. Explaining how he might approach the production, he promised to ‘respect Gide’s text scrupulously’ while also stipulating that he ‘must be left free to push the interpretation in whatever direction [he finds] necessary, and to add any formal inventions inspired by the text’ (SW, p. 306). For Artaud, the most important thing was to develop the spirit of the script to the ‘furthest degree’ rather than strictly follow it to the letter (ibid.). CORRESPONDENCE WITH JACQUES RIVIÈRE (1924)

In the preface to The Theatre and Its Double, Artaud declared it was necessary to ‘shatter language in order to contact life’ (TD, p. 7). Whether working in theatre, film or literature, he consistently searched for a language to express himself, one that would allow him access to the fundamental nature of the universe. He articulated this battle in his first major publication, ‘Correspondance avec Jacques Rivière’ [Correspondence with Jacques Rivière] (1924). Though not included in The Theatre and Its Double, ‘Correspondance avec Jacques Rivière’ reveals the development of his ideas on the limitations of written and spoken language. In it, he questions the function of poetry and, more broadly, language in communicating and creating transformative human experiences. It was here that Artaud first articulated the shortcomings of spoken and written language that would drive his quest for a new theatrical language. In 1923, he submitted a series of poems to the NRF. The editor, Jacques Rivière, deemed them of insufficient quality for publication, but the poems – and particularly their author – intrigued him, and he invited Artaud to pay him a visit. After meeting, they continued a written correspondence, which the NRF published in 1924. As Artaud noted in the preface to the first volume of his collected works, ‘Rivière rejected my poems, but he did not reject the letters whereby I destroyed them’ (cited in Sigal, 2017, p. 53). In their correspondence, Artaud communicated an urgency for the need to express himself. Despite its ‘absurdity’, he wanted ‘to write no A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

45

46

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

matter what the cost’ to himself personally (SW, p. 36). Indeed, Artaud believed his peculiar mental state, his psychic anguish and suffering, gave him a unique insight that he claimed the ‘right’ to express (SW, p. 36). When Rivière suggested that the poems could be improved with a bit more craftsmanship, Artaud protested that he did not care about the poems themselves: I presented myself to you as a mental case, a genuine psychic anomaly and you answered me with a literary judgment on some poems which I did not value, which I could not value. (Sw, p. 34)

Likewise, he rejected Rivière’s suggestion to publish the correspondence with false names and literary edits: ‘Why lie, why try to put on a literary level something which is the very cry of life’ (SW, p. 43). For Artaud, to edit them into ‘literature’ would be impossible. The imperfect, ungainly poems capture the fleeting moment in which they were written; to polish them would remove them from the truth of that moment. In one of his letters, he explained, I am in constant pursuit of my intellectual being. Thus, as soon as I can grasp a form, however imperfect, I pin it down, for fear of losing the whole thought. I lower myself, I know, and I suffer from it, but I consent to it for fear of dying altogether. (Sw, p. 31)

Artaud did not ascribe this to a standard case of writer’s block or a lack of discipline in crafting his work. Rather, he attributed the ‘scattered quality of [his] poems’, their ‘defects of form’, to ‘a central collapse of the soul, to a kind of erosion, both essential and fleeting, of the thought’ (SW, pp. 34–35). His ideas blotted, shattered and slipped from his mind, sucked out by a force of evil that ‘destroys [his] thought’, and robbed him ‘of the memory of those idioms with which one expresses oneself’ (SW, p. 35). As Artaud developed his artistic theories, he ultimately came to believe that it was necessary to confront this evil and bring it to the surface in order to defeat it. This is the central premise of his Theatre of Cruelty.

WRITING FOR PRACTICE: THE THÉÂTRE ALFRED JARRY (TAJ)

Artaud was looking for a language based in practice, and that could only be discovered through practice. This was a multi-media language that would take advantage of the full potential of the theatrical mise-en-scène. For Artaud, to limit theatre to ‘one language, speech, written words, music, lighting or sound, herald[ed] its imminent ruin’ (TD, p. 7). He wanted to combine all these elements to discover theatre’s ‘unique language’, which existed somewhere ‘between gesture and thought’ (TD, p. 63). His most concentrated attempt to discover this language was at the Théâtre Alfred Jarry (TAJ), which was formed ‘to practise theatre, not to promote it’ (CW2, p. 29). I discuss TAJ in more detail in Chapter 3, but here I discuss the texts and manifestos that informed those productions. Though unsigned, Artaud was likely a primary contributor, if not the primary author, of these writings, as they contain several ideas he would further develop in The Theatre and Its Double. In ‘Manifeste pour un théâtre avorté’ [Manifesto for an Aborted Theatre] (1926), Artaud, Vitrac and Aron declared that they could ‘no longer believe that there is something in the world that can be called a theatre’ (SW, p. 160). The popular theatre of the time was engaged in an impossible struggle to represent reality, dependent on the ‘power of illusion it cannot recapture’ (CW2, p. 16); in contrast, TAJ would serve as a location for ‘the creation of a reality, the unprecedented eruption of a world [. . . an] ephemeral but real world [. . .] tangential to objective reality’ (SW, p. 155). Artaud’s ideal theatre would ‘have borne as little relation to what is commonly known as theater as an obscene performance bears to an ancient mystery play’ (SW, p. 162). This ‘highly ambitious’ theatre aimed ‘to do no less than return to the sources, human or inhuman, of the theater, and raise it from the dead’ (SW, p. 161). These included ‘the obscurity and the magnetic fascination of dreams’ and the exploration of ‘those dark strata of consciousness’ that obsess the mind (ibid.). At TAJ, they wanted these dark forces ‘to radiate and triumph on the stage, even if it mean[t] destroying [themselves] and exposing [themselves] to the ridicule of a colossal failure’ (SW, p. 161). To do this would require immersing the artists and audiences in a new theatrical world that would put them in contact with a different level of reality. A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

47

48

A R TAU D ’ S K E Y W R I T I N G S

PREPARING THE AUDIENCE

One purpose of his writings was to prepare audiences for his theatre. Artaud did not conceptualise his theatre as an ambush on the audience; rather, he wanted to find an audience ‘capable of joining forces’ with the artists, ‘giving [the production] the necessary modicum of confidence and trust’ to create a transformative event (CW2, p. 15). In this way, he positioned the audience as participants in, rather than consumers of, his theatre. Ideally, audiences would be trained to approach his theatre in a receptive manner: Audiences coming to our theatre know they are present at a real operation involving not only the mind but also the very senses and flesh. From then on, they will go to the theatre as they would to a surgeon or dentist, in the same frame of mind, knowing, of course, that they will not die, but that all the same this is a serious business, and that they will not come out unscathed. (CW2, p. 17)

Though he looked to establish a theatre based on consent, he did not forward a convivial mode of audience interaction. Audiences had to give themselves over to the state of uneasiness and dread the performance evoked and be prepared to be ‘shaken and irritated by the inner dynamism of the show [. . .] thoroughly convinced [the artists] can make them cry out’ (CW2, pp. 16–17). He denied audiences (and the performers) the distraction of illusion in favour of the excavation of their interior selves. Only through this total commitment to his theatre – and its cruelty – could audiences achieve the total metaphysical transformation he proposed. In a conversation with his friend Anaïs Nin, he explained that he wanted theatre to function ‘like a shock treatment’, to ‘galvanize, shock people into feeling’ (cited in Nin, 1966, p. 229). For Artaud, the audience, though they do not realise it, was already dead, ‘their death [. . .] total, like deafness, blindness’ (ibid., p. 192). The goal of his theatre was resurrection; it offered the audience a chance to experience true life. THE THEATRE AND ITS DOUBLE (1938)

Artaud developed these ideas further in the essays that comprise The Theatre and Its Double. Unlike the poetry he submitted to NRF, which

represented an attempt to capture his state of mind at a specific moment in time, Artaud actively crafted the essays in the collection, which were often presented as lectures and subsequently published before being included in The Theatre and Its Double. For example, he wrote ‘ten or twelve versions’ of the manifestos for the Theatre of Cruelty before he ‘finally settled on the proper form’ (SW, p. 297). KEY THEMES

The Theatre and Its Double represents the culmination of Artaud’s writings on the theatre and provides the key terms that apply to his practice. Arguably the most important two of these are the double and cruelty. THE DOUBLE

In a letter to Paulhan, Artaud wrote, I believe that I’ve found the right title for my book. It will be: The Theatre and Its Double since if theatre doubles life, life doubles the true theatre . . . This title responds to all of the doubles of theatre which I believe I’ve found over so many years: metaphysics, plague, cruelty . . . And the Double of theatre is the real, which is not used by people today. (cited in Barber, 2013, p. 87)

From Artaud’s Gnostic perspective, humans lived in a false reality, one which obscured the true nature of the universe; the double consisted of those things which can bring about a glimpse into real life, that which is not corrupted by culture and civilisation. Artaud’s theatre was not the double of the ‘immediate, everyday reality’, which he believed had ‘been slowly truncated to a mere lifeless copy, as empty as it is saccharined’ (TD, p. 34). Instead, it was the double of ‘another, deadlier archetypal reality in which Origins, like dolphins, quickly dive back into the gloom of the deep once they have shown their heads’ (ibid.). His theatre would provide access to the fundamental truth of the universe rather than serve as a pale imitation of an already pale existence. For Artaud, theatre, which makes use of ‘all languages (gestures, words, sound, fire and screams), is to be found precisely at the point where the mind needs a language to bring about its manifestations’ (TD, A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

49

50

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

p. 7). The double was key to this; it was ‘the memory of a language whose secret the theatre has lost’ (SW, p. 27). Remembering this language would bring about a metaphysical transformation that could only occur through theatrical practice. CRUELTY

Artaud’s other key term is cruelty. In the second manifesto for the Theatre of Cruelty, he offered a ‘workable definition of Cruelty’ (TD, p. 81): it is a violent rigour and ‘extreme concentration of stage elements’ that would restore to audiences ‘an impassioned, convulsive concept of life to theatre’ (ibid., p. 88). In the preface to his collected works, written towards the end of his life, he framed cruelty as ‘an idea in practice’ (CW1, p. 20). For Artaud, cruelty was inherent to every creative action. Tying into his notion that the universe is caught in a cosmic battle between good and evil, Artaud framed cruelty as ever-present, something that had been there from the beginning of creation (both his and the worlds). Indeed, the act of creation itself was cruel: when the hidden god creates, he obeys a cruel need for creation imposed on him, yet he cannot avoid creating, thus permitting an ever more condensed, ever more consumed nucleus of evil to enter the eye of the intentional vortex of good. (TD, p. 73)

Theatre, as a creative, ‘wholly magic act’ was a double of this ‘constant creation’ (ibid.) and, as such, a moment of cruelty. In his letter to Paulhan, he clarified that cruelty ‘must be taken in the broadest sense’, defined as a ‘strictness, diligence, unrelenting decisiveness, irreversible and absolute determination’ aimed towards the self (TD, p. 72). It was ‘not sadistic or bloody, at least not exclusively so [. . .] not synonymous with bloodshed, martyred flesh, or crucified enemies’ (ibid.). Furthermore, any objections to the darkness and cruelty of his vision were objections to the cruel reality of the universe, rather than a critique of his own ideas and obsessions. If his theatre was one of cruelty, it was because it accepted the cruelty on which life was based. His notion of cruelty was not exclusively synonymous with gruesome images, but violence and bloodshed were essential parts of his aesthetic

and theatrical vision. The theatre he proposed was one ‘where violent physical images pulverize, mesmerize the audience’s sensibilities, caught in the drama as if in a vortex of higher forces’ (TD, p. 59). For Artaud, it was only through the extreme concentration of the elements of theatre that transcendence to a new plane of reality was possible. This was necessarily a challenging, painful and cruel act due to the very nature of creation and transformation. THE PROBLEM WITH THEATRE AND HOW TO REVIVE IT

Artaud begins the ‘First Manifesto for The Theatre of Cruelty’ with the declaration that ‘the problem of theatre must arouse universal attention’ (TD, p. 63). By 1910, the working classes in France had shifted their entertainment preferences to the cinema, and by the 1920s and ’30s, middle-class audiences dominated the theatre (Hemmings, 1994, p. 32). For Artaud, the conceptual gestures that once animated the theatre had been replaced by empty pantomimes in service of the ‘affected, snobbish, aesthetic mentality’ and ‘conformity’ of middle-class audiences (TD, p. 54). The ‘lazy ineffective idea’ of theatre as a location for relaxation and pleasure might suffice ‘as long as life outside held good’, but for Artaud, the world was ‘mad, desperate and sick’ as ‘everything which used to sustain our lives’ no longer did (TD, p. 55). It was necessary to create a theatre reflective of that. In ‘En finir avec les chefs-d’œuvre’ [No More Masterpieces] (ca. 1933), he called for theatre to ‘finally do away with the idea of masterpieces reserved for a so-called elite, but incomprehensible to the masses’ (TD, p. 53). ‘Past masterpieces’, he proclaimed, ‘are fit for the past’ but not for contemporary audiences (TD, p. 53). For Artaud, theatre’s decline was directly attributed to its inability to create work that responded ‘in a direct and straightforward manner to present-day feelings everybody can understand’ (TD, p. 53). It was not the themes of the classics that were the problem – for example, Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex contains many themes that recur throughout Artaud’s work, such as incest, the plague and the power of fate – rather, it was their specific language, which belonged ‘to dead periods we will never relive’ (TD, p. 54). Artaud believed theatre had lost its ‘specific power of action’ and original purpose for being (TD, p. 63). He wanted to replace its myopic focus on psychological themes with a primal, metaphysical theatre that A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

51

52

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

tapped into the original animating energy of the universe. Contemporary theatre, which concerned itself with ‘money, money troubles, social climbing, the pangs of love unspoilt by altruism’ (TD, p. 55), left the audience imagining there is ‘nothing more to know than whether we will have a good fuck’ (TD, p. 26). Unable to conjure an experience beyond the most banal human concerns, theatre had been rendered impotent. To revive itself, theatre needed to encompass ‘the higher idea of poetry underlying the Myths told by the great tragedians of ancient times’ in a manner relevant to contemporary audiences (TD, p. 57). In place of the veneration of masterpieces, Artaud wanted to build a new theatre from the energy they once possessed. He was far from the only director to declare this. For example, Gémier was one of the first directors in France to call for decentring the text in favour of the vision of the director. Like Artaud, he was critical of ‘bourgeois living room drama centered on love-triangles’, and he called for an innovative yet accessible theatre that brought together all the elements of the mise-en-scène (Jannarone, 2016, p. 90). Unlike Artaud, Gémier adjusted his aesthetics for different contexts and audiences rather than demanding the audience to fully succumb to the director’s cosmic primal vision (ibid., p. 89). METAPHYSICAL WORKS OF ART

Artaud considered a work’s ‘poetic greatness’, its ‘tangible effect’, to be the result of its metaphysical ideas (TD, p. 25). In The Theatre and Its Double, he demonstrates this through a discussion of two artworks: the oil painting Loth et ses Filles [Lot and His Daughters] (ca. 1520) and the Balinese performances he witnessed at the Exposition Internationale Coloniale de Paris in 1931 (see Chapter 1). Through these works, he demonstrates how a metaphysical work of art should act on the audience and what a metaphysical theatre might look like. LOT AND HIS DAUGHTERS

In ‘La Mise-en-scène et la métaphysique’ [Production and Metaphysics], Artaud used the painting Loth et ses Filles as a model for what ‘theatre ought to be, if only it knew how to speak its own language’ (TD, p. 25). The painting references the biblical story of God’s destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and the subsequent escape of Lot with his daughters and

wife (Genesis 19). It depicts the moment when Lot and his daughters take refuge in a cave after Lot’s wife has been turned to a pillar of salt for disobeying the commandment to not look back. His daughters, desperate for children but lacking suitable male partners, conspire to get him drunk. They sleep with him while he is passed out, and in this way, both daughters are impregnated. Artaud described the painting: A tent is pitched on the shore, in front of which Lot is seated, wearing a breastplate and sporting a fine red beard, watching his daughters parade before him as if he were a guest at a prostitutes’ banquet [. . .] Here we see the deeply incestuous nature of this old subject which the artist has developed in sexual imagery, a proof that he has fully understood all its deep sexuality in a modern way, that is to say as we would understand it ourselves. A proof that its deeply sexual but poetic nature did not escape him any more than it did us. (TD, p. 23)

The painting contains a number of themes Artaud would revisit throughout his work, in particular the taboo of incest. For Artaud, the extremity that drives incestuous relationships pushes against the morality of culture and civilisation. Indeed, in Lot and His Daughters, the incestuous act happens after the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah due to the town’s sinful actions. In that moment of chaos, the standards that govern social relations break down, and previously unthinkable acts, such as incest, become actionable. For Artaud, however, the social and psychological themes of incest and seduction were not the crux of the painting’s power. Instead, the mythical and metaphysical ideas of ‘Fate [. . .] Chaos, the Marvellous and Balance’ animated the painting (TD, p. 25). Like the Theatre of Cruelty, the painting rejected the banality of everyday psychological conflicts in favour of works that evoked the clash of grand symbols, ideas and feelings through a total sensory experience (Harries, 2007). Artaud considered the painting’s ‘mental profundity’, the ideas and feelings it stirred in the viewer, to be inseparable from its overall composition, its ‘formal, external symmetry’ (TD, p. 25). Even at a distance, it exhibited ‘a kind of striking visual harmony, intensely active in the whole work yet caught at a glance’ (TD, p. 23). The different layers in the landscape, ‘annulling or corresponding to one another’, introduced an idea of change or transformation (TD, p. 25). He emphasised the A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

53

54

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

Figure 2.1 Lot and His Daughters (ca. 1520), anonymous, though often attributed to Lucas van Leyden, oil on panel. Source: Public domain: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/22/Lucas_ van_Leyden_-_Lot_and_his_Daughters_-_wgA12932.jpg

painting’s simultaneity, how all the different elements came together in a ‘supremely anarchic, material’ way that seemed to vibrate with feeling. The feelings and sensations it evoked were beyond words; as such, it established the ‘futility’ and ‘impotence’ of words (TD, p. 25). This is the type of theatre Artaud wanted to develop: [the] idea of a play built right on stage, encountering production and performance obstacles, demands the discovery of active language, both active and anarchic, where the usual limits of feelings and words are transcended. (TD, p. 28)

The painting’s spatial poetry and painterly language conjured the potential for a pure theatrical language; in doing so, it was a model for the new theatre he conceptualised. ARTAUD AND THE BALINESE THEATRE

In ‘Sur le Théâtre balinais’ [On the Balinese Theatre] (1932) and ‘Théâtre oriental et Théâtre occidental’ [Oriental and Western Theatre] (ca. 1935), Artaud presented Balinese performance as an example of a metaphysical theatre practice. He framed the ‘metaphysical inclinations’ of Balinese dance as superior to the degraded cultural offerings of Western Europe (TD, p. 31). To achieve its potential, Western theatre needed to ‘rediscover a religious, mystical meaning’ which it had forgotten and which East Asian performance traditions could reveal (TD, p. 33). Artaud believed that ‘the East’ was ‘the only part of the world where Metaphysics [was] part of the daily practice of life’ (SW, p. 191). In the West, which had ‘a phobia about Metaphysics’, it was ‘the prerogative of a very limited number of individuals’ in Europe (ibid.). In contrast to the calcified masterpieces polluting Western theatre, which produced ‘the mere projection of actual doubles arising from writing’ (TD, p. 52), the Balinese performances expressed ‘objectively secret truths’ (TD, p. 50). There is some irony in Artaud’s adulation of Eastern performance traditions. As Min Tian notes, the Balinese performances Artaud witnessed in Paris ‘had been subjected to the impact of Dutch colonialism and gradually became modernized and commercialized’ (Tian, A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

55

56

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

2018, p. 157); in this way, the traditions he praised had already been subject to colonising forces, which ‘ran counter to Artaud’s Orientalist and primitivist imagination’ (ibid.). Artaud himself expressed ‘his regret at not having seen Balinese theatre in its own cultural setting’ (cited in Tian, 2018 p. 161); regardless, he believed that it was possible to glimpse the metaphysical base of the ‘profane’ performances (ibid.) Artaud considered the director of the Balinese performances a ‘kind of organizer of magic, a master of holy ceremonies’ (TD, p. 45). The universal themes of the performance were descended ‘from the gods’ and offered a ‘kind of ancient Natural Philosophy’ that provided access to the essential nature of the universe (TD, p. 43). The director was the central force in making this happen. The performance’s ‘very general, indefinite and abstract’ themes required a ‘complex expansion of stage artifice’ in order to bring them to life (TD, p. 38). Drawing from a ‘deep, detailed’ study of theatrical conventions that had ‘not become weakened over the centuries’ (TD, p. 39), the director created a ‘many-hued spatial language’ that combined the full expressive apparatus of the performers’ bodies with all the technical elements of the mise-en-scène (TD, p. 45). Key to the performance’s effectiveness was how the different elements of the mise-en-scène interlinked to create a total experience: there was ‘no transition from a gesture to a cry or a sound; everything [was] connected as if through strange channels penetrating right through the mind’ (TD, p. 41). The music alternated ‘booming pounding musical rhythm’ with ‘sustained hesitating fragile music’, all of which was linked to the specific movements of the actors (TD, p. 42). Nothing was left ‘to either chance or individual initiative’ (TD, p. 41); instead, every aspect of the performance was codified by the director. The performers were automata, ‘mechanical beings whose happiness and pain seem not to be their own, but to obey tried-and-tested rituals as if governed by higher intellects’ (TD, p. 41). For Artaud, they seemed like ‘moving hieroglyphs’ who created the feeling of a new bodily language no longer based on words but on signs which emerges through the maze of gestures, postures, airborne cries, through their gyrations and turns, leaving not even the smallest area of stage space unused. (TD, p. 38)

This was an example of the total theatrical language he was trying to create. It revealed the hidden existence of a kind of true stage language, so effective it even seems to do away with the mental processes that appear to have brought it into being, so that any attempt to express it in words is impossible and futile. (TD, p. 134)

For Artaud, the performance ‘reached such a point of objective materialization’ that he could not imagine it outside the ‘enclosed, confined world of the stage’ (TD, p. 43). It was a theatre beyond words and introduced Artaud to a ‘new usage of gesture and speech’ (TD, p. 38). Kathy Foley has pointed out that Artaud ‘misses the mark’ in many of his interpretations of Balinese performance (Foley, 1992, p. 13). Improvisation, ‘within the strict constraints of the form’, is central to Balinese performance traditions (ibid.); likewise, ‘music follows the dancer rather than the opposite, as Artaud supposes’ (Foley, 1992, pp. 11–12). He, however, ‘correctly sensed that the connective tissue between music, movement, and vocalization was essential to the impact’ of the Balinese performances (ibid.). As his misconceptions demonstrate, he was a champion of these traditions not for what they offered in terms of intercultural exchange or ethnographic understanding but for what they contributed to his own vision for the theatre (Savarese, 2001, p. 71). STAGING THE THEATRE OF CRUELTY – THE MANIFESTOS

Now that we have explored some of the ideas that animate Artaud’s vision, how did he plan to put these into practice? In his two manifestos for the Theatre of Cruelty, Artaud outlined specific methods for staging productions. There are sections on the subjects he would like to stage, how he would utilise the different elements of the theatre – from the stage space and décor to the lighting and sound – and how all these elements interact with the movement and characterisations of the actors. He aimed at ‘[n]othing less than changing the starting point of artistic creation and upsetting theatre’s customary rules’ (TD p. 78). The various languages of a play would ‘be made up on stage, created on stage’ and the director would create ‘an inscribed composition, every last detail A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

57

58

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

decided on and recorded by means of notation’ based on the explorations and improvisations of the rehearsal process (TD, p. 80). This would result in a new work, ‘formed around staging not simply viewed as one degree of refraction of the script on stage, but as the starting point for theatrical creation’ (TD, p. 66). It is important to note that Artaud’s ideas draw on and build from other innovators in Western theatre, a fact he acknowledged. In a letter to the poet René Daumal in 1931, Artaud identified other theatre artists who established a foundation for his innovations: The Ballets Russes are bringing a sense of colour back to the stage. And from now on, in mounting a production, one must take into account the necessities of visual harmony, just as after Piscator one must take into account the dynamic and plastic necessities of movement, just as after Meyerhold and Appia one must take into account an architectural conception of scenery utilizing not only depth but height, and employing perspective in terms of masses and volumes rather than merely flat surfaces and trompe l’ oeil. (Sw, p. 206)

Artaud wanted to integrate the most striking innovations of his contemporaries into his theatre and push past them to create innovations they could not even imagine. IMPROVISATION

One of the essential tools in Artaud’s arsenal was improvisation, in which he trained extensively with Dullin. While Dullin used improvisation to deepen an understanding of an already existing text, however, Artaud viewed it as a way to generate the production’s symbolic world. Despite this different vision for the application of improvisation in the theatre, Dullin’s improvisational training was foundational to the artistic vision Artaud developed. Artaud’s use of improvisatory methods did not indicate his flexibility: ‘the fate of his theatre’ would not be left to the ‘whims of an actor’s rough-and-ready inspiration’ (TD, p. 78). This might seem to contradict his conduct as an actor at L’Atelier, where his experiments with movement in rehearsals and performance brought him into conflict with Dullin. For Artaud, however, this was not a contradiction: he wanted to bring the experiments from rehearsals onto the stage. One of

his key criticisms of Dullin was his willingness to change his entire miseen-scène at the last minute (see Chapter 1). For Artaud, this reflected a lack of symbolic vision: if you could change everything at the last minute, the symbolic meaning of the production must be under-considered and inconsistent. Artaud believed the director’s vision should be fixed by the time of the final technical rehearsal. He considered his actions at L’Atelier a correction to Dullin’s limited vision. THE STAGE SPACE

One of the fundamental problems Artaud identified was the separation of the audience and performers into ‘two closed worlds without any possible communication between them’ (TD, p. 61). Artaud wanted to create a ‘single, undivided locale without any partitions’, which would facilitate direct contact ‘between actors and audience’ (TD, p. 68) To do this, it was necessary to abandon the architecture of traditional theatre buildings in favour of staging works in locations such as barns or warehouses. Here, too, he followed precedents of the period. For example, Max Reinhardt staged his production of Oedipus Rex in a former circus building in Berlin 1910; a choice Gémier followed when he staged it in France in 1919 (Jannarone, 2010, p. 217, n. 26). Kenneth Macgowan, a prominent American theatre critic during the period, identified in those productions what Artaud would consider essential shortcomings: Neither Reinhardt nor gémier was courageous or far-seeing enough to use the circus as a circus. Neither dared put the players in the center and forget the old stage. At one side there has always lingered a palace or a proscenium. (Macgowan, 1922, p. 200)

This is precisely what Artaud wanted to remedy. He envisioned using a theatrical space as it actually was, to create performances that extended their ‘visual and oral outbursts over the whole mass of spectators’ (TD, p. 61). Artaud proposed an immersive theatre that utilised the full height and depth of the space, extending the action and décor into every nook and cranny. The spectators, seated on swivel chairs, would be fully immersed in a world of light, sound, movement and imagery, ‘encircled and furrowed’ by action (TD, p. 68). The space would be filled with A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

59

60

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

‘musical instruments as tall as men’, ‘huge masks, objects of strange proportions’ and ‘objects of unknown form and purpose’ (TD, p. 69). There were to be ‘no empty spatial areas, [. . .] no let-up, no vacuum in the audience’s mind of sensitivity’ (TD, p. 91). Overwhelmed by the theatrical spectacle, the audience would be forced to choose which area of the theatre to view at any moment. This reflects Artaud’s focus on theatre as a group effort. In theatre, the interplay between the actors and audiences creates a specific experience unique to every performance. While a theatrical production might be codified and rigorously detailed, the specific transfer of energy, the risk and danger of live performance, could not be replicated night to night. The theatrical mise-en-scène was something to be rigorously controlled and repeatable, but it created a unique, unrepeatable communion between the actors and the audience. ARTAUD ON ACTING

Artaud has often been presented as a theorist ‘indifferent to questions of method or training’ (Gardner, 2003, p. 109). This view is perhaps best summed up by Jerzy Grotowski, who refers to Artaud’s primary discussion of acting, ‘Un Athlétisme affectif’ [An Affective Athleticism], as ‘a sort of poem about the actor’ from which ‘no practical conclusions can be drawn’ (Grotowski, 2002, pp. 205–206). Artaud consistently refuted these criticisms during his lifetime. He did not consider himself ‘a vulgar theoretician’ but a practitioner actively interested in creating theatre (cited in Gardner, 2003, p. 109). Tony Gardner argues that Artaud wrote ‘An Affective Athleticism’ as a direct response to the accusations that he had no system for acting, particularly those Barrault offered in response to the failure of The Cenci (Gardner, 2003, p. 111). Though he did not outline an explicit system, Artaud described ‘An Affective Athleticism’ as ‘a technical essay’, and his extensive experience in the theatre was evident in the acting methods he forwarded (TD, p. 98). He acknowledged the importance of using ‘the necessary exercises to help [actors] discover’ modes of expression appropriate for theatrical performance (cited in Gardner, 2003, p. 109). This was reflective of his training with Dullin’s troupe, which focused on creating a total actor through a variety of physical, mental and vocal exercises. Though it did not have the precision of other, more technical training

systems, Artaud offered a variety of ways of thinking through the process of acting and Grotowski’s pronouncement that it has no practical value for the actor is slightly overstated. Artaud compared actors to athletes, both of whom require rigorous training and conditioning to perform. The actor’s emotional acuity parallels the physical acuity of athletes. Both crafts call on the same base of running, jumping and breathing, regardless of their use. While amateurs can participate in sport or acting, they are not able to command their physical and emotional capacity in the same way as those with training. Artaud looked to codify these emotions and train actors how to draw on them. For Artaud, the actor is an ‘athlete of the heart’ with the ‘sphere of emotions’ their ‘peculiar domain’ (SW, p. 260). The actor, he declared, must ‘become conscious of the emotional world’ not through the creation of an illusion of feeling but by tapping into its ‘concrete meaning’ (TD, p. 94). Again, he echoed Dullin’s programme and particularly his concepts of the Voix de Soi-Même [The Voice of Oneself] and the Voix du Monde [The Voice of the World]. Dullin looked to synthesise the internal perceptions of the actor with their understanding of the external world: the Voice of the World would ‘give rise to the voice which comes from the interior of the individual’, the Voice of Oneself, ‘and from this meeting the actor’s expression will be born’ (cited in Deák, 1977, p. 347). For Artaud, however, it was necessary to penetrate beyond the Voice of the World, which was a false one besieged by evil, and reveal a deeper truth. While Dullin wanted to ‘evacuate the “poison” of the performer’s innate “insincerity” and build from scratch a “complete actor”’ (cited in Gardner, 2003, p. 115), Artaud wanted this to be the function of theatre itself, for both artist and audience. He framed the artist as an ‘executioner-tormenter’ who must also be ‘resolved to endure [the work’s cruelty] when the time comes’ (TD, p. 73). Their work must be a ‘convulsive curse whose course is driven inwards’ (TD, p. 93) while also acting on audience, who would be thrown into a ‘magical trance’ (TD, p. 99). In this way, both the performers and the audiences are subject to the cruelty of the creative process. The most detailed aspect of Artaud’s guide to acting is his discussion of the ‘science of types of breathing’ (TD, p. 93). Like Dullin, Artaud considered breathing to be of ‘prime importance’ (ibid.): it was the starting point of all physical and emotional action, as well as life itself. A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

61

62

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

The requirement of breath to sustain life was a kind of cruelty, and he wanted the audience to ‘identify with the show breath by breath and beat by beat’ in order to bring their deepest feelings and emotions to the surface (TD, p. 98). His science of breath draws on a variety of ancient texts and Eastern traditions, including the Chinese concept of qi energy stimulated by the acupuncture needles, the Japanese ki, the Sanskrit prana, the greek pneuma and psyche, the Latin anima and spiritus, all of which are homologies of ‘breath’ with different inflections ‘air’, ‘wind’, ‘respiration’, ‘spirit’, ‘mind’, ‘energy’, ‘vitality’, and so on. (gardner, 2003, p. 110)

He cobbled together aspects of these various traditions in an attempt to move beyond the West’s mind-body dualism and consider how the mind and the body are connected through the energy of the breath. He most explicitly referenced the ancient Jewish tradition of Kabbalah, though again he used it as a poetic inspirational source rather than a system with a specific context and history (Gardner, 2003). Artaud wrote that the Kabbalah ‘divides human breathing into six main arcana’ (TD, p. 95), in which he found the base for the innumerable combinations of breathing that can support the actor’s work. For Artaud, ‘every movement, every feeling, every leap in human activity has an appropriate breath’, and for the actor to penetrate the depth of their emotional being, they must identify which breath is linked to which emotion (TD, p. 93). He noted this theatrical breath ‘was not devised for ordinary emotions’ akin to those we encounter in everyday life (or, more cuttingly, those which filled the French stage at the time); rather, they supported the total onslaught of feeling and sensation that was his goal (TD, p. 96). He wanted to codify the relationship between breath, feeling and movement into a hieroglyphics of breath. STAGING FROM SCENARIOS

In place of a script written by a playwright, Artaud envisioned the Theatre of Cruelty starting from scenarios. The subjects of these scenarios were to be drawn from global sources, such as ‘Mexican, Hindu, Judaic and Iranian cosmogonies, among others’ (TD, p. 89),

reflecting his idea that indigenous traditions and rituals contained universal truths that had been lost to European culture. From 1929 to 1932, he created at least three scenarios for the theatre: La Pierre Philosophale [The Philosopher’s Stone], La conquête du Mexique [The Conquest of Mexico] (1932) and I1 n’y a plus de firmament [There Is No More Firmament] (1932–1933). Of these three, La conquête du Mexique was the one he most wanted to stage. LA CONQUÊTE DU MEXIQUE

Artaud had intended La conquête du Mexique to be the first production of the Theatre of Cruelty. He proposed it in the theatre’s second manifesto, though it wasn’t published in full until 1950, in the French journal Le Nef [The Nave]. It demonstrates a number of Artaud’s obsessions and offers an idea of the type of theatre he wanted to stage and how he imagined staging it. Done correctly, the scenario would ‘set off unbelievable holocausts of power and imagery’ (TD, p. 92), which would force audiences to confront ‘Europe’s deep-rooted self-conceit in a burning, inexorably bloody manner’ (TD, p. 91). The scenario conveys the Spanish invasion of the Aztec Empire, in which Spanish forces, led by Hernán Cortés, overthrew Montezuma II, the final ruler of the Aztec Empire. This clash of civilisations is staged through a symbolic and pictorial approach over four acts: •

•

Act I, ‘Warning Signs’, begins with a tableau that evokes the Mexican landscape through objects on a ‘grand scale’, lighting changes and musical rhythms. The mise-en-scène ‘trembles and groans’ in anticipation of the Spanish invasion. The ‘lighting begins to change’ signifying a transition from the disputes of the populace (‘bawling conversations’) to Montezuma consulting his priests ‘with the signs of the zodiac, the austere forms of the firmament’. Simultaneously one can see Cortez and his ‘tiny battered ships’ in the background, though he and his men loom ‘larger than the ships and firm as rocks’ (TD, Richards, pp. 128–129). Act II, ‘Confession’, is from the perspective of Cortez, who surveys the ‘apparent stagnation and everywhere magic, magic of a motionless, unheard of spectacle’ (TD, Richards, p. 129). As the act ends, Montezuma advances, ready for a clash of civilisations. A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

63

64

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

•

In Act III, ‘Convulsions’, Artaud calls for staging a series of revolts: the revolt of the populace and the revolt on ‘every level of Montezuma’s consciousness’. The mise-en-scène is ‘magical [. . .] evoking the Gods’ (ibid.). Artaud’s descriptions reflect his poetic and fantastical vision: ‘Montezuma cuts the living space, rips it open like the sex of a woman in order to cause the invisible to spring forth’ (ibid., p. 130). Act IV ends with Montezuma abdicating his throne to the conquering Spanish army. This ‘results in a strange and almost malevolent loss of assurance on the part of Cortez and his fighters’ to whom the magic and treasure of Mexico appear like an illusion (TD, Richards, pp. 130–131). The final moment is a descent into chaos: a conflict between the conquerors and the conquered with ‘the body of the dead Montezuma tossed’ on the heads of the crowd, and with ‘the cornered Spaniards [. . .] squashed like blood against the ramparts’ (TD, Richards, p. 132).

•

Artaud’s poetic descriptions provide few concrete details about the staging, though he indicates it would include hand-to-hand combat, abrupt and interspersed dialogue and expressive physical gestures developed through guided improvisations with the actors. In keeping with his desire to establish a hieroglyphic theatrical language, he notes that ‘images, moves, dances, rituals, music, melodies cut short and sudden turns of dialogue’ will be recorded and codified, ‘just like in a musical score’ (TD, p. 92). Artaud’s idealisation of indigenous Mexican cultures is clear in his plan for the scenario. He contrasts the ‘burning emotion [. . .] splendour and ever-present poetry of the ancient metaphysical foundations’ of Mexico’s religions with the ‘false conceptions’ of Western Christianity (TD, p. 91). Its ‘universal, cosmic’ themes (similar to the themes of the Balinese theatre that descended from the gods) would facilitate a return to a pre-European state of being in contact with the ‘fundamental emotions’ that European theatre had neglected and forgotten (TD, p. 88). He framed this search for pre-European universal truths as beyond politics. Some scholars, however, have argued that Artaud’s vision was indeed in line with a political ideology: the movement towards totalitarianism in the 1930s and particularly fascism (Greene, 1994;

Jannarone, 2010). Kimberly Jannarone has asserted this most forcefully, arguing that The Theater and Its Double clearly outlines an event that belongs to a performance discourse that emerging fascist theaters and fascist regimes theorized and implemented: Artaud developed an approach to theater that is inherently fascistic in its relationship to and effect on the audience. (Jannarone, 2010, p. 99)

She offers the Italian production 18BL (1934) as an example. Created in response to Italian leader Benito Mussolini’s call for a teatro di populo [theatre of the people] in 1933, 18BL featured a mass-produced Fiat truck as the lead character and had a cast of three thousand. Performed for an audience of twenty thousand at an outdoor location in Florence, it ‘was designed to bring the people together in a mass spectacle of mythic import’, an echo of Artaud’s own ambitions (Jannarone, 2010, p. 100). While Artaud’s theatre looked to demonstrate the fallacy of European supremacy, ‘raising the dreadfully contemporary problem of colonization, that is, the right one continent considers it has to enslave another’ (ibid., p. 91), it also attempted to bring audiences and actors under a new paradigm: submission to the autocratic vision of the artist-creator. ‘THEATRE AND THE PLAGUE’ (1934)

I end this chapter where Artaud began his book: with his most enduring theatrical metaphor, theatre as plague. ‘Le Théâtre et la Peste’ [The Theatre and the Plague] was first published in the NRF in 1932, based on a lecture Artaud had given at the Sorbonne. It draws on the copious notes he compiled for René Allendy’s research project chronicling the Black Death in Europe (Jannarone, 2010, p. 209, n. 5; Di Ponio, 2018). Artaud focused primarily on the series of bubonic plague outbreaks in Europe from 1347 to 1730, though he drew on older sources as well, such as biblical plagues and those recorded by the ancient Greeks. Like all of Artaud’s discussions, his descriptions of the plague are full of selective information, poetic interpretation and wild imagination, as he freely adapted his source material to forward his own vision. There is some irony in Artaud’s use of the plague as a metaphor for theatre, for when the plague is ascendant, theatre cannot exist as a A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

65

66

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

public event. As Amanda Di Ponio notes in her discussion of early modern public theatre in England that either the plague or the theatre was a functioning entity [. . .] when the plague prevailed, the theatres were closed; when the theatres were open, the plague was in remission. (Di Ponio, 2018, p. 49)

As I write this book, the social disruption of the Covid-19 pandemic and the subsequent closure of theatres globally make this relationship even more apparent. Artaud’s invocation of the plague was not entirely historical in his own time either. From 1899 to 1947, Europe experienced what has been referred to as a third plague pandemic, which resulted in 457 deaths; Paris and Marseille, the two locations where Artaud spent most of his time, were particularly hard hit (Bramanti et al., 2019). Even more impactful was the deadly influenza pandemic that occurred in 1918, immediately after the end of World War I: ‘To write of plague in 1933’, Stanton B. Garner notes, ‘was to evoke an epidemiological history whose traditional connotations of biblical visitation were given immediacy by more recent demographic trauma’ (Garner, 2006, p. 9). Artaud never referenced these contemporary plagues – in 1918, he was in a sanatorium in Switzerland, and it is unclear what impact the influenza outbreak had on him personally – for his audience, however, the parallels would have been clear (Jannarone, 2010, p. 208, n. 20). PERFORMING THE PLAGUE – ARTAUD AT THE SORBONNE

Artaud first presented his theory of theatre and the plague on 6 April 1933 as part of Allendy’s Nouvelles Idées [New Ideas] lecture series at the Sorbonne (Di Ponio, 2018, p. 47). In a crowded schoolroom against the backdrop of a chalkboard, Artaud turned the lecture into a theatrical performance. He had asked his friend Anaïs Nin, who was studying under Allendy at the time, ‘to sit in the front row’ and her description of the event is worth quoting at length: To illustrate his conference, he was acting out his agony. “La Peste” in French is so much more terrible than “The Plague” in english. But no word could

describe what Artaud acted on the platform of the Sorbonne. He forgot about his conference, the theatre, his ideas, Dr Allendy sitting there, the public, the young students, his wife, professors, and directors. His face was contorted with anguish, one could see the perspiration dampening his hair. His eyes dilated, his muscles became cramped, his fingers struggled to retain their flexibility. He made one feel the parched and burning throat, the pains, the fever, the fire in the guts. He was in agony. He was screaming. He was delirious. He was enacting his own death, his own crucifixion. (Nin, 1966, p. 192)

Artaud’s theatricality confounded the audience, who had come expecting a more traditional academic presentation. The students, professors and members of the artistic and intellectual elite who attended responded with laughter, which then turned to sneers and jeers as they stormed out of the lecture hall. Artaud continued, gasping on the floor, until only Allendy, his wife and a few of Artaud’s friends, including Nin, remained. According to Nin, Artaud was upset by the audience’s reaction. They wanted to ‘hear about’ the plague through an ‘objective conference’, while he wanted to demonstrate it, ‘to give them the experience itself, the plague itself, so they will be terrified and awaken’ (Nin, 1966, p. 192). For Artaud, it was essential that they experience the agony of the plague’s howling delirium rather than sit back and contemplate it in a disinterested way. While the audience, including Nin, thought he had lost the thread of his presentation, it was Artaud’s attempt to create a performance that acted on the bodies and minds of the audience with the force of the plague. PLAGUE AND THE MIND-BODY CONNECTION

In ‘The Theatre and the Plague’, Artaud demonstrates the interconnected nature of the mind and body, as well as the individual and society. For Artaud, these elements were intertwined, and theatre needed to attack them on all levels. The plague, which attacked both the social body and the individual body, was a model for the kind of destructive force with which he wanted theatre to act. He begins his essay with ‘an account of an astonishing historic occurrence’ when Saint-Rémy, viceroy of Sardinia, had a ‘particularly agonizing dream’ that precipitated a series of seemingly strange actions that A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

67

68

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

transformed his principality (TD, p. 9). In his dream, he saw the plague ‘ravage his tiny state’ and himself, and the dream’s ferocity caused him to immediately declare ‘War on the plague’ (ibid.). When a ship from Beirut, the Grand-Saint-Antoine, requested to dock at the Sardinian harbour in Cagliari, he refused, convinced it would infect the island. He demanded it ‘make full sail away from the town or be sunk by cannon shot [. . .] an order thought raving mad, absurd, stupid and despotic both by his subjects and his suite’ (ibid.). His ‘insane order’ saved the island when the ship docked in France and started the last major outbreak of bubonic plague in Western Europe, the Great Plague of Marseille of 1720 (TD, p. 9). The ‘unusually influential power of the dream’, while ‘not powerful enough to infect [the viceroy] with the disease’, was strong enough to support the ‘savage fierceness of his orders’ (TD, p. 10). This created a complete change in the way Sardinia was organised: despite the plague not physically reaching the island, its strong psychic impacts had material effects. Jennifer Cook notes that there is no record of the Grand-Saint Antoine attempting to dock in Cagliari or Sardinia and suggests it is possible ‘Artaud dreamed the whole incident up’ (Cook, 2009, p. 99). Regardless of its historical accuracy, Artaud used the story to illustrate the subtle connections between the psychic energies of the virus and their tangible effect on the mental and physical states of both the individual and society. This relationship between subtle, psychic communication and material affect is essential to Artaud’s theatrical vision. THE FORCE OF THE PLAGUE

Another essential feature of the plague was the force and speed with which it acted. One of the bubonic plague’s main features was the quick transition between a seemingly healthy body and one erupting with buboes, the inflammation of the lymph nodes in the groin, and sometimes the armpits and neck. He compared it to a volcano seeking an outlet: the body raced with fluids, ‘wildly jumbled in disorder’, that bubbled and blistered under the skin before erupting onto the surface of the body (TD, p. 12). By the time the plague manifested physically through the appearance of red splotches, it was too late: [The plague victim] has no time to be alarmed by them before his head feels on fire, grows overwhelmingly heavy and he collapses. Then he is seized with

terrible fatigue, a focal, magnetic, exhausting tiredness, his molecules are split in two and drawn towards their annihilation. (TD, p. 12)

In Artaud’s narrative, the plague ravages the victim’s insides before it bursts at the seams of their body and compels them to the street: houses are thrown open and raving plague victims disperse through the streets howling, their minds full of horrible visions, the disease gnawing at their vitals, running through their whole anatomy, is discharged in mental outbursts. (TD, p. 15)

The plague annihilates the most basic units of matter, the atoms of the individual, while also bursting into the public sphere and ripping apart the social body. Theatre needed to replicate this, bringing both the individual and society to a point of chaos and destruction where a true transformation could take place. THE PLAGUE AS A HARBINGER OF CHANGE

Artaud describes the plague as a harbinger of change: it sweeps through societies, and ‘normal social order collapses’ entirely (TD, p. 15). Plague pandemics do often radically change societies, and social responses to the bubonic plague included ‘the first strategies of public health to combat epidemic disaster’ (Snowden, 2019, p. 8). These measures were ‘often Draconian in direct proportion to the magnitude of the perceived threat’ (ibid.), such as in the example of the viceroy’s orders. Other historical responses included ‘witch hunts, the cult of saints, and violence’ (ibid.), aspects to which Artaud might be referring to when he highlights the ‘frenzied pointlessness’ brought about by the plague (TD, p. 16). A theatre that acted like the plague would push its ‘inert or delirious’ audience to physical and mental extremes (TD, p. 16). True theatre was ‘born from organized anarchy’, and Artaud wanted theatre to replicate the plague’s unexpected moments of chaos, disruption and collapse (TD, p. 36). The heightened nature brought about by these states and their disconnect from the everyday offer a location in which audience and performers can encounter their double, real life, as it exists beyond the human-constructed social world. A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

69

70

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

Artaud’s theatre was an urgent call to action. He believed the society in which he lived was corrupt and morally wrong and needed to be overthrown. It was not, however, an activist or agitprop theatre. For Artaud, theatre was not equipped to challenge social structures in ‘as effective and incendiary a manner as is needed’ (TD, p. 29); that was a task better left to ‘machine guns’ (TD, p. 29). Rather than revolution, such as in the theatre of Bertolt Brecht, the Theatre of Cruelty ‘is a revelation’ (TD, p. 20) with a ‘higher and even more mysterious purpose’ than shifting power from one ruling class to another (TD, p. 29). For Artaud, it was necessary to address the underlying spiritual ache and evil energies of the world; otherwise, any social revolution would fall victim to the same problems that plagued contemporary society. Agitprop is a portmanteau of agitation and propaganda and refers to a type of ‘politically combative or oppositional art’, especially short pieces performed in public locations (Filewod, 2016). Though it has now become a catchall term for political theatre, it originated in Soviet Russia and germany as an explicit tool of the Communist revolution.

Artaud’s ideal theatre replicated the plague’s sudden and violent eruption. It destroyed the socially constructed self to allow us to ‘see ourselves as we are, making the masks fall and divulging our world’s lies, aimlessness, meanness and even two-facedness’ (TD, p. 21). He argued it was necessary to take advantage of the ‘cataclysms’ that ‘occur from time to time, prompting us to return to nature, that is to rediscover life’ (TD, p. 5). The plague was one such cataclysm, a double of the ‘disease’ of theatre, the destructive power of which results in either ‘death or cure’ (TD, p. 21). Theatre did not physically kill the audience, but its ‘final balance [ . . . could not] be obtained without destruction’ (TD, p. 21). For Artaud, this was the destruction of the illusory world of European culture that prevented humanity from accessing its authentic, primal nature. Through conjuring a state of apocalypse, the Theatre of Cruelty offers a glimpse of the underlying nature of creation and the primal vitality of the origins of the universe. The director of the work is patient

zero, infecting first the actors, then the audience, with the disease of the production. For Artaud, the theatre, ‘without killing, induces the most mysterious changes, not only in the minds of individuals but in a whole nation’ (TD, p. 17). Like the plague, the ideal theatre was ‘collectively made to drain abscesses’ allowing for a blank slate upon which a totally new relationship to the underlying nature of the universe could be built (TD, p. 21). CONCLUSION

Artaud’s work was not sui generis. Despite the fact that he generally dismissed the influence of his mentors and contemporaries, his training as a member of Dullin’s troupe, work as an actor with the Pitoëffs, extensive film career and experience as a spectator and critic of contemporary theatre underpin his resulting theories. He absorbed the theatrical innovations in European theatre and used them as a base from which to build his own. Once he felt he had surpassed the work of his mentors and peers, he dismissed them as too limited, too conservative, too European. Artaud stated that if he is ‘a poet or an actor it isn’t because [he] want[s] to write or declaim poems but to live them’ (cited in Thévenin and Knapp, 1965, p. 106). That he is never accurately able to describe what he wants is not, for him, a shortcoming; instead, it was a testament to the necessity of practice, specifically theatrical practice, to communicate these deeper spiritual truths. Thévenin describes The Theatre and Its Double as ‘a theatrical treatise’ rather than ‘a reference book for specialists’ (Thévenin and Knapp, 1965, p. 116). It does not outline a specific system or technique; instead, it offers a template from which a new artistic vision might be built. In place of masterpieces and calcified artistic traditions, Artaud advocated for an art that reflected the moment in which it was made. As we have noted, this was not a theatre conveying contemporary life, which Artaud considered false and diminished; instead, it was a universal and timeless theatre that reflected the specific energies of the contemporary moment. For Artaud, ‘[w]ithout representing its period, theatre can lead to a profound change in ideas, customs, beliefs and principles on which the spirit of the times are based’ (TD, p. 84). It could lead us from ‘obtuse contemplation’ to ‘the corporeal and real materialization A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

71

72

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

of an integral being or poetry’ and help us rediscover the lost truths that guide the universe (cited in Thévenin and Knapp, 1965, p. 106). In a letter to Jouvet, Artaud wrote, I do not believe that mise-en-scène is a matter of writing or can be done on paper. Indeed, it is the distinctive quality of theatrical effects that they cannot be contained in words or even in sketches. A mise-en-scène is created on stage. And either one is a man of the theater or one is not. It seems to me absolutely impossible to describe a movement, a gesture, or above all a theatrical intonation without actually performing it. To describe a mise-en-scène by verbal or graphic means is like trying to make a drawing of a certain kind of pain. (Sw, p. 210)

For Artaud, the imperfect vessel of language could never fully articulate the coded theatrical language he envisioned. This could only be developed and articulated through practice, with the metteur-en-scène working to develop a unified theatrical language that encompassed all the aspects of the mise-en-scène to create a total theatre. ARTAUD IN TRANSLATION AND INSPIRATION

Due to his limited opportunities to stage productions during his lifetime, Artaud’s theories are most often considered in relation to his written work and the practices they inspired. The first of his works translated into English was his film scenario, The Shell and the Clergyman, which was included in the June 1930 issue of the Paris based literary journal Transition (1927–1938). In 1949, the short-lived but influential American literary magazine, The Tiger’s Eye (1947–1949), published ‘Van Gogh: A Man Suicided by Society’ [Van Gogh le suicidé de la société], bringing him to the attention of avant-garde artists in the United States (Bradnock, 2010, pp. 6–7). It wasn’t until 1958, however, that Artaud’s ideas on theatre were introduced to the English-speaking public through Mary Caroline Richards’ translation of The Theatre and Its Double. Richards first encountered Artaud’s name while reading Barrault’s memoir Nouvelles Réflexions sur le Théatre [Reflections on the Theatre] (1951). ‘Aghast’ that she had never heard of him, she asked her friend David Tudor for his manuscript of the Theatre and Its Double, which he had typed from a borrowed copy (Richards, 1996, p. 35). Upon reading it, she knew her colleagues at Black Mountain College ‘would

be fascinated by this improbable work’ and began the process of translating it into English (ibid.). She started presenting the work in public as early as 1952, when she gave readings at both Black Mountain College and the Artists Club in New York City (Bradnock, 2010). Following the publication of her translation, Artaud’s influence was widespread in the English-speaking world. In the United States, Richard Schechner’s Performance Group, Julian Beck and Judith Malina’s Living Theatre and Joseph Chaikin’s Open Theatre embraced Artaud’s ideas. In England, Peter Brook and Charles Marowitz actively pursued an Artaudian aesthetic, staging his scenario Spurt of Blood (1925) as part of a Royal Shakespeare Company–funded ‘Theatre of Cruelty Season’ in 1964, almost forty years after it was written. His work continues to be translated into English, such as Stephen Barber’s new translation of Artaud’s letters from Ireland, Artaud 1937 Apocalypse (2018), and the first complete English translation of Artaud’s rendering of the life of the Roman emperor Heliogabalus, Heliogabalus, Or the Anarchist Crowned (2019), translated by Alexis Lykiard. With much of Artaud’s complete works untranslated, his writing continues to be fertile ground for artists working in a variety of media. Practitioners still drawing on Artaud’s legacy include the Catalonian theatre collective La Fura dels Baus, founded in 1979, or the performance artist Ann Liv Young, who has been actively creating performance work since 2004 (Thomas, 2015). These artists draw on his ideas with vastly different results, demonstrating his provocative rather than prescriptive template for theatre. Following Artaud’s vision, the contemporary practitioner must confront the conditions that currently separate art from the primal, magical realities that animate the universe and develop their own vision for theatre, which might offer a glimpse of those universal truths.

A R TAu D ’ S k e Y w R I T I N g S

73

3 THE T HÉ ÂT R E AL F RE D JAR R Y ( 1926– 1 9 2 9 )

Artaud’s ideas are sometimes discussed as if they appeared from thin air: the conceptual ravings of a mad artistic genius. Prominent theorists, such as Jacques Derrida, Michel Foucault and Susan Sontag, have framed Artaud as an artist who created ‘an art without works’ (Goodall, 1994, p. 5). When his practice is discussed, it is generally framed in terms of failure: • • •

Sontag writes that ‘in his work and in his life, Artaud failed’ (Sontag, 1981, p. 17). Stephen Barber frames his life as ‘great tragedy – terrible failure upon failure, suppression after suppression’ (Barber, 2013, p. 17). Martin Harries suggests his ‘failures – his failure to raise money for various attempts to realize the Theater of Cruelty, his failure ever to stage a production that approached his ideal’ – were ‘inevitable’ (Harries, 2007, p. 24).

Echoing Grotowski’s reflections on ‘An Affective Athleticism’ (see Chapter 2), Peter Brook claims, Artaud has no relation with practical theatre [. . .] The people I know who either worked with Artaud or saw his work found that in fact, it never led to any good results and his productions were extremely disappointing. (cited in Rose, 1983, p. 279) DOI: 10.4324/9780429019838-3

76

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

What these dominant readings overlook and Brook explicitly rejects is Artaud’s success in theatre and film, which is less minimal than often considered. In particular, his work at the Théâtre Alfred Jarry (TAJ) was assessed positively by prominent critics in Paris, as well as by the actors with whom he worked. As we have seen, Artaud’s work as a critic, actor, designer and director exposed him to a wide range of innovative theatre, literature and art. Many of his ideas are drawn from his mentors and peers, with Artaud believing that he must embrace and surpass their innovations. As a young practitioner, he was eager to put theatre on stage and worked actively to do so. His two chances to do this were the productions he staged at the Théâtre Alfred Jarry (TAJ) and his production of Les Cenci (see Chapter 1). Les Cenci is the production most often discussed in relation to Artaud and has received extensive consideration (Blin et al., 1972; Goodall, 1987; Curtin, 2010). There are a variety of reasons for this critical focus: • • •

It was technically the only play staged under the aegis of the Theatre of Cruelty. With seventeen performances, it had the longest run of any of the works Artaud directed (most productions at TAJ had only one or two performances). It is the best documented of Artaud’s productions, with extensive reviews and, most importantly, a production notebook that the assistant director Roger Blin created during rehearsals.

Artaud, however, considered the production a failure, and arguably his most successful works as a director were the productions at TAJ. For this reason, I am focusing on the less documented but more formative work he created there. During the period he was directing work at TAJ, Artaud focused on creating rather than writing about theatre. He ‘produced an uncharacteristically small number of texts’ and what he did write consisted primarily of manifestos, brochures and reflections on TAJ, as well as scenarios for the stage (Jannarone, 2005, p. 249). Select scholars have stressed the importance of Artaud’s work at TAJ and its crucial role in the development of his vision (Rose, 1983; Jannarone, 2005; Connick, 2011). In this chapter, I continue that exploration, framing his work at

TAJ as an essential precursor to the Theatre of Cruelty. Specifically, I focus on his production of August Strindberg’s Le Songe [A Dream Play], which he considered one of those ‘model plays whose production is a producer’s crowning achievement’, the success of which ‘virtually consecrates a producer or director’ (CW2, p. 68). PRODUCING WORK AT TAJ

TAJ was a collaborative project that emerged from the collective interests of Artaud, Vitrac and Aron – something quite different from his work on the essays for The Theatre and Its Double, which were written primarily in isolation (Jannarone, 2010, p. 165). According to Aron, they did not have ‘precise functions’ at the theatre; they did, however, fall into particular roles: • • •

Aron served primarily as a producer in charge of the ‘practical side of things’, such as the theatre’s finances. Vitrac wrote the plays. Artaud directed and designed all the productions. (Melzer, 1977, p. 133)

They named their theatre for Alfred Jarry, a key figure in the French avant-garde known for his aggressive and biting satire of bourgeois social mores. In claiming Jarry as the patron saint of their theatre, they were positioning it within a legacy of avant-garde provocation. It indicated that the theatre would prize daring new works that pushed theatrical boundaries. Their use of Jarry’s name foreshadowed something else as well: the historical record’s focus on scandal rather than the theatrical merit of the work. In the case of Jarry’s Ubu Roi (1896), it is the persistent myth of an opening night riot, which reduces the entirety of the production to the utterance of the first line (‘merdre’, French for shit, but with an extra ‘r’) (Trainor, 2012); for Artaud, it is the erasure of his work as a director and the consistent positioning of his theatrical practice as scandal-ridden failures. From 1927 to 1929, Aron, Artaud and Vitrac programmed four seasons of seven works over the course of eight evenings. They staged Strindberg’s Le Songe [A Dream Play] (1901), the third act of Paul Claudel’s play Partage de Midi [Break of Noon] (1906), a screening of Vsevolod Pudovkin’s banned film Mat [Mother] (1926) and their own texts and T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

77

78

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

scenarios. Artaud contributed the musical sketch Ventre brûlé; ou La Mère folle [Burnt Belly, or the Mad Mother] (1927) for the theatre’s first season. That season also premièred Aron’s original work ‘Gigone’ (1927), which was written under the pen name Max Robur and was advertised as having ‘the systematic intent of needling the spectator’ (cited in Jannarone, 2005, p. 255). Vitrac debuted two original full-length plays, Les Mystères de l’amour [Mysteries of Love] (1927) and Victor; ou, Le pouvoir aux les enfants [Victor, or Power to the Children] (1929), which are now recognised as key examples of Surrealist theatre (Auslander, 1980; Rapti, 2016). TAJ did not have an established space or company (though several actors appeared in multiple productions). They had to rent theatres in the off-season and had limited time to rehearse in these theatres, often resorting to using the Allendys’ home. According to Madame Allendy, Artaud ‘was doing the impossible, struggling against enormous difficulties, since he didn’t have a theatre for his rehearsals’ (cited in Jannarone, 2005, p. 270, n. 70). Most of the productions at TAJ, including Le Songe, only had one technical rehearsal in the theatre and, in the case of Vitrac’s Victor ou les enfants pouvoir, no technical rehearsal at all (Jannarone, 2005, p. 268, n. 20). They rented three different theatres based on what was available at the time, what they could afford and what connections they had (all three theatres were linked to members of the Cartel des Quatre). These included • • •

the Comédie des Champs-Elysées, where Jacques Hébertot had hired him to perform with Pitoëff’s troupe; the Théâtre de Grenelle, where Dullin’s troupe rehearsed; and the Théâtre de l’Avenue, which Gaston Baty was using at the time.

All three had traditional nineteenth-century proscenium stages, with balcony seating that could accommodate large audiences. According to Aron, the Comédie des Champs-Elysées had around five hundred seats, and the Théâtre de l’Avenue, where Le Songe was staged, was even larger (Melzer, 1977). This represented a key challenge to Artaud’s theatrical vision, which looked to transform the theatrical space and its relation to the audience. In the TAJ manifesto, they declared that ‘theatre will no longer be a straight-jacketed thing, imprisoned in the restricted area of the stage’ (CW2, 26); the reality of the spaces available, however,

meant the productions were restricted by the traditional layout of the proscenium stage. The productions were well attended, with audiences full of important figures from the French cultural scene. Aron, who was responsible for public relations, noted that the theatre’s audiences consisted primarily of intellectuals and artists – what they were doing ‘was too avant-garde’ for the general public (Melzer, 1977, p. 133). Accordingly, the audiences came to the theatre expecting experimental work and ‘found it quite normal’ (ibid., p. 136). This was upsetting to Artaud, who viewed the audiences as ‘prejudiced’ and ‘of the I was there or flippant sort’ (CW2, p. 37). This ‘typically French audience’ attended the productions to be seen at an edgy cultural event rather than participate in a transformative theatrical experience (CW2, p. 37). The theatre quickly established a reputation for scandal (in part due to the blatant provocations of the artistic team). The theatre’s manifestos, which emphasised that it would use ‘[e]ven the most vulgar means [. . .] to contribute towards shocking the audience’ (CW2, p. 41), no doubt exacerbated this. So, too, did their programming choices, which, in the second season, consisted of two banned works: •

•

Pudovkin’s Mat, which the Commission de Contrôle des Films [Film Control Commission] (established in 1916) had censored due to its Soviet origin and communist themes (Rose, 1983, p. 112; Sassoon, 2006, p. 888) A satirical take on the third act of Claudel’s Partage de midi, which Claudel had explicitly stated that he did not want to be produced due to its personal nature (Rose, 1983, p. 112)

Reviews for the first season highlighted the ‘childish pranks’ of Aron’s Gigone, which reviewers thought ‘tried too hard to shock’ and ‘spoiled the central idea’ of the production (cited in Jannarone, 2005, p. 255). Reviews for subsequent seasons followed this template, with an outsize focus on the scandalous behaviour of the artists and the reactions of the audience rather than the content of the productions (ibid, p. 249). According to Max Joly, a French filmmaker who acted at the theatre, the theatre’s reputation for shock and scandal made Artaud extremely unhappy. The works did not achieve his goal of awakening the audience to a new theatrical reality. Instead, they had ‘the same effect that a T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

79

80

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

Boulevard production, or a production with aesthetic intentions, would have had’ (cited in Auslander, 1980, p. 368). LE SONGE AT THÉÂTRE DE L’AVENUE

One indicator of the quality of the productions at TAJ was the response of members of the Swedish expatriate community in France who attended the performances. After the theatre’s second season, some members of the Swedish delegation wrote to the Allendys and suggested that if TAJ were to produce a play by August Strindberg, members of the Swedish colony would book seats for the production at a high price in advance; additionally, ‘certain members might donate several thousand francs which would assure its production’ (CW2, p. 226). The team at TAJ took up this offer, which meant it had the most resources of any of the theatre’s productions. The production they chose was Le Songe (1901), which Strindberg had translated into French himself (CW2, p. 34). It had not yet been premièred in France, which was one of the reasons Artaud wanted to stage it: ‘no one in Paris dared to put it on’ (CW2, p. 34). For Artaud, Le Songe was an attempt ‘to apply a full-scale development of the production techniques characteristic of the Alfred Jarry Theatre’ (CW2, p. 34). It ran for two evenings, 2 and 9 June 1928, at the Théâtre l’Avenue. ARTAUD AND THE PLAYWRIGHT

One of the essential contradictions in Artaud’s career was his relationship with playwrights and their texts. He railed against playwrights, but it was also the vocation of Vitrac, one of his primary collaborators and, according to the actress Alexandra Pecker, ‘the friend that [Artaud] liked the most’ (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 105). Additionally, most of Artaud’s productions worked from scripts rather than scenarios as he theorised. Artaud, however, adapted his texts freely to fit his vision: the script existed ‘as a separate reality, existing as something self-sufficient in its own right [. . .] simply for the air breathed in enunciating it. That’s all’ (CW2, p. 20). In a promotional brochure for TAJ produced after the first season, they wrote that scripts were to be removed of ‘all those hateful trappings which clutter up a written play and turn it into a show’ (CW2, p. 20). He treated Strindberg’s text this way as well, cutting around a quarter of the script (Crombez, 2005).

In contrast to Dullin, who considered the director ‘as the spiritual representative of the author’, Artaud approached the script as a starting point for the director’s vision (cited in Jannarone, 2010, p. 145): ‘the director becomes the author, that is, the creator’ of a theatrical event (SW, p. 299). He outlined his vision in extensive production plans, which detailed every aspect of the mise-en-scène, including the movements and sounds of the actors (Jannarone, 2005). He likely had a detailed production plan for Le Songe; unfortunately, it has been lost. Interestingly, this is true for all of the scenarios and plays Artaud staged at TAJ: ‘if a scenario was staged, no text of it remains’ (Jannarone, 2009, p. 234). In his production plans, Artaud focussed on drawing out the overall feeling of the text – its spirit – and instilling it into the multiple aspects of the overall mise-en-scène. This would comprise a new work of art created by the production’s director/creator. This idea was present in Artaud’s earliest writings on the theatre. See, for example, what he wrote in his first professional publication on theatre, L’évolution de décor [The Evolution of Decor] (1924): Subservience to the author, dependence on the text, what a dismal tradition! each text has infinite possibilities. The spirit of the text, not the letter! A text requires more than analysis and perception. (Sw, 53)

The first question to address, then, is what is the ‘spirit’ of Strindberg’s text according to Artaud? THE SPIRIT OF LE SONGE

Le Songe draws loosely on the myth of the Vedic god Indra and the legend of St. Agnes, the patron saint of chastity and purity. It follows Indra’s Daughter (a figure of which there is no consistent record in the Vedic tradition) incarnated in human form as Agnes, as she is sent to earth to witness the various challenges humanity faces. These range from hunger, war and the disparities between the rich and poor, to the drudgery of domestic life. The play is non-linear, and events are not directly connected – Indra’s Daughter experiences different aspects of human culture throughout space and time – rather, it weaves an overall atmosphere reflective of the dreamer’s subconscious, in this case the character of the Poet. T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

81

82

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

Strindberg framed his play as an attempt to imitate the disconnected but seemingly logical form of the dream. Anything may happen; everything is possible and probable. Time and space do not exist. On an insignificant background of reality, imagination designs and embroiders novel patterns: a medley of memories, experiences, free fancies, absurdities and improvisations. (Strindberg, 1912, p. 40)

This framing was perfect for the kind of theatre Artaud envisioned. He wanted to create a production that combined theatricality with reality, and Le Songe allowed him to present ‘the false amid the real’ (CW2, p. 34). He could create a real experience, taking place in a real space, in real time, with real people, but also removed from the banalities of quotidian logic through the play’s form as a dream. Artaud’s comments on Japanese theatre reveal some of the reasons Le Songe would have been appealing to him. In 1922, writing about L’Atelier, he framed Japanese theatre as the ‘closest to Charles Dullin’s ideal’: Considered in relation to life, the performance of a Japanese drama is a fantastic illumination. Yet the substance of the actor’s performance is based on a meticulous and outrageous realism. This is a truer reality, and if we can say, more real than our daily reality, a certain reality, symbolic, essential, and . . . decanted. The real fantasy is within life. It is not outside it. But a solemn life. The dream life . . . the fantastic life of the dream, which is fantastic precisely because of its excessive, acute, and agonizing reality. (cited in Tian, 2018, p. 156)

Here one can see Artaud’s early interest in creating a world that is both real and a fantasy and in which the symbolic world of the work transcends daily reality. Strindberg’s work merged reality and unreality and, in doing so, created a state akin to one on the cusp of waking and sleeping. This was the state that Artaud looked to harness in order to facilitate his audience’s transcendence to a new plane of reality. Le Songe’s cosmology is also in line with Artaud’s vision for a metaphysical theatre. Goran Stockenströmn argues that Le Songe is structured

‘in accordance with medieval Neo-Platonic doctrine or the Gnostic world picture’: [T]he Creator – Demiurge, god, Brahma – had created the universe after the divine idea. Hence the universe was good, but being a copy, it was removed from the idea and was thus corrupted from perfection. (Stockenströmn, 1996, p. 91)

Here, too, one can see specific parallels to Artaud’s metaphysical vision, which looked to reveal the uncorrupted universe before it was copied. Like Artaud, Strindberg was obsessed with finding a universal language; he spent the later period of his life searching for the primal biblical language that united mankind before the fall of man and the destruction of the Tower of Babel separated human speech into different languages (Rokem, 2005). For Artaud, Le Songe dealt with the ‘loftiest questions [. . .] evoked in a form that is at once concrete and mysterious’ (CW1, p. 62). Fittingly, Strindberg states that the ‘characters split, double, multiply, vanish, solidify, blur, clarify. But one consciousness reigns above them all – that of the dreamer’ (Strindberg, 1912, p. 24). This reflected both Artaud’s vision of the double and his notion of a single artist-creator who puts the actors and the audience into a trance or dream state. In Le Songe, this is the Poet, who holds sway over the entire mise-en-scène of the dream. Aron remembered Artaud as having a specific vision for how to interpret Strindberg’s play. He ‘worked only from the text. He was very, very precise. He knew exactly how he wanted it to be.’ (Melzer, 1977, p. 135). The text he worked from was, of course, his own version of Strindberg’s text. In response to Paulhan’s criticisms of the productions at TAJ he declared, I do exactly what I like with a text. But a text on a stage is always pathetic. So, I embellish it with shouts and contortions which do, of course, have a meaning, but not for pigs. (Cw3, 111)

Artaud’s embellishments were articulated in his production plans, which outlined the symbolic universe he was trying to create and developed through the process of staging the works with his collaborators. T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

83

84

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

THE MISE-EN-SCÈNE

So which of the ‘infinite possibilities’ of Strindberg’s text did Artaud harness in his staging? The production plan has been lost, and the limited documentation of the performance prevents us from knowing its full scope; the available resources, however, indicate that Artaud created an elaborate mise-en-scène with complex costume, lighting and sound designs. While the lack of tangible documentation can be frustrating as we try to piece together Artaud’s practice, it also leaves us free to imagine his production with fewer constraints than better-documented works of the period. This is perhaps in keeping with Artaud’s vision for theatre as an ephemeral dream world that exists at the moment. Our reconstruction of Le Songe is itself like a dream, grabbed from contemporary reviews, fragmentary recollections and two pictures of the production. Additionally, Artaud’s detailed production plan for Strindberg’s La Sonate des Spectres [The Ghost Sonata], which was never produced, provides an indication of how Artaud approached Strindberg’s work and the kind of staging choices he might have made. From this melange of resources, scholars have outlined Le Songe’s overall contours, reconstructed here, which the reader can use as a starting point for an imaginative rendering of Artaud’s production (Rose, 1983; Innes, 1993; Jannarone, 2005; Szalczer, 2011). A DÉCOR OF VIOLENTLY REAL OBJECTS

Strindberg had hoped directors would stage his work following the innovative drapery stage approach he had developed at the Intimate Theatre (1907–1910). There, he replaced painted backdrops with a curtain and used ‘emblematic objects to denote the separate scenes, and a mixture of costumes from various periods to suggest the world of dream “where time and space no longer exist”’ (Ewbank, 1998, p. 173). He also suggested the use of a magic lantern ‘that could substitute for painted backdrops, physical objects used as props, or give the impression of temporal variability in staging’ to achieve the dreamlike effects of the play (MacKenzie, 2019, p. 107).

The magic lantern was an early projector that first appeared in europe in 1660. It used a combination of mirrors, lights and glass slides to project images. Originally the light was provided by candles or oil lamps, though this eventually progressed to different kinds of electric lamps and bulbs. In the early 1870s, a new type of magic lantern, the sciopticon, was introduced. It had improved projection quality and allowed for enlargements of up to fifty times the size of the original image. Strindberg was explicitly referring to the sciopticon in his plans for A Dream Play (Hockenjos, 2002, p. 104).

Artaud’s choices seem to be in keeping with Strindberg’s vision for the play, with pictures depicting a sparse set against a dramatically lit back curtain. Tania Balachova, who played the role of Indra’s Daughter, recalled the décor as starkly simplified; it was practically a bare stage. Yet it was all very real without being naturalistic. Objects were placed in very strange places; it was pop art in embryo. But this ‘pop art’ did not give the impression of a music-hall act; Artaud made it poetic (cited in Marker and Marker, 2002, p. 68)

Essential to this poetic impression was Artaud’s unconventional use of everyday objects to create an uncanny atmosphere. Pop Art was an art movement developed in the 1950s and ’60s in the united States and the united kingdom. It is known for its use of everyday objects, especially objects from consumer and popular culture, and images from mass media, presented in bright, colourful ways. It often combined multiple types of media and made use of repetition, mirroring and doubles, aspects which linked it to Artaud’s earlier work. exemplified by the works of Andy warhol (1928–1987) and Roy Lichtenstein (1923–1997), Pop Art ‘exploded’ in New York City in 1963, around the same time Artaud’s works were becoming influential in the english-speaking world (Banes, 1993, p. 5).

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

85

86

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

He wrote in the programme notes that ‘[n]othing is less likely to produce an illusion than the illusion of unreal props, flats and painted canvas drops’ (CW2, p. 68). In keeping with this, the décor consisted of a variety of real objects, including hospital beds, ladders, lighting equipment and benches (Rose, 1983, p. 117). He also employed a projection screen to establish the various shifting locations of the play. This was the only time Artaud employed this technique, despite his intense interest in the possibilities of cinema at the time, and it may have been in response to Strindberg’s call for the use of a magic lantern. Overall, Artaud’s choices were a contrast to Max Reinhardt’s standard-bearing 1921 production in Stockholm and Berlin, in which Reinhardt had used ‘a succession of realistically painted backdrops in dark colours’ to represent the shifting scenic locations (Szalczer, 2011, p. 145). Reviews of the production praised Artaud’s scenic design. Le Gaulois’s reviewer noted that the ‘very strange’ production’s ‘scenery was very imaginatively devised’ (Leach, 2004, p. 159). In La Gazette du Franc, the influential reviewer Benjamin Crémieux declared it ‘[o]ne of the most remarkable and innovative scenic realizations offered by the theatre this year’ (cited in Jannarone, 2005, p. 270, n. 70). Crémieux compared it to the works of the Surrealist painter Giorgio di Chirico (1888–1978), who was known for his paintings depicting incongruous objects and distorted perspectives and his use of mannequins as standins for humans (cited in Jannarone, 2005, p. 257). While the stage consisted of real, three-dimensional everyday objects, they were not necessarily used in realistic ways. According to Aron, Artaud would ‘use a chair, a normal chair, but place it on stage in such a way, that while it remained “real” . . . a chair . . . it also become something poetic and extraordinary’ (cited in Melzer, p. 136). The mise-en-scène did not create an illusion of real life but instead attempted to create a startling new reality through theatrical means. Artaud’s staging combined a kind of brute materiality with the ephemerality of the theatrical. He wanted actors to approach the objects on stage as the three-dimensional objects they really were, while, simultaneously, he ‘wanted very little that was real’ on stage (cited in Melzer, p. 136). This approach can be seen in his use of the ladders, which are featured in one of Rouleau’s scenes as the Officer. Rouleau has described being instructed to bring a ladder on stage, climb to the top of it and remove his overcoat from a hanger attached to the ceiling (Marker and Marker, 2002, p. 68). They ‘were not stylised into symbols; they were common,

brutally material ladders’ that the actors approached as ladders (Stounbjerg, 2013, p. 75); they went beyond their function as normal ladders, however, through Artaud’s staging choices. Equally, they were not used to represent something else, as, for example, the ladders in Thornton Wilder’s Our Town (1938), which ‘serve as indication of the second story in the Gibbs and Webb houses’ (Wilder, 1957, p. 33). This staging choice also demonstrated Artaud’s interest in taking advantage of both the depth and the height of the playing space. While he was limited by the traditional layout of l’Avenue, he did his best to apply the principles he was developing within those limitations. We have better examples of this in other productions at TAJ, such as Vitrac’s Les Mystères de l’amour, which ended with a planted audience member being theatrically assassinated at the end of the production (Jannarone, 2005, p. 253). The small amount of time Artaud was able to rehearse in his theatres (and the generally haphazard rehearsal process), their traditional layouts and his focus on creating an elaborate mise-en-scène in the time he had limited Artaud’s full spatial experimentation. Given more time, he might have pushed this use of the theatre space further to create the fully immersive experience he envisioned. LIGHT WITH A LIFE OF ITS OWN

Artaud considered the lighting to add another symbolic layer of theatrical meaning; it was not just a tool to make the actors visible. He ‘envisioned the development of a technique for lighting emotional states rather than objects’ (Palmer, 1967, p. 147). As he explained in a letter to the author André Gide, ‘[t]he light will not merely illuminate but will have a life of its own, it will be regarded as a state of mind’ (SW, p. 301). In one striking example from Ventre brûlé, Artaud employed a violet spotlight that functioned to assassinate each of the characters (Jannarone, 2005, p. 252). Aron recalled that Artaud ‘utilized the light in an astonishing manner, which transfigured the objects and the actors equally well’ (cited in Jannarone, 2005, p. 252). His production plan for La Sonate des Spectres demonstrates his attention to the interplay of light, movement and scenery and how he might have approached lighting one of Strindberg’s plays. He uses a combination of evocative, poetic language and the practical language of the stage to establish the feeling of each scene, as well as how the lighting shifts, changes and moves throughout the production. T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

87

88

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

Artaud states that ‘details specified by Strindberg will be thrown into relief, with some of them receiving special emphasis’, including becoming ‘larger than life’ (CW2, pp. 99–101). For example, the production plan refers to the ‘“spy”, who from the beginning calls attention to himself by a luminous halo’ (CW2, p. 100); this grows in the second scene, ‘taking on all the darker parts of the spectrum’ until the [s]ound and light suddenly cease, and beside each character appears a sort of double dressed like him. All these doubles are disturbingly motionless, at least some of them being represented by dummies. They slowly disappear, limping, while all the characters shake themselves as though awakening from deep sleep. All this takes about one minute. (ibid.)

Artaud combines light, sound and the startling appearance of motionless dummies (something of a recurring motif in Artaud’s work) with a rapid change to what had been a durational use of growing light. It isn’t clear who the ‘spy’ is in Strindberg’s text, and it is possibly an example of Artaud’s call to suddenly give ‘unusual importance [. . .] to a small detail’ (CW2, p. 97). His description of how different areas of the stage are lit in Act II demonstrates his interest in using lighting to create dynamic contrasts and isolate different areas of the theatre: • • •

The lighting for the front room is ‘evenly lit’, though ‘a little heavier than normal’, with a colour that is ‘unnatural [. . .] without being projected by coloured lights’ (CW2, p. 101). The ‘green room in at the back is to be lit from above’ with a ‘very soft green, almost white’ light, that is also slightly ‘uneven’ (CW2, p. 102). The left and back of the room are relatively shadowy, while the ‘light outside captures the detail of a tower, a roof, or a spire in the distance’ (ibid.).

This lighting then goes through a dramatic change at ‘the moment of metamorphosis’ and becomes ‘blinding, pouring in through the windows, through the transparent walls, seeming to drive out the lighting in the two rooms’ (ibid.). These forceful and sudden changes in rhythm were key to the Theatre of Cruelty.

One can imagine the challenge facing a lighting designer when trying to accommodate Artaud’s desired tonal, technical and metaphysical shifts. How, for instance, does one interpret his request to create a lighting change that is ‘decomposed’? Ideally, this occurs through the collaboration and devising process, with the lighting designer and director working together to create a production’s unique language of light. Balachova described the lighting for Le Songe as dramatic but not extreme (cited in Marker and Marker, 2002, p. 68). One of the extant pictures depicts the ladders framed by two square spots against the back curtain, and the other highlights two performers dressed in white; both photographs are starkly lit. The specific starkness of the photographs may be in part due to the necessities of photography at the time, but reviews and recollections support the idea that the lighting was bright. Paul Achard wrote in Paris-Midi that Artaud used minimal décor and maximal lighting (Achard, 1928, p. 2), while in Paris-Soir, Emile Monchon praised Artaud’s ‘mysterious world of light and shadow’ that evoked ‘the realities of another plane’ of existence’ (Monchon, 1928, p. 5). Again, this contrasted Reinhardt’s production, which was characterised by the use of ‘pitch-dark blackness [as] the sinister main motif’ (Gillespie, 2008, p. 1287). Innes has suggested that Artaud’s expressive, stylised movement direction emerged, in part, from his training in silent film, and particularly German Expressionism (Innes, 1993). This influenced the lighting as well, which he used to create dramatic contrasts, shadows and illusions of disproportion and highlight various symbolic aspects of Strindberg’s script (or his interpretation of it) (Szalczer, 2011, p. 150). The photographs from Le Songe show the actors and décor ‘silhouetted in front of the white light’ and evoked the ‘sharp black and white contrasts found in Expressionist cinema’ (Rose, 1983, p. 116). In his review for Le Temps, one of the major newspapers in Paris at the time, Pierre Brisson wrote that the staging used the ‘kinds of techniques the cinema has familiarized us with’ (cited in Rose, 1983, p. 117). This included actors who appeared to fade in and out of the background through the use of lighting and their engagement with the objects on stage. The projection screen surely added to this feeling as well. SOUND AND RHYTHM

Artaud worked closely with composers and sound designers to establish a production’s soundscape. It was a crucial element of the mise-en-scène, T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

89

90

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

and he arranged it with ‘the greatest attention to detail’ (CW2, p. 113). His soundscape consisted of music, sound effects, the voices and screams of the actors and the sounds they made with their bodies to create moments of dissonance and rupture and to highlight the uncanny reality of the theatrical world. What we know about Artaud’s approach to working with sound designers reflects his notion that a production’s theatrical language should be devised through the staging process. Maxime Jacob, the composer for TAJ’s production of Ventre brûlé, recalled that he never saw Artaud’s scenario; instead, Artaud worked with him to develop a soundscape meant ‘to express allegorically the clash between theatre and cinema’ (Rose, 1983, p. 108). Jacob describes the resulting composition as a ‘partly grotesque, partly poignant’ funeral march that consisted almost exclusively of percussion (Jannarone, 2005, p. 252). Percussion was a consistent feature of Artaud’s productions, both at TAJ and in his subsequent staging of Les Cenci. For Les Cenci, he worked closely with Roger Désormière to create an immersive sonic environment ‘which did not merely support the action but motivated it obliquely’ (Curtin, 2010, p. 252). The sound design for that production was, again, ‘predominantly percussive’, and Artaud made use of ‘drumming, foot stomps, symbol crashes, bells and gongs, and metallic noises’ (ibid., p. 253). He also placed speakers throughout the auditorium, in what Roger Blin claimed was ‘the first time stereophonic sound was used in the theatre’ (cited in Connick, 2011, p. 78). Le Songe predates Artaud’s exposure to the Balinese theatre, but he would have experienced the percussive rhythms of gamelan through his attendance of the Cambodian dance performances at the exposition in Marseille. It is also possible that Artaud experienced sounds and music from East Asian performance traditions as an actor in Dullin’s troupe, considering Dullin’s interest in Japanese performance traditions (see Chapter 1). Whether Artaud drew on the music and rhythms of East Asian performance traditions to evoke the themes of Le Songe, we do not know; however, percussion was a consistent feature of his productions, and it is likely that he employed it in Le Songe as well. In the production plan for La Sonate des Spectres, Artaud called for the use of ‘recorded sound whose pitch and volume can be adjusted at will by means of loudspeakers and amplifiers sited all over the stage and front of house’ (CW2, p. 112). In Le Songe, Artaud might have employed this kind of technique to create the moment in the scene between the

Officer and the Lawyer, when the church bells begin to ring to signify the upcoming graduation ceremony or to aid the effect of the Foulstrand scene, in which Strindberg calls for the shrieking howls of lost souls. Likewise, he might have followed Dullin’s example of giving characters a distinctive musical motif that punctuated their exits and entrances (Whitton, 1987, p. 77). He did apply that technique in his plan for La Sonate des Spectres, in which he indicates that he will use ‘the organ and the church-bells mentioned by Strindberg [to] emphasise the entrance of certain ghosts, filling the silences’ (CW2, p. 100). In addition to music, Artaud called for undercurrents of sound that established the rhythms and vibrations of the production. This was more often noise than music. Again, we can turn to La Sonate des Spectres to get a sense of Artaud’s vision: Act I features a ‘constant noise of water [. . .] gradually growing louder, to the point of obsession. The sound of waves breaking in the sea, the fountain flowing’ (CW2, p. 100). Water is central to Le Songe, with key scenes set on the islands of Foulstrand and Fairhaven. In his plan for La Sonate des Spectres, Artaud might be recycling ideas used in Le Songe in the same way that dummies and mannequins appear in a variety of his production plans and proposals. In addition to sound effects and music, the actors’ voices were essential to the soundscape. Artaud did not call for ‘abolishing speech in theatre’; instead, he wanted to change ‘its intended purpose, especially to lessen its’ status, giving words ‘something of the significance they have in dreams’ (TD, p. 52). For Artaud, the breaths that supported the words and the sounds they made were as important as any meaning the words themselves conveyed. His vision was in line with the theatrical innovations of the time: as early as 1909, director Edward Gordon Craig – to whom Artaud referred as ‘one of the ‘liberators of the theatre’ (CW2, p. 130) – had expressed the desire to ‘remove the word with its dogma but to leave the sound’ (cited in Roesner, 2014, p. 109, n. 48). Balachova recalled that when working with Artaud in Le Songe, she was forced to unlearn her conventional training and instead learn how to scream with both her voice and her body (Balachova, 1965). Likewise, when she reflected on observing his work with the actress Génica Athanasiou, she noted that he was able to draw out of her ‘unforgettable, marvellous’ ways of speaking (ibid.). In La Sonate des Spectres, he planned to have ‘voices changing tone arbitrarily, overlapping one T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

91

92

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

another’, and he puts great emphasis on how shifts of pitch and tone will help to establish the plays various (un)realities. One specific example we have of Artaud’s approach comes from Swedish author Marika Stiernstedt, who was in the audience for the opening night performance. According to Stiernstedt, the character of Christine, the maid, who, throughout the play, is sealing the windows with pieces of paper to prepare for the winter, ‘“strutted” imperiously about the tiny stage, carrying a big glue pot and a brush gesticulating towards the wings and yelling “I’m gluing”’ (cited in Rose, 1983, p. 119). In this characterisation, one can see a number of Artaud’s staging interests, including the incongruity between the character and her movement (the normally diminutive maid carrying on royally) and the focus on seemingly small details. She returns at the end of the play, still pasting, and has the following exchange with the Poet: CHRISTINe: [with slips of paper] I paste, I paste until there is nothing more to paste. THe POeT: And if heaven should split in twain, you would try to paste it together – Away! (Strindberg, 1912, p. 110)

One can imagine this taking on some significance for Artaud, who, like the Poet, is interested in opening the cracks and seeing what they reveal rather than plastering over them and sealing them up. COSTUMES

To evoke the disjointed logic of a dream, the actors wore elaborate costumes that were a mix of periods and styles. Rouleau, in his role of the Officer, wore a nineteenth century military uniform, in keeping with Strindberg’s call for his character to wear a ‘very unusual yet modern uniform’ (Strindberg, 1912, p. 30); Balachova, as the Goddess, wore a black cape and a cloche, a recently invented hat that was popular amongst young women during the 1920s (her back is turned in the picture, which obscures the other elements of her costume). Étienne Decroux was dressed in what appeared to be a modern police officer’s uniform in his role as the Quarantine Master (Rose, 1983, p. 116). Stiernstedt recalled that the maid’s costume was a ‘coquettish elegant

dress instead of the traditional maid’s uniform’ (Rose, 1983, p. 119). Additionally, their faces were painted in layers of white make-up, possibly a reference to the white make-up common in Japanese Kabuki theatre or the white-face mime of Jean-Gaspard Deburau. ACTING

Now that we have some sense of Le Songe’s overall mise-en-scène, we can consider how Artaud combined these technical elements with the movement, speech and characterisations of the actors. In his production plan for La Sonate des Spectres, he stated that it was necessary to create a ‘harmony of gesture and movement [. . .] controlled and regulated as in a well-oiled machine’ (CW2, p. 104). Artaud considered the expressive power of the actor’s body equal to those of the words the actors were saying (or, more often, the sounds they were making) and encouraged a highly stylised mode of acting that engaged the full expressive apparatus of the body. The cast of Le Songe was made up of some of the most promising actors in the French theatre scene. This included Raymond Rouleau, a Belgian actor who was acting with Artaud in Marcel L’Herbier’s film L’Argent [Money] (1928); his wife, Tania Balachova, who was working with both Dullin and Baty and would go on to become one of France’s most important actor-training teachers; and Étienne Decroux, who was a member of Dullin’s troupe. All three would go on to play vital roles in the development of French theatre and film. To accommodate the schedules of the professional actors, who were generally engaged in other productions, rehearsals often occurred overnight (Melzer, 1977, p. 134). According to Aron, the actors committed to the long hours and challenging performances ‘because they were very eager to work with Artaud’, who consistently pushed them beyond the boundaries of their traditional training to discover new possibilities for theatre and performance (Melzer, 1977, p. 135). After working with Artaud on Les Cenci, Blin noted that Artaud’s method of communicating with his actors did not follow the standard language of the theatre: Artaud would speak of the theatre naturally, but he knew absolutely nothing about how to talk to actors. It was rather funny because he would always use metaphysical examples or literary allusions that the actors could not T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

93

94

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

understand. He never used the technical language of the theatre. every time he said anything, he wanted it to be in relation to the whole meaning of the piece. Although he had worked with Dullin and Jouvet, he didn’t know any professional jargon at all. (cited in Taylor-Batty, 2007, p. 37)

Blin ascribes Artaud’s methods to a lack of knowledge; it seems more likely, however, that Artaud would have resisted using language that he considered an outmoded relic of a type of theatre he rejected. For Balachova, Artaud’s direction was not technical; rather, he worked with actors in a trance state, with both Artaud and his cast immersed in the theatrical universe he was creating – ‘he did not direct his actors, so much as tell them what to do’, she has stated (Balachova, 1965). Aron confirms this, stating that Artaud ‘trained the actors to do just what he wanted (Melzer, 1977, p. 135). Sometimes he would go as far in rehearsals as to ‘play each role to show the actor how it should be done’ (Melzer, 1977, p. 134). For Balachova, this resulted in a performance Pierre Brisson referred to in his review for Le Temps as ‘robotlike’ (cited in Rose, 1983, p. 117). Artaud’s comments on Carl Dreyer’s direction for the film La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc (1928), which was contemporaneous with his productions at TAJ, are instructive regarding his own style as a director. Artaud described Dreyer as insistently demanding from the actor, instilling in the actor the spirit of a scene, and then giving him the latitude to direct it, to give it any sort of personal inclination, provided he remained faithful to the spirit required. (Sw, p. 183)

In his own direction, Artaud was exacting and specific in his desire for a specific mise-en-scène that adhered to his overall vision while also providing the actor great freedom to interpret their role within the confines he had established. Rouleau’s description of the first rehearsal of Le Songe demonstrates his unusual approach: Artaud rolled around on the stage, assumed a falsetto voice, contorted himself, howled, and fought against logic, order, and the ‘well-made’ approach.

He forbade anyone to pay too close attention to the ‘story’ at the expense of its spiritual significance. He sought desperately to translate the ‘truth’ of the text, and not the words. It was only after he felt that he had found the truth, which his interior voyage had disclosed to him, that he fixed it meticulously, often with amazing profundity. (cited in Bermel, 1997, p. 73)

For Rouleau, Artaud’s metaphysical direction allowed for a release from the more technical work Dullin required. At L’Atelier the experimental improvisations of the rehearsal room were not necessarily integrated into the production. In contrast, Artaud codified the extreme vocal and physical improvisations that developed during the rehearsal process into the final staging. This was combined with an earnest exploration of the actor’s emotional world. Discussing Artaud’s work decades later, Rouleau stated, I remember to this day how in my role as The Officer my emotional states – my anguish, my tenderness, my ardor – grew out of Artaud’s helpful hints and impelled me toward the dénouement. (cited in Jannarone, 2005, p. 260)

Artaud’s approach combined his desire for a rigorously controlled mise-en-scène with his respect for the work of the actor, who had to develop their own emotional athleticism to communicate the spirit of the work. Rouleau has further described the kind of dynamic, non-naturalistic staging Artaud required: The actor might begin a speech while standing up, but as he continued to speak he would fall to his knees, then lie down on the stage, and finally finish the speech on his knees. (cited in Marker and Marker, 2002, p. 68)

While audiences did not always understand these choices – Rouleau noted that they sometimes ‘thought the actors were ridiculing them’ (cited in Marker and Marker, 2002, p. 68) – Artaud was quite earnest in his desire for an expressive physicality that communicated the essential spirit of the work. His ability to combine expressive gesture with T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

95

96

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

an excavation of the actor’s inner truth is corroborated by a contemporary review: in his review for Paris-Soir, Monchon wrote that ‘Rouleau, Boverio and all the others give sentimental value to the beings they evoke[d]’ (Monchon, 1928, p. 5). Unlike The Cenci, where the lead actresses were not professionals (and received predominately poor reviews from the critics), the productions at TAJ consisted of some of the most promising actors in France, most of whom had also trained with Dullin. As Dullin’s actors, they would have had the same training in voice, breath and improvisation that Artaud experienced. When combined with the solid foundation of Dullin’s actor training, Artaud’s extreme and dramatic stagings were able to come together as a coherent whole. The actors who worked with him were generally positive about the experience. One actress described Artaud as a ‘brilliant practitioner’ who clearly communicated his ideas in rehearsals (cited in Jannarone, 2005, p. 253). Alexandra Pecker, who played two roles in Le Songe, commented that Artaud was ‘demanding, yet convincing, capable of making actors more talented than they were. His touch was inspiring’ (cited in Shafer, 2016, p. 96); she found him ‘courteous towards his actors’, in contrast to his volatile reputation (ibid.). Rouleau, who worked with Artaud in both Ventre brûlé and Le Songe, testified that he had ‘seen nothing since [working with Artaud] to equal or approach his method’, except perhaps the later teachings of Balachova, which Artaud also influenced (cited in Jannarone, 2005, p. 253). CRITICAL RECEPTION

The production clearly created a strong impression on those who attended: ‘every single review that focused on the production itself was positive’ (Jannarone, 2005, p. 258). Those that didn’t focus on the production instead covered its disruption by the Surrealists and Artaud’s dramatic response. The Surrealists protested both performances, accusing Artaud of selling out to the establishment due to the funding the theatre received from the Swedish Embassy. This resulted in a police presence at the performances and the arrest of multiple Surrealists.

It also led to one of Artaud’s more infamous tirades. In response to the Surrealist disruption of the first performance, Artaud stormed on stage and declared, Strindberg is a rebel, just like Jarry, like Lautréamont, like Breton, like me. we’re staging this play as so much vomit against one’s country, against all countries, against society. (cited in Jannarone, 2005, p. 272, n. 96)

This caused the majority of the Swedish delegation to leave the performance. Despite the disruption, members of the Swedish delegation wrote to Allendy that the production was ‘very fine, much above Reinhardt’s’ (CW2, p. 228). Overall, reviewers praised Artaud’s service to Strindberg’s work. For example, the reviewer for Le Monde called the production ‘gripping [. . .] with a sensitive intelligence that is attentive to the slightest intentions of the text’ (cited in Jannarone, 2005, p. 258). In a reflection of Artaud’s ability to create a symbolic theatrical language, Monchon credited him with creating a world in which ‘the human figures’ were like ‘signs’ that brought about the ‘deepest meaning’ of the play (Monchon, 1928, p. 5). The reviewer who took Artaud’s work most seriously was Crémieux, who offered a detailed consideration of Le Songe in La Gazette du Franc: The success of Monsieur Artaud was to create on the stage the surreal atmosphere that Strindberg’s work demands and to achieve this through the poetic use of the most quotidian reality [. . .] The décor is composed of some violently real objects, whose relationship to each other or whose relationship to the actors’ costumes and to the words they say creates a poetry within them that reaches toward the invisible. The universe Monsieur Artaud succeeds in conjuring up is one where everything assumes a meaning, a secret, a soul. It is difficult to describe and even more so to analyze the effects achieved, but they are really striking. A true reintegration of magic, or poetry in the world. (cited in Jannarone, 2005, p. 257)

As Jannarone has noted, Crémieux’s review demonstrates Artaud’s success in communicating the ideas outlined in the theatre’s manifestos and

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

97

98

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

the production’s programme notes (ibid.). Crémieux understood how Artaud had combined all the elements of the mise-en-scène and imbued them with meaning that was beyond language. His phrase ‘violently real’ is particularly striking, indicating Artaud’s ability to create objects that were real but also exceeded reality in a moment of violence, rupture or, as Artaud might phrase it, cruelty. Even Crémieux’s inability to ‘describe’ and ‘analyze’ the piece is in keeping with Artaud’s vision. Artaud’s specifically theatrical language is beyond words; instead, it must be experienced on a level of feeling and intuition, which brings invisible currents to the surface and offers a glimpse of the magic of the universe. The experience of Artaud’s theatrical moment, when the audience and actors come together to create the specific energy of a performance, is both unrepeatable and not aimed towards language. The audience must commit and consent to an act of creation with the artists, which is an inherently cruel and challenging process due to the nature of creation itself. Artaud’s ideal theatre could not be considered, analysed or articulated through words, reason and logic; it had to be experienced through feeling and sensation. THE END OF THE THÉÂTRE ALFRED JARRY

TAJ continued for one more season, but without the participation of Aron. Finding Artaud and Vitrac’s unwillingness to resist the Surrealists protests of Le Songe to be ‘a bit lacking in courage’, he resigned from the theatre (Melzer, 1977, p. 137). Because so much of Aron’s work was behind the scenes, he is often downplayed in the historical record. Without him, however, it is unlikely the theatre would have been able to financially support itself beyond its first season, and his exit likely precipitated its ultimate closure. The theatre’s final performances were in January 1929, with a programme that featured the première of Vitrac’s play Victor, ou les enfants pouvoir. The production received positive reviews, but TAJ continued to lose money. By the time the Count and Countess of Noailles offered twenty thousand francs to fund the theatre, Artaud had already ended his collaboration with Vitrac and shifted his focus to the cinema (Shafer, 2016, p. 80).

CONCLUSION

In dismay at the contemporary French scene, Artaud, Vitrac and Aron created a theatre of their own, one they hoped would restore the art form to its rightful place as ‘a true work of magic’ (CW2, p. 23). Their bold theatrical vision centred on creating a new kind of relationship between the audience, the performers and the work itself. Though Artaud was not entirely satisfied with the productions at TAJ, and he didn’t accomplish the creation of a fully immersive, sensory experience, they were arguably closer to his vision than his ensuing production of Les Cenci, which fell far short of his expectations (see Chapter 1). In a letter to the French critic and playwright Jean-Richard Bloch, Artaud requested not to be judged on the basis of the hurried and improvised performances of the Théâtre Alfred Jarry, realised only with makeshift means. These performances did not indicate exactly my true intentions, nor did they reveal my technical and professional abilities as director. (cited in Berghaus, 2010, p. 23)

Artaud was never able to establish a funded troupe with whom he could create a specific system for training. Afforded longer rehearsal periods, a consistent theatre in which to stage productions and a stable troupe of actors, he might have been able to develop his own specific training system and, in turn, the unique theatrical language of the Theatre of Cruelty. In his reflections on TAJ, Artaud wrote, ‘Each new play constituted a feat of willpower, a miracle of perseverance’ (CW2, p. 30). The challenges he identifies in mounting and sustaining a theatre will be familiar to any practitioner who has attempted such a feat. These included ‘raising capital, choosing the right location, difficulties over a company, censorship, the police, organised sabotage, competition, audiences and critics’ (CW2, 35). The funding problem was key – their first season lost over seven thousand francs, a sum Aron personally covered to sustain the project (Connick, 2011, p. 34). After the challenges at TAJ, Artaud attempted to set up a production company where he could continue to develop his vision. When the Theatre of Cruelty’s second manifesto was published in 1932, it came with a small yellow slip soliciting investors (an unsuccessful entreaty). T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

99

100

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

His inability to establish a funded troupe was one of the major impediments to realising his vision. Responding to the critical failure of Les Cenci, Artaud wrote, Despite their ardor and their enrooted desire to do well, one cannot expect of actors, who have come from the four corners of the theatre and who have nothing to bring them together individually, to have that kind of sacred cohesion, that awareness of a united effort which belonged to companies in other countries and eras, who practiced for a long time and were adapted to working together. (Blin et al., 1972, p. 144)

Of course, other directors of the era were able to accomplish such things – Dullin even sold his mother’s silver at a pawnshop to raise the original funds for L’Atelier (Surel-Tupin, 1984, p. 5) – and Artaud’s chronic illness, dependence on drugs, intemperate personality and overall inconsistency were also likely impediments to his founding a stable ensemble. In a letter to Louis Jouvet in 1931, he expressed his frustration at not being able to realise his artistic vision: You must realise that this instability, this irregularity which is held against me is only the result of the instability and irregularity of a life which has not accomplished its purpose. I am far less mad than people think; I will no longer be at all mad when I have some important responsibilities and find myself able to deploy all my activity in an interesting direction. (Cw3, p. 159)

For Artaud, the inability to put his ideas into practice in the way he envisioned (which was the only way to unlock the mystical secrets of the universe) continually weighed on him. At TAJ, one can see how he attempted to do this with the help of his collaborators. Together they grasped towards a coherent theatrical vision that would revolutionise the theatre of the period. Though ultimately unsustainable, critical response indicates that Artaud was beginning to realise his vision in tangible ways. The critic and poet Benjamin Fondane, who attended every production at TAJ, identified the singular vision reflected in the theatre’s varied productions:

That which is beautiful, which is viable, in the Jarry Theatre effort, it’s never been the plays that were performed, the Strindberg, the Vitrac, however beautiful they are; your effort alone was the right one; to realize a new theatre, you alone are called upon to create it; you have a particular lyricism in lighting, a marvelous sentiment of décor, the energy necessary to animate the actors, to give them the exactly calculated rudiments of the arbitrariness of gesture and movement, the clear conception, finally, of the tragic today. (cited in Jannarone, 2005, p. 261)

Artaud was committed to practice as a way to (re)discover the full potential of theatre as an expressive medium, and as reviews and reflections by prominent critics such as Fondane and Cremieux suggest, he was well on his way towards doing this. Though ultimately unable to see his vision to fruition (a likely impossible feat given Artaud’s tendency to always want to exceed what has already been done), the blueprint that he developed and that would go on to inspire innumerable practitioners was rooted in theatrical training, practice and experimentation.

T H e T H é âT R e A L F R e D J A R R Y ( 1 9 2 6 – 1 9 2 9 )

101

4 PRA C T I C AL E XE R C ISE S

Artaud did not want to ‘establish any rules’ that would limit the artist’s discovery of a specific theatrical language (TD, p. 80). Following this, he did not provide a specific set of techniques in the manner of Stanislavski or Brecht; instead, he offered ‘suggestions concerning theatre’s dynamic, animated life’ that provide innumerable starting points for practitioners (TD, p. 80). These suggestions form the basis for this chapter. Artaud wanted to push actors and audiences to extremes with his work. He framed the Theatre of Cruelty as an excavation of the deepest truths of the universe. It was a process of death and resurrection, with the goal of creating a moment of true revelation for everyone involved. To engage with Artaud’s ideas without exploring the limits of your physical and emotional abilities risks creating a hollow simulation of his vision; however, it is equally important not to engage in a pale imitation of Artaudian theatre through crude shock tactics and gruesome imagery. Roger Blin, who worked with Artaud as an actor and assistant director and formed a lifelong friendship with him, spoke critically of second-rate artists copying Artaud’s style: every time some guy rolls around on the ground screaming, they call him the son of Artaud. He looks at himself in the mirror and tells himself “I am pale. I am the son of Artaud”, add a bit of dry ice to that and we’re off! I’ve always been DOI: 10.4324/9780429019838-4

104

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

against that kind of thing [. . .] without Artaud’s terrible experience, it cannot be anything other than apery. (cited in Taylor-Batty, 2007, p. 44)

Rather than the kind of mimicry Blin criticised, participants should consider how they can exceed Artaud’s vision through theatrical innovation in service of creating a revelatory event. One does not need Artaud’s ‘terrible’ experiences to meaningfully engage with his ideas for an expanded and immersive theatre. Do not look to mimic his experiences; instead, draw on his provocations to develop a theatrical world reflective of your own experiences. The question, then, is how to create work that captures the spirit of Artaud without resorting to a pale imitation of his style? Peter Brook has suggested that when Artaud’s ideas ‘are applied’, they are also ‘betrayed because of the compromise the practical application usually brings’ (cited in Rose, p. 279). As we saw in Chapter 3, this was true of Artaud’s work as a director as well. While he advocated for artists as ‘executioner-tormentors’ (TD, p. 73), he did not actually flay the soul of his actors, who discussed working with him appreciatively. In creating your own vision, I encourage you to betray Artaud and establish boundaries and explorations that make sense for the situation in which you are working. The chapter is split into three parts: •

•

•

Part 1 offers acting exercises that will help to develop a sense of Artaud’s training and how he hoped to surpass it. They draw on his writings on the theatre and his training as an actor with Charles Dullin, whose programme was foundational to his work as an actor and director (see Chapter 1), as well as the actors with whom he worked in TAJ (see Chapter 3). Part 2 contains exercises to help performance practitioners develop an Artaudian mise-en-scène. Artaud considered lighting, sound, staging and decor to be equally important parts of his theatrical language, and the exercises in this section will guide creating a theatrical event utilising all the different elements of the mise-en-scène. Part 3 focuses on creating a production plan and staging a scenario drawing on suggestions from Artaud’s manifestos for the Theatre of Cruelty. Ultimately, readers will be asked to pick their own

source material to develop a unique scenario-based on Artaudian principles. Please note, the exercises included throughout this chapter can be incredibly taxing, both physically and vocally. When working towards Artaudian extremes, it can be easy to forget the boundaries and limitations of your own body or those with whom you are working. It is important not to force anyone to exceed their boundaries and work together to create a safe environment based on mutual respect and consent. When working as a group, it is best practice to create a safe word – an agreed-upon word that anyone can say if they feel uncomfortable or unsafe and need an exercise to stop. As you move through these exercises, take care to properly prepare. Always start with your breath and make you are physically and vocally warmed up before engaging with them. If at any time you feel unwell or unsafe, make sure to stop, return to your breath and reorient before attempting to engage with the exercise again. PART 1: ACTING EXERCISES

Artaud was never able to develop his own troupe of actors with a specific training regimen, but he identified the importance of developing the emotional and physical apparatus of the actor (Blin et al., 1972, p. 144). As discussed in Chapter 1, Artaud’s most rigorous actor training was as a student of Charles Dullin, where many of the actors with whom Artaud worked at the Théâtre Alfred Jarry (TAJ) were also trained. As such, Dullin’s work was foundational to the theatre Artaud looked to develop. EXERCISE 4.1 – ARTAUD’S THREE TYPES OF BREATH

We will begin with breath and vocalisation. Dullin’s first principle of acting training, his technique élémentaire [elementary technique], was that actors know how to breathe properly and how to use the breath in support of their physical and vocal work (see Chapter 1). So too, Artaud considered breath the essential starting point of the theatre. In ‘Le théâtre de Séraphin’ [The Theatre of the Seraphim] (1936), he asserted that PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

105

106

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

his theatre ‘is based on breathing, and which after breathing is founded on the sound or the scream’ (SW, p. 276). The next few exercises will explore this trajectory, moving from breath, to sound, to scream. In ‘An Affective Athleticism’, Artaud offers different categories of breath that can be applied in the creation of a theatrical work. Based on his readings of various sources, including Jewish and Hindu mysticism and the Chinese practice of acupuncture and the yin/yang distinction of Taoist philosophy, he divided breath into three categories – neuter, feminine, masculine (TD, p. 95) – and offered six combinations of these types of breath (TD, p. 96). In the following exercise, we will explore the specific contours of each breath Artaud identified. As you move through these exercises, pay particular attention to the locations of the different breaths and how they act on the body, both physically and emotionally. As Artaud noted, his ‘breathing method was not devised for ordinary emotions’ (TD, p. 96), and the exercises described here can cause injury if done too forcefully. A sign that you are working too forcefully is tension in the jaw, temples or throat. Additionally, be aware of any strain in the chest, which will indicate that you aren’t breathing from the correct location. If at any point during the exercise you feel dizzy, nauseated, faint or anxious, please stop. Make sure you are always doing these exercises in a comfortable position away from anything that might injure you if you did faint for some reason. Please note, these exercises provide a basis for more advanced work on breath and vocalisation. If you are keen to further develop your work in a more advanced way, it will be necessary to work with an experienced practitioner. 4.1.1 exercise for Artaud’s neuter breath For Artaud, the neuter is the moment in between inhalation and exhalation (SW, p. 272). When you bring focus to your breath, this in-between space becomes apparent. Try the following exercise, which explores the neuter breath, as a gentle warmup of about five to ten minutes. You can extend it longer if you desire, though I would not recommend more than fifteen minutes in your early explorations. 1. Lie on your back on the ground, with one hand on your belly and the other on your chest. Let your legs fall gently apart and allow your chin to droop slightly towards your chest, relaxing the jaw.

2. Focus on your breath as you gently inhale and exhale through your nose. 3. Move to 4 × 4 or box breathing, in which you inhale, exhale and pause between breaths: a. Inhale for four counts. b. Hold for four counts (be sure not to hold tension in your jaw or chest). c. Exhale for four counts. d. Hold for four counts. e. Continue breathing with equal inhalation, exhalation and pause between breaths. 4. When you are finished with the exercise, roll over onto your right side and use your hand to gently support yourself as you sit up and stand up. Take your time with transitioning from breathing to standing. 4.1.2 exercise for Artaud’s feminine breath Artaud’s feminine breath is associated with inhalation. In the following exercise, move your focus from the space between breaths to the moment of inhalation. How does your breath fill your diaphragm and move air into your lower body, which, for Artaud, is the place in which the feminine is localised (SW, p. 256)? 1. Lie down with your back flat, knees bent and feet firmly on the floor. Put one hand on your stomach and the other on your chest. 2. Begin to inhale and exhale through your nose, filling your diaphragm as you breathe. If you feel tension in your chest as you inhale or exhale, focus on releasing it and sending your breath through your diaphragm and into your abdomen. Your chest should rise and fall gently with your breathing. 3. Once you are comfortably breathing, change the amount of time you spend on your inhalation and exhalation. Inhale for a count of seven and exhale for a count of eleven. Continue for up to ten minutes or longer as you develop your practice. 4. When you are finished, roll over to your right side and use your hand to gently lift yourself up. PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

107

108

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

4.1.3 exercise for Artaud’s masculine breath The neutral breath is the location in which ‘the void extends [. . . and] lies in wait for war, and which will bring forth war from the force of its shock’ (SW, p. 272). The shock, or eruption of war, is the masculine breath. The following exercises focus on the forceful exhalation of breath. As with all the exercises in this chapter, begin gently and increase your engagement as you become more experienced and comfortable with the practice. 1. Sit with your legs crossed and your body relaxed but active. Keep your back straight, head high and shoulders dropped away from the ears. You may do this exercise with eyes opened or closed, though in the beginning it helps to keep your eyes closed. 2. Take in a deep relaxing breath through your nose, filling your diaphragm and lungs and exhaling through your nose. Continue to breathe with equal lengths of inhalation and exhalation. 3. Slightly contract your throat passage so that your breath makes a sound like a light rumbling (reminiscent of the waves of an ocean) as you continue to exhale through your nose. If you practice yoga, this might be familiar to you as ujjayi or ocean breath. Keep your inhalations and exhalations at a steady pace. 4. After five minutes, gently come to an end. As you increase your experience with this practice, you may also increase the length up to fifteen minutes. The next exercise increases the forcefulness of our breath and uses the contraction of the abdominal muscles to push out the air in the diaphragm. It is best to do this on an empty stomach, so refrain from engaging in this exercise within two hours of eating. Please do not do this exercise if you are pregnant, experiencing abdominal pain or have high or low blood pressure or heart disease. If you feel unwell, dizzy, short of breath, pain or other discomfort, stop immediately. 1. Sit with your legs crossed and your body relaxed but active. Keep your back straight, head high and shoulders dropped away from the ears. You may do this exercise with eyes opened or closed, though in the beginning it helps to keep your eyes closed.

2. Inhale deeply, in through your nose and out through your mouth. 3. Breath in normally and exhale quickly through your mouth seven or twelve times. As you exhale, contract your abdominal muscles to push the breath from your lower abdomen up through your lungs. Allow a soft ‘ha’ to escape from your mouth as you push out the breath. Be sure not to use the muscles in the upper half of the body to force out the breath (such as the muscles in your chest). The breath should be forced out through the inward contraction of the abdominal muscles. Be aware of your posture. If you find yourself out of alignment, this could be an indication that you are drawing on the wrong muscles. After your seven or twelve quick exhalations, inhale normally. 4. To begin, repeat this for two or three cycles. You may build up to more cycles as you become more experienced, but it is best to do this under the supervision of an experienced practitioner. Artaud wanted to use the ‘hieroglyph of a breath [. . .] to rediscover an idea of sacred theatre’ (SW, p. 276). Now that you have explored his three different categories of breath and how they work on the body, consider what your own coded system of breath would look like. What kind of language would best describe the different categories of breath? Is it possible to exceed the limits of Artaud’s time and thinking? EXERCISE 4.2 – MOVING THROUGH WORDS AS SOUNDS

Artaud called for words to be considered for their sounds and for the breath required in simply speaking them. He wanted to reunite ‘words with the physical moves from which they originated’, which would cause ‘the logical discursive side of words [to] disappear beneath their physical, affective side’ (TD, p. 86). For Artaud, it was important to separate words from their literal meaning and instead approach them through the quality of their sound (and the breath required to make that sound). The following exercise asks you to take a sentence from Artaud’s work Jet de Sang [Spurt of Blood] and focus entirely on the sounds of the words and the breath required to speak them. 1. Have everyone stand together in a circle. 2. Begin with a focus on your breath. Deep breathing should fill the space, with the group working together to breathe in sync. These PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

109

110

3.



4.

5.

6. 7.

8.

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

should be steady neutral breaths that establish a collective pulse for the group. Once everyone’s breathing is in sync, the group will start to engage in an improvisatory call and response. Start gently with one person moving from breath to making an abstract sound. This can be the workshop leader or a participant identified before the exercise starts. As you get more experienced, you can experiment with letting it develop organically, without a distinct leader. It should not be too extreme a sound (we don’t want to go directly into an Artaudian screaming session) but instead should start to explore a vocalisation of breath that is easily repeatable. For example, someone might start with a soft ‘ha’ through an exploration of Artaud’s masculine breath. How can you develop this sonic exhalation past ‘ha’ into other sounds? What does the breath sound like beyond breathing? Allow a few rounds for the group’s breath to grow and change as it gets passed back and forth. Once the group has established a rhythm of vocal exchange, start to incorporate the following line from Artaud’s scenario in Jet de Sang: ‘Heaven has gone mad.’ When speaking the line, don’t consider it for its meaning but instead the way the words sound as they leave your mouth and the breath required to speak them. Go through a few rounds of having people call out ‘Heaven has gone mad’, with others responding to the sounds of the line. Play with the sounds of the words: use high-pitched or low-pitched tones, draw out the syllables or speed through them like a machine gun. Start to incorporate movement into your speech. How does your body move with the sound, either as you speak it or as you respond to it? Attempt to move from call and response to chanting together. The idea is for the entire group to be speaking and moving as one. Again, this transition could be signalled by a pre-determined participant or, if more advanced, develop organically through the work of the group. Continue until the group is chanting together consistently. Once this has been achieved, the exercise can conclude.

There is potential for this to devolve into a group screaming session, which is not the goal. Keep your focus on the different ways

breath can make a sound to create new versions of the line. How does your breath interact with different tempos of speaking? Can you use Artaud’s categories of breath or the ones you created to playfully explore the sonic possibilities of the line? If you find transitioning between the sections too challenging, separate the sections out and do them each in turn. Develop variations of this exercise in service of the work you are creating. Explore different lines, sounds, or variations of call and response. Once you are confident with the exercise, try multiple groups doing different calls and responses simultaneously. How would the tension between multiple chants change the feeling of the space? How might you integrate that kind of tension or conflict into your stagings? EXERCISE 4.3 – SCREAMING WITH ARTAUD

An essential aspect of Artaudian performance is the use of screams. Artaud believed actors had forgotten how to scream ‘since they do nothing but talk’ (TD, p. 99). The next exercise explores the use of screams as part of the Artaudian acting arsenal. Again, it is essential that you are fully warmed up, physically and vocally, before starting these exercises. Ensure any vocalisations emerge from your breath and are supported from the diaphragm, not the throat. If anyone is feeling vocal strain, they should stop and return to their breath. If you are not experienced working with the full range of your vocal apparatus, you should explore these exercises under the supervision of someone who has strong vocal training. exercise 4.3.1 The silent scream In ‘The Theatre of the Seraphim’, Artaud states that to utter ‘the cry of revolt’ and ‘the groan of abyss’, it is necessary to ‘empty’ oneself: ‘Not of air, but of the very power of sound’ (SW, p. 272). Following this, we begin with an exercise focused on silent screams. This exercise asks you to move through Artaud’s different categories of breath through a series of evocative physical images. Have the workshop leader or a chosen facilitator read out the following lines from ‘The Theatre of the Seraphim’, which are italicised. A practical explanation of how to guide the physical interpretation is below each line. PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

111

112

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

1. ‘It is with the belly that silence must begin, on the right, on the left, on the spot of hernial obstructions, the place where surgeons operate’ (SW, p. 272). a. Place your hands on your belly and begin to breathe deeply, following the 4 × 4 technique from exercise 4.1.1. Feel the contraction and expansion of your diaphragm and your breath. Move your hands to different areas of ‘hernial obstructions’ and feel the breath moving in and out. 2. ‘It is in the belly that the breath descends and creates its void from which it hurls it TO THE TOP OF THE LUNGS!’ (SW, p. 272). a. Move from the neuter to the feminine breath explored in exercise 4.1.2 in order to create the ‘void’ of air in the lower body. Allow a few cycles of breath before you transition to the masculine breath and hurl your breath to the top of your lungs. Keep exploring how you can hurl your breath from your belly to your lungs and the different sounds that breath makes. Can you combine it with a physical movement as well? Be careful not to push your breath too far too quickly. If you feel lightheaded or dizzy, make sure to stop and come back to neutral breath. 3. ‘Now, from the void of my belly I have reached the void which menaces the top of the lungs. From there with no perceptible break in continuity the breath falls on the lower back, first on the left it is a feminine cry, then on the right’ (SW, p. 273). a. Once you have explored the hurling of your breath from your belly to your lungs, return to the feminine breath, with attention to your lower back (which Artaud considers the primary location of the feminine breath) (SW, p. 265). Consider how the inhalation pushes the diaphragm out the back and the front. Move your focus inward from the left side of your lower back to the right side. How does the sound of your breath change as you explore? Consider the breathing of exercise 4.1.2 and how you can apply deep, localised breathing to achieve the feminine cry of your lower back. 4. ‘Now I can fill my lungs with the sound of a cataract whose rush would destroy them, if the cry I chose to utter were not a dream’ (SW, p. 273).

a. Move to ocean breath. Contract your throat slightly to create, in Artaud’s terms, a cataract, a sudden downpour or deluge of water. Consider how this development of breath from masculine to feminine to masculine acts on your emotional apparatus. 5. ‘Gathering the two points of the void on the belly, and then without passing to the lungs, gathering the two points just above the kidneys, they brought forth in me the image of that scream armed for war, that terrible subterranean cry. For this scream I must fall’ (SW, p. 273). a. Throughout the exercise, you have localised the breath in different locations. See if you can follow Artaud’s evocation of that localisation as creating a silent scream. Do not hold your breath but gather it in the diaphragm before letting it push out into a physical embodiment of the image of your scream. Allow the scream to be directed inward through your body and bring you to the floor. Do not drop suddenly but rather collapse in a careful and controlled manner following your breath. You may find it frustrating at first, as you struggle to apply Artaud’s poetic descriptions of breath to the practical aspects of breathing and screaming with breath. The combination, however, of metaphysical poetic language and pragmatic theatre action is key to Artaud’s approach. exercise 4.3.2 – The shape of screams This exercise builds on the last one, seeing how you can move from silent screams to vocalised one. As you explore this exercise, be aware of your vocal limitations and move carefully as you develop your screams. It is easy for this exercise to escalate quickly; be sure to take your time and move through your screams with sensitivity to your vocal apparatus and the people with whom you are working. 1. Stand in a circle. Imagine that in the centre of the circle is a box containing a silent scream (of the type explored in the previous exercise). 2. Someone removes the scream from the box, activating it through their breath and the physical movements of their body. PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

113

114

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

3. Once they have fully embodied the scream, they should pass it on to someone else in the group. 4. The person receiving the scream copies the breath and movements of the person who passed it to them. The receiver of the scream should embody it fully before passing it on again. The scream will shift and change as it is passed between bodies. 5. After you have passed the silent scream to everyone in the group at least once, consider how you can vocalise the scream. This shouldn’t be a shriek at the top of your lungs; instead, consider specifically how the shape and breath of the scream support the sound you are making. Allow participants to move from silent to vocal screams at their own pace. For example, you could respond to a vocal scream through a silent scream or vice versa. 6. Allow everyone to receive and pass a scream two or three times. As you get more confident with the exercise, you can try longer versions. Focus on the transition of the scream from body to body and its physical and sonic details. Unlike a game of telephone, where the focus is on how a phrase changes as it is passed down a line of people, this exercise explores the moments of transition and the overall journey of the scream. EXERCISE 4.4 – DULLIN’S IMPROVISATIONS

One of Dullin’s primary tools to develop a complete actor was improvisation. For Dullin, improvisation was a way to oblige ‘the actor to discover [their] own means of expression’ (cited in Deák, 1977, p. 347). While Dullin considered these to be preparatory exercises, Artaud wanted to codify the expressive gestures developed through improvisation and integrate them directly into the final production. For Artaud, improvisation was not a secondary exploration of a text; rather, it was a way to generate a specifically theatrical staging through the collaboration of the director/creator and the actors in the rehearsal space. exercise 4.4.1 – walking explorations Dullin stressed walking as a foundational theatrical act. Along with the breath, it was the core physical attribute on which performances were built.

Try to walk in your rehearsal space while imagining the following circumstances: walk down the street, strolling . . . move quickly from one point to another . . . walk into your room . . . walk in the snow . . . walk in the sand on a beach, etc. . . . (Dullin, 1985, p. 113) Some questions to consider: • • • • •

How do each of these different locations change your walk? Can you imagine the difference between the way your feet sink into the snow versus the sand? How does the rhythm of strolling down a public avenue compare to walking into the private space of your room? What about the other parts of your body? How do the different muscles in your legs, arms or torso react to the variety of physical spaces you are imagining?

Dullin also used walking as an essential way to explore the connection between internal feeling and external expression. Walk with a feeling of deep inner joy. Stop. Sit down. Go off again. [. . .] Walk under the influence of a feeling of sadness. Stop. Sit down. Go off again. (cited in Deák, 1977, p. 348) In this exercise, the Voix de Soi-Même [The Voice of Oneself], the inner feeling, controls the rhythm (Dullin, 1985, p. 117). Dullin explains that the ‘change in attitude must not disturb the rhythm’, so consider how the entire body changes as you walk. How can you move beyond a change in tempo to express these different feelings? What is the difference in the feeling of your stomach when your walk is joyous or doleful? How does your gaze change depending on the emotional state you are experiencing?

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

115

116

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

exercise 4.4.2 – Animal improvisations One of Dullin’s exercises asked actors to explore the rhythms and movements of animals, following Suzanne Bing and Jacques Copeau’s experiments with animal improvisations at the Vieux-Colombier (Evans, 2006, p. 67). As with Dullin’s other improvisations, Artaud was impressed by the technique and wanted to apply animal movement directly to his work as an actor. This might have influenced his direction at TAJ and certainly informed his approach in Les Cenci, in which he asked the actors playing the princes to resemble different animals. Try out the following improvisational exercise. Note that Dullin stressed that he was not interested in an imitation of the movement of animals but rather a translation of animal movement onto the plasticity of the human body. Move through the space with continuous feline movement (expressing the rhythm through your entire body). The cat watches for a mouse . . . and. . . . jumps on it . . . (Dullin, 1985, p. 117)

In this exercise, ask yourself what defines a cat’s movement. You could begin with observation of an actual cat, noting and codifying its different movements and actions. It is essential that one does not pretend to be a cat but instead considers how the gestures and movements of the human body can evoke the feeling of feline movement. Try this exercise with other animals. Suzanne Bing took her students at Vieux-Colombier to the zoo to make animal observations (Evans, 2006, p. 131); make a similar trip if possible, or go to the park and watch birds, dogs or squirrels. You might also watch videos of animals if you are unable to make a trip to see them in person. exercise 4.4.3 – Crossing the river Artaud and the actress Marguerite Jamois were the first actors to complete the following improvisation, which asks you to apply your sensory explorations, breath work and movement vocabulary to creating an improvised scene (Deák, 1977, p. 348). 1. You must cross a mountain stream.

2. You fight against the current. You have overestimated your strength; the stream carries you away. 3. You fight desperately; you are out of your depth. You drown. Don’t worry about creating a naturalistic scene; instead, consider the underlying physical and emotional attributes of the exercise and how you can communicate them through your performance. Focus on movement, sound and breath rather than creating dialogue. Some questions you might consider as you approach the exercise include the following: • • •

What attributes from your deep listening and sensory experience exercises can you apply here? How does your breath change as you walk up to the stream, get into the cold water and feel yourself carried away? What physical gestures align to that breath and the feeling you are looking to convey?

exercise 4.4.4 – working with a mask – the discovery of the world Mask work was an essential part of Dullin’s training, and Artaud was enthusiastic about the potential of masks in his theatre. At L’Atelier, Dullin had a wall of ‘brightly painted masks with black manes [. . .] some in black leather or imitation wood’ (CW3, p. 95), which the actors would use for their improvisations. Dullin used the depersonalisation of masks to counter the psychological interiority of his other improvisational exercises and to encourage actors to focus on the physical expressivity of the body (Deák, 1977). For the following exercise, use a neutral half-mask. This will allow for increased focus on your physical expression. Though you may not have access to a wall of masks like the actors at Dullin’s L’Atelier, you can construct your own out of simple craft materials or buy a mask from a craft or costume shop and alter it to suit your purposes. For Dullin, it was important that one approached the mask as a ‘sacred character’ and not ‘as if it were made of calico like a carnival mask’ (cited in Knight, 2004, p. 132). Before working with a mask, he would have his pupil take it home and PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

117

118

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

study it in all its aspects, live with it; make it a companion, become its confidant. (cited in knight, 2004, p. 132)

If you are able, take a mask home with you and explore its contours, how it feels to wear it and what kinds of feeling it evokes. Overall, attempt to create a personal relationship to the mask before bringing it back to the studio. The following exercise is called ‘The Discovery of the World’. For Dullin, deep listening and engaging with the sensory experiences of the external world would give rise to the actor’s interior feelings, which would allow them to create dynamic, authentic performances. It was key to ‘feel before trying to express, look and see before describing what we saw, listen and hear before responding’ (1985, p. 111). In this exercise, take your time with each step and keep in mind Dullin’s directives to allow the imagined stimulus to precede your response to it. 1. Strive to forget your body and its weight as much as possible. Lie down on the floor, face covered by a half-mask and strive for relaxation. A light breeze brushes your face and runs over your body; you will open your eyes and discover the world – the sky, the earth, the vegetation. According to your temperament, you will experience a feeling of well-being, or joy, or force or even terror; you will stand up still heavily riveted to the ground. You feel a desire to reach for them or fear their mystery. 2. You see a fountain; you approach it. The water reflects your image; you want to capture this image. The water runs through your fingers. The sun appears and dazzles you. 3. The blood which circulates in your veins, the life that you feel within you, forces you to violent physical reactions; you tear yourself from the ground, and you improvise a dance. (cited in Deák, 1977, p. 347) Dullin cautions that the difficulty of this exercise means it is rarely completed in a way that feels satisfying (which is true for many acting exercises designed to push you to new levels of understanding and practice). For Dullin, the challenges of the exercises allow for a rapid progression in the actor’s understanding of both rhythm and physical expression. Repeat the exercise multiple times to see how you can advance in your movement across its different elements, from the relaxation of lying on

the ground to the violent frenzy of the dance. Try the previous improvisations with a mask as well. How does this change your experience of them? Move from a neutral mask to different kinds of character masks. How does each mask and its character change your approach to the exercises? Reflecting on Dullin’s work, Artaud stated, These exercises of improvisation reveal and sharpen true personality. Intonation is found within oneself, and pushed out with the burning power of feeling, not achieved through imitation. (Cw2, p. 131)

This is central to the application of Artaud’s theories to your own theatrical experiments. The idea is not to imitate or mimic what seems to be ‘Artaudian theatre’; instead, each actor must draw on their rhythms, experiences and inspirations to create a performance. As you continue to work with improvisational methods, consider how you can start to notate and codify them in service of the final work you desire to create. PART 2: DEVELOPING AN ARTAUDIAN MISE-EN-SCÈNE

The next section will guide you through different aspects of establishing a mise-en-scène based on Artaudian principles. Artaud wanted every element of the mise-en-scène to contribute to the communicative power of the work, and these exercises focus on how the different elements can combine to create a total theatrical event. EXERCISE 4.5 – CREATING THE ARCHITECTURE

At TAJ, Artaud called for the scenic design to be made up of three-dimensional objects that exist as they really are (see Chapter 3). The following group exercise encourages you to explore the space you are working in and consider how it can be shaped in service of an Artaudian mise-en-scène. It is developed from my own encounters with Mary Overlie’s Six Viewpoints, which look to create and expand new vocabularies of practice in movement and performance (an echo of Artaud’s pursuit of a new theatrical language). PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

119

120

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

You do not need to embellish the space with objects or props; instead, explore it as it already exists. In contrast to the approach of Grotowski, who looked to clear his rehearsal spaces of ‘junk and leftovers’ (Slowiak and Cuesta, 2007, p. 92), this exercise looks at how we can use the different objects in our space to create an immersive environment made up of real, three-dimensional objects. In the unlikely event that your first exploration reveals a completely empty space, you could add rehearsal blocks, chairs, movable mirrors or different kinds of props for subsequent explorations (such as in exercise 4.6). There is no specific length of time this exercise should take, though you need to allow enough time to fully invest in an exploration of the space. I would recommend no shorter than ten minutes and no longer than an hour. Between thirty and forty-five minutes is generally enough time to achieve a thorough exploration while still maintaining the focus and attention of the group. It might be useful to set a timer so that no one has to focus on the length of the exercise. Alternatively, you can establish someone to serve as the exercise leader, which can also help the group transition through the different prompts. 1. Find a spot in the space to start. Try to be spread out equally from the rest of your group and create a space that is balanced. Fill the entire space. 2. Everyone should plant their feet into the ground and breathe deeply, feeling the breath fill their entire bodies and establishing themselves and their breath in the space. 3. Begin to walk through the space. Maintain a neutral rhythm of walking and breathing at first. As you walk, listen closely to the sounds of the space, the footsteps of the other people and the sounds of their breaths, the hum of the lighting or the noise of outside construction work seeping in through the window. 4. Once a flow has been established, start to explore different rhythms and combinations of movement and breath. Walk on tiptoes while taking short breaths, crawl while taking long deep breaths or walk stooped and alternating between the two. Try using giant steps aligned with short breaths or quick steps while with long deep breaths. How do these different modes of movement and breath change the way you see and interact with the room? Do they evoke different kinds of feelings or sensations?

5. Start to more actively explore the architecture of the space. Make sure to move into the nooks and crannies of the room. Climb the walls (where it is safe to do so). Investigate underneath the floorboards. Feel the ceiling, windows or curtains. Be sure not to damage anything in your exploration. This is a playful, not destructive, exploration. 6. Investigate what parts of the space can move, shift or change. Even in a space that appears to be totally empty, there are usually elements you can manipulate. Are there objects in the space? Furniture? Curtains? Can you rearrange them? Interact with them in novel ways? Sit underneath a chair. Build a maze of portable mirrors. Use rehearsal blocks and coats to build a fort. Allow the space to shift and change as people interact with its moving parts in different ways. 7. Ideally, this should turn into a playful exploration of the various ways to shift through space. How can you create sounds out of the different objects and bodies in the space? Could you initiate a game of tag? 8. When it is time for the exercise to end (this could be indicated by a timer), everyone should freeze in place. Consider the room, looking at the different formations that have developed. How have the objects in the room shifted? What are the positions and postures of the other bodies in the room? How do they relate to the architecture of the space? When the exercise is over, sit with the group in a circle and discuss your experience. Take note of any interesting scenic arrangements created over the course of the exercise; they might be useful later when staging Artaudian scenarios. EXERCISE 4.6 – EXPLORING SONIC LANDSCAPES WITH OBJECTS

Artaud called for the creation of new instruments and appliances that ‘produce an unbearably piercing sound or noise’ (TD, p. 67). What kind of noises can you create using different objects you have available to you? The following exercise builds on your previous exploration of the architecture, using many of the same principles. This exercise can take PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

121

122

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

anywhere between ten minutes and an hour. Decide beforehand how long you would like to explore it and, if necessary, set a timer. It is inspired by an exercise facilitated by Guy Harries at the University of East London. 1. Everyone in the group should bring in an everyday object that makes sound. This could be almost anything, from rocks in a jar, to a squeaky toy, to a broken violin. Make sure you are comfortable with other people using whatever you bring in and the possibility that it might be damaged (though damage to the objects in the space should generally be avoided, it does at times happen). 2. Everyone should place their objects somewhere in the space. Use all of the nooks and crannies discovered in your architectural explorations. If you are in a new space, take the first few minutes of the session to explore the architecture. 3. Have everyone walk around the space. Don’t pick up any of the objects yet; instead, explore them visually and spatially. How does the presence of the objects change your movement in the space? How do you encounter the three-dimensionality of the objects in relation to the three-dimensional bodies that are walking through the space with you? 4. After a few minutes of exploring the space, begin to pick up the objects and explore their sounds. 5. Start moving with the objects. How does the sound it makes change the rhythm of your movement, the quality of your breath, the way you explore the space? How far can you push that object in its production of sound? What kind of variations are possible? Be aware that this is not meant to be an exercise focused on destruction. Avoid smashing things or creating dangerous situations for yourself or your fellow actors. Focus on creating sounds that could be made night after night, without the replacement of the different objects you are using. 6. Put down your object and continue to walk around, listening to the different sounds and responding physically. Pick up a new object and explore its sounds. 7. How can you start to work together to create sounds and engage with the different rhythms and noises in the room? Is it possible to move beyond a jumble of sounds to something that is coherent and unified?

8. Once you have found a rhythm together, try to escalate it. What is the widest range of sounds the object and group can make together? Continue for as long as you have designated for the exercise. Again, setting a timer may be useful. Try other variations of the exercise as well: • • •

Use masks and see how that shifts the relationship between participants and the objects in space. Have half the group use objects, while the other half uses their voices or bodies, slapping, howling, screaming or crying in response to the other sounds being made in the room. Try outlining the specific physical, vocal and emotional responses to the sounds that are made. Have half the group explore noise, while the other half responds based on the codified instructions.

EXERCISE 4.7 – MOVING PARTS

Physicalising emotional states was essential to Artaud’s directing. The following exercise combines sound and gesture to explore the full expressive apparatus of the body. 1. Choose one person to be the facilitator of the exercise. 2. The facilitator instructs everyone to move around the room, fully exploring the contours and details of the space. 3. The facilitator calls out a descriptive word and a body part – for example, happy hands, joyful knees and nervous shoulders. Everyone must centre their movement on that body part, responding to the descriptive word through movement and an accompanying abstract sound. 4. The facilitator continues to call out words and body parts until every part of the body has been used. Following Artaud’s references to the plague, try the exercise a second time using the following combinations of words and body parts: howling hands, noxious knees, screaming shoulders, festering hearts, rotting fingers, inflamed armpits, sticky ankles, oozing genitals

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

123

124

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

Next, draw from Artaud’s writings on Balinese theatre and use combinations, such as pouting lips, mechanical eyes, and twitching elbows (TD, p. 39). Create other thematic linkages depending on the interests of the group and what kind of scenarios and stagings you want to produce. As you develop this exercise further, try different variations: •

• •

Combine different movements, performing pouting lips, twitching elbows and screaming shoulders simultaneously. Or accumulate gestures and sounds, adding howling hands to noxious mouths, until the body is overwhelmed and can no longer accommodate the various directives. Have people work in pairs and develop a walk based on their directives towards each other. This could be performed for the group. Try organising the group into different units, with each unit responding to different commands at different times. Perhaps one group only responds to words that start with F.

EXERCISE 4.8 – LIGHTING BODY MOVEMENTS

Artaud used lighting to set tone but also as an active part of the movement of the work. For Artaud, the lighting generated meaning and acted on the stage action in explicit and non-naturalistic ways. The following exercise considers different ways you can use light to isolate movement and how you might consider linking lighting to specific sounds. It calls for working in dark spaces and with flashing lights, so please be aware of health and safety factors when working in these conditions. This is particularly true for participants who might be highly sensitive to bright and/or flashing lights or for whom strobing or flashing lights can cause seizures. 1. Work in pairs, with each pair being given a torch (if you don’t have any torches available, the feature on a mobile phone could also work, though do make sure to put it in aeroplane mode). Each pair should take their own space in the room – as far apart from the other pairs as possible – and stand a few feet apart from each other. Once everyone is in place, turn off the lights. 2. The person with the torch will shine it on a specific part of the other person’s body.

3. When their body is hit with the light, they should emit a specific sound and movement associated with that body part. This should continue as long as the light is shining on that body part. The sounds and movements could be planned in advance – for example, using the combinations developed in exercise 4.7, or they could be improvised during the exercise. 4. Continue illuminating different body parts. The person being lit should remember the specific movement or sound associated with each part of the body and repeat it if that part of the body is illuminated again. 5. Move back and forth between different body parts. Play with tempo and duration. How long do you keep the body part illuminated? How quickly do you move between different body parts? Does the movement cause the body part to leave the light? How does the torch-holder respond to the moving body? 6. Have the partners switch roles, with the illuminator becoming the illuminated. If you are finding it difficult to remember the different sounds associated with body parts, you can split the body into sections, such as the head, torso and legs. As you get more comfortable with the exercise, try to be more specific with your sounds and movement, isolating each individual part of the body as much as possible. EXERCISE 4.9 – CODED LIGHTING

Artaud used lighting to create unusual shadows and increase the uncanny effects of the ‘violently real objects’ he placed on stage. He also used it to distinguish and separate space, referring to the specific corners of the stage and how we would light them. In this exercise, you will identify and explore the theatrical and emotional possibilities of the lighting available in your space. 1. Map out the different lighting options you have in your space. Be creative; think about natural light, torchlights, and mobile phones. Consider bringing in lamps, headlights, or other portable lighting options to supplement what you have available. 2. Associate each type of lighting with a different sound and movement. For example, when the overhead lights come on, everyone PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

125

126

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

might scream and melt to the ground, whereas being illuminated with a torchlight or headlamp might cause someone to whisper a specific incantation while taking giant steps through the space (for example, you could use the line ‘Heaven has gone mad’ from Jet de Sang from exercise 4.2). 3. Once each possible type of lighting is associated with a gesture and sound, have everyone spread out throughout the space and dim the lights (you don’t want the space to be pitch black for safety reasons, but you want the lighting to be low enough to experience the different kinds of lighting changes). 4. Start to slowly move through the space. Start to play with the different lighting options. At any time, anyone is able to turn on a lamp, the overhead lights, their torchlight and so on. The person who has decided to turn on the light is in control of the duration of the recipient’s sound and movement. Anyone who has been illuminated must follow the codified instructions for as long as the light remains on. Only the person who turned the light on can turn it off. Keep this exercise simple at first, with actions that are easy to remember and execute. You could even focus on only one lighting element or one sound. For example, you make the light an assassin, with each person dying through movement and a scream when they are hit with a torchlight, similar to Artaud’s use of a violet spotlight to assassinate characters in Ventre brûlé (see Chapter 3). As you become experienced with the exercise experiment more. Try to create multiple sets of codes for different groups who walk through the space together – when the overhead lights go on, one group may scream and spin in circles, while a second group may laugh, collapsing on the floor, and a third group may sob while bouncing as if on pogo sticks. EXERCISE 4.10 – STAGING THERE IS NO MORE FIRMAMENT (1921)

You have now explored different aspects of Artaud’s mise-en-scène and developed a strong understanding of the possibilities of the space in which you are working. This exercise is meant for a group of actors who will work together to stage an excerpt from Antonin Artaud’s There Is No More Firmament. It focuses on how each element of the mise-en-scène can function autonomously to communicate the spirit of the work.

While it is impossible to completely isolate the different aspects of the mise-en-scène, the idea of these exercises is to create a shift in focus to highlight the specific communicative power of each theatrical element. Don’t feel too worried if other elements come into play as you are working – this is inevitable – but do allow yourself to give a specific focus on each element. Ideally, a single session would be devoted to each, with the process culminating in a final session, in which all of the different elements are combined for performance. If possible, split the group in half or into multiple groups, so you can explore the different ways in which the same scenario might be interpreted. To begin, read the following excerpt from There Is No More Firmament and identify what you consider the spirit of the text. Try to encapsulate the theme in no more than three sentences, which will guide you as you attempt to stage the scenario using different elements of the mise-en-scène.

THERE IS NO MORE FIRMAMENT, ‘MOVEMENT IV’ (1921) Lights come up again on another part of the stage, high up over a gigantic metal bridge built out, overhanging the stage. A man walks back and forth with heavy steps resounding like diver’s boots on a sort of recessed platform. This is the Scientist. On a table in front of him, strange apparatus, lit up by explosions. Lights come up on these explosions and fashes. [. . .] He rushes over to his apparatus. Night comes on as the curtain falls. The rumble of air savagely thrust back begins to well up. Sounds rush forward, made up of the blast of several sirens at their highest point. Violent percussions intermingled. Cold light reigns everywhere. everything stops. (Cw2, pp. 89, 92)

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

127

128

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

ELEMENT ONE – SCENIC DÉCOR AND OBJECTS

In exercise 4.9, you explored the architecture of your rehearsal or performance space. Here you will consider how the discoveries you made during the exercises can help to create the scenic environment for ‘Movement IV’. How can the feeling of the work be evoked through the establishment of a specific architecture or scenic design? Can the scenery alone evoke the theme? Consider some of the following questions as you develop your architecture for the space: •

• • •

What objects might help you to create the ‘gigantic’ bridge? How can you use the objects in your space to create the feeling of a bridge of outsized proportions? If you are working in a space without a stage, how might you replicate the sense of a bridge jutting out over the stage, presumably into the audience? How you are placing the different aspects of the scene in relation to each other and in relation to the audience? How is the audience positioned in relation to scenic objects? If you aren’t in a traditional stage space with a curtain, what might you use to replicate the curtain falling? Does the scenery shift or move throughout the course of the scenario? How might scenic movement contribute to the feeling that ‘everything stops’?

Show your scenic staging using neutral lighting. If you have decided that there is no change or adjustment to the scenery, this might be just a still theatrical tableau. Alternatively, you could create an immersive environment designed to be walked through and explored. ELEMENT TWO – LIGHTING

Make use of all the possibilities of light in the space, drawing on the coded lighting devised in exercise 4.9. Pay attention to how the lighting interacts with the bodies, objects and architectural elements. • •

How does moving from neutral lighting to coded lighting change the way the scenario is communicated? How can you create specific isolations of space?

• • •

Artaud identifies the sound of heavy bootsteps. Can you amplify the steps through the lighting rather than their sound? What might you use for explosions? If you don’t have access to stage lighting, how can you use portable lamps, torches or mobile phones to create explosions? What is ‘cold light’? How is this different from the illumination of the metal bridge or the violent light of the explosions? How does this lighting bring the piece to an end, stopping everything?

ELEMENT THREE – SOUND

Repeat the process with attention to the soundscape. How can you communicate the theme of the work only through its sonic aspects? Here are some things to consider: •

•

• •

• •

Artaud referred to his use of loudspeakers in Les Cenci as ‘a public bath of sound [. . .] a diffused storm as terrible’ as an authentic ‘natural storm’ (SW, p. 348). What kind of undercurrent of sound can you establish? How will that help to evoke the theme you have established? What do ‘diver’s boots’ sound like? Are the steps of the actor combined with other sounds that enhance or highlight their heaviness or resonance? How does the breath of the actor contribute to the feeling of stomping boots? Which categories of breath are you using throughout the different transitions of the piece, and how do they contribute to the soundscape? Artaud was fascinated by the possibilities of sound effects. What can you use to make the sounds of the explosions? How might you combine recorded sounds with vocal utterances, breaths or screams to create a truly explosive experience? If you don’t have access to a sound system, use your mobile phones to record and play sounds. If it isn’t possible to use recorded sound, think about what else you could bring in. Do you have access to an old music box or children’s toys that make noise? What feeling is Artaud trying to convey when he says the sound rushes forward? Based on your earlier explorations of the space, what can you use to create violent percussive sounds? PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

129

130

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

While movement will inevitably be a part of enacting this scenario, focus on the sounds of the body rather than the way they move. Have the audience close their eyes during the performance, which will allow for a focus on only the aural elements of the staging. ELEMENT FOUR – THE ACTOR’S MOVEMENT

Consider the movement and gestures of the Scientist. Carefully codify the movement of the character, linking each gesture to a specific breath and emotional state. While ostensibly the text features one actor, the Scientist, you might also consider how different aspects of the scenario could be created through the movement of the actors. • •

How can you use actor’s bodies, movement and breath to create the rumble of the air? How might a group of people serve as the apparatus and create the physical explosion of the Scientist’s tool through their bodies?

Think creatively about how you can integrate the physical work of performers into your staging, beyond the single named character. COMBINING THE ELEMENTS

In his reflections on TAJ, Artaud stated that he wanted to combine all the technical elements of the theatre to ‘produce the equivalent of vertigo in the mind or senses’ (CW2, p. 41). Now that you have explored each element of the mise-en-scène separately, combine them for a final presentation of the work. As you combine all the different elements together, make adjustments as necessary in order to sync them. Once you have attempted to bring all the elements together into a single staging, refer back to the original sentences you wrote regarding the theme of the work and consider the following questions: • • •

Was the theme communicated to the audience? What was the effect of constructing each element independently and bringing them together for a final production? How did the elements of staging communicate differently once they were combined?

Based on your discussion, consider how might you refine the staging to create a stronger or more intense feeling of the work for the audience or better communicate the themes you had identified. PART 3: STAGING A SCENARIO

Based on the exercises in Parts 1 and 2, you should have a good basis to stage a scenario based on Artaud’s vision for a Theatre of Cruelty. Now we will focus on creating a production plan to guide our stagings. For Artaud, ‘a genuine culture conceives of art as something magical and violently egotistical, that is, self-interested’ (TD, p. 6), and he advocated for a total theatre controlled by a single creator. Following this, the scenario should be planned by a single director/creator working from a detailed production plan. Try working on the scenarios as both an actor and a director. How does your participation in different roles change the experience of making an Artaudian work? In the above exercises, we worked on keeping the different theatrical elements distinct. In his production plans, however, Artaud often intermingled his discussion of all the different elements. He outlined each act of a text, describing in detail his vision for every aspect of the mise-en-scène. As mentioned in Chapter 3, he calls for giving ‘unusual importance’ to small details of the text, and he often deviated from what was written in the author’s text (ibid., p. 97). As you plan your production, follow Artaud’s lead and feel free to deviate from the letter of the text in order to capture the spirit you have identified. In your production plans, use the following categories: Theme – Identify the overall ‘spirit’ of the scenario. This should be more detailed than the sentence developed in exercise 4.15. Try to consider the overall trajectory of the work and what ideas you want to communicate. Décor – Think about how the elements of the scenic design contribute to the overall theme you have identified for the work. What areas of the stage do you want to use for different scenes? How are you going to establish those areas based on the architecture of your space? Sound – Artaud advocated for the creation of a strong rhythmic base that would drive the production and establish the production’s vibrations for both the actors and the audience. In addition to music and PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

131

132

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

sound effects, consider the noises of the actors’ movements and their vocalisations as well. Lighting – What kind of setting, tone and atmosphere do you want the lighting to establish, and what are the types of colour palettes do you intend to use? How does the lighting engage with other elements of the mise-en-scène, such as sound effects or the objects and architecture of the stage? Acting – Artaud outlines his vision for each overall character, including their vocal qualities, the way they move and breathe, their costumes and their make-up. Outline how each character relates to the other and how they contribute to the feeling of the scenario as a whole. EXERCISE 4.11 – CREATING A PRODUCTION PLAN AND STAGING FRIAR BACON AND FRIAR BUNGAY

In the Theatre of Cruelty’s first manifesto, Artaud called for staging ‘Elizabethan theatre works stripped of the lines, retaining only their period machinery, situations, character and plot’ (TD, p. 71). The following scenario is adapted from Robert Greene’s play Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay (c. 1590). It draws on stage directions from scenes 2, 9 and 15. Don’t concern yourself with the original meaning or spirit of the scenario – that is, the intentions of Robert Greene; instead, consider the directives for what they are and how they serve as a starting point for your unique theatrical vision. Feel free to deviate from the scenario, experimenting, expanding and adding your own flavour and interpretation. Limit each scenario to ten minutes. A scenario based on Robert greene’s Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay. The scenario contains the following characters. If possible, encourage your actors to wear masks to further depersonalise the performance and give further attention to the physical attributes of each characterisation. FRIAR BACON – a magician who focuses on communication with the dead (necromancy) MILeS – a poor servant, considered to be dull-witted

DeVIL – the fallen angel Lucifer, ruler of hell FRIAR BuNgAY – another magician and necromancer, inferior in skill to Bacon HeRCuLeS – a hero from Roman mythology, known for his performance of twelve great labours (one of which includes killing a lion). 1. enter FRIAR BACON, and MILeS, his poor scholar with books under his arm. BACON conjures. A DeVIL appears. 2. enter BuNgAY. Here BuNgAY conjures, and the tree appears with the dragon shooting fre. HeRCuLeS appears in his lion’s skin. HeRCuLeS begins to break down branches from a tree. enter BACON. exit HeRCuLeS. enter MILeS with a cloth and trenchers and salt. exit MILeS. Re-enter MILeS with a mess of pottage and broth. exeunt. 3. enter a DeVIL seeking MILeS. enter MILeS in a gown and a corner cap. MILeS puts on spurs. MILeS mounts on the devil’s back. exeunt, the DeVIL roaring.

If your group is small, remove some of the characters, think of ways people can double up roles or stage only certain sections. If you have a large enough group, try to have some people serve as the audience for the staging of the scenario. Artaud positions the spectator as active participants in a fully immersive theatrical production. How can you PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

133

134

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

position your audience to create the type of relationship Artaud envisions? You might place them in the middle of the action, as Artaud suggests, or create clusters of audience throughout the space. Experiment with different audience formations based on the specifics of the space in which you are working and the overall feeling you want the staging to have. In each section, keep your focus on the specific element being outlined, but also consider how these elements relate to the other aspect of the mise-en-scène. Additionally, keep in mind Artaud’s interest in magic, ritual and alchemy. Are there ways to involve the audience in the rituals, confronting them with the power and danger of magic? Consider the differences between Bacon’s conjuring of the devil and Bungay’s conjuring Hercules and a dragon. What are their common and divergent vocabularies of gesture, breath and movement? How do lighting and sound work to evoke the different atmospheres of the rituals? EXERCISE 4.12 – CREATING YOUR OWN SCENARIO

The final step is creating your own scenario from scratch. Draw on one of the suggestions Artaud includes in his manifesto for the Theatre of Cruelty, such as the folk story of Bluebeard, about a man who mutilates women and children. Or use folktales from your own culture. In the United Kingdom, this could include the story of Mr Fox, a rich man who greedily murdered his various lovers and stored their bodies in his castle before coming to his own untimely demise. Choose a source that resonates with your interests, as well as the time and space in which you are staging it. As you continue to explore the theatrical world of Antonin Artaud, don’t be afraid to take an oppositional stance. The problematic aspects of Artaud’s vision should not be ignored, nor should they prevent us from engaging with the aspects of his work that inspire us to move in different directions. Adapt the parts of his vision that appeal to you and reject those that don’t. Throughout his career, Artaud took aspects of his training and pushed them in his own unique direction in an attempt to push the boundaries of theatre as a medium. We owe it to Artaud to do the same, embracing the aspects of his practice that move us and rejecting those that no longer serve our purposes.

In the preface to The Theatre and Its Double, Artaud protests against an exalted notion of culture that is separate from life. He proclaims, ‘Let them burn down the library at Alexandria’, for while the destruction of ancient Egypt’s largest library might have temporarily deprived the world of the specific works inside, it was not able to ‘eliminate their energy’, which its destruction released into the world for our rediscovery (TD, p. 5). For Artaud, a deep, committed presence to the magical hyperreality of the theatrical event could bring audiences and artists to new understandings of reality. He wanted to create theatre that would transport audiences and artists to a metaphysical realm, reveal life’s doubles and deepen the nature of our very existence. When approaching Artaud’s work, we must ask ourselves the same question. The worst way to honour the spirit of his work would be to create a set of expectations for what Artaudian theatre looks like; instead, we must ask how we can demolish any calcified vision of Artaud and harness the power, magic and energy of his vision to create theatre that reflects our times.

PRACTICAL eXeRCISeS

135

GLOSSARY OF NAMES

Arthur Adamov (1908–1970) A writer closely associated with the Theatre of the Absurd, though he would later reject his absurdist work (Esslin, 2009, p. 92). His most famous plays include Le Pingpong [Ping Pong] (1955) and La grande et la petite manoeuvre [The Great and the Small Maneuver] (1950). René Allendy (1889–1942) – See Yvonne Allendy Yvonne Allendy (1890–1935) A leading writer and art critic in France. She and her husband, the psychoanalyst René Allendy, co-wrote Capitalisme et Sexualité [Capitalism and Sexuality] (1931) and were important figures in Paris’ artistic and intellectual circles. They were long-time supporters of Artaud’s work (both conceptually and financially) and financed his first productions as a director at the Théâtre Alfred Jarry (see Chapter 3). André Antoine (1858–1943) An influential French theatre practitioner and a key proponent of Naturalism, one of the first European avant-garde movements. In 1887 he founded the Théâtre Libre, which was the first theatre based on Naturalist conventions. Adolphe Appia (1862–1928) An influential theorist of scenery and lighting design. Appia was one of the first designers to discuss productions in relation to space and use lighting as a source to contribute

138

gLOSSARY OF NAMeS

to the emotional states of the production, rather than just illuminate the actors. He was fascinated with the operas of Wagner and used his works as a basis to develop a new conception of theatre scenery and lighting in service of a total integrated theatre that placed the director as the central creator of the work (Jannarone, 2010, p. 144). His detailed lighting designs highlighted the relationship between the actors and the objects in space, and like Artaud, Appia rejected the use of painted backdrops in favour of real, three-dimensional objects. Genica Athanasiou (1897–1966) A Romanian actress who was a member of Dullin’s troupe. She had a successful career in both theatre and silent film. She had a close relationship with Artaud and was his primary love interest. They exchanged a series of letters that were published as Lettres à Génica Athanasiou (1969). Suzanne Bing (1887–1967) An actress and teacher who worked closely with Jacques Copeau. She was a founding member of the Vieux-Colombier and continued her work with Copeau as part of Les Copiaus. She is particularly known for her innovative teaching in relation to mime, physical theatre and mask work. Bertolt Brecht (1898–1956) A German theatre director who developed the theory of Epic Theatre [episches theater]. A devoted Marxist, Brecht believed theatre should actively encourage audiences to engage in a political revolution through a considered contemplation of their material conditions. His work is often discussed as the opposite of Artaud’s, who looked to subsume his audience in intense feelings and rejected an explicitly politically aligned theatre. Black Mountain College (1933–1957) An influential educational institution in the United States and known for its integration of art into the full curriculum of the school. Students and faculty associated with the college went on to be leaders in the development of the American avant-garde. Particularly notable people associated with Black Mountain College include poet Charles Olson, artists Josef and Annie Albers, Robert Rauschenberg, architect Buckminster Fuller, avant-garde composer John Cage and his partner, dancer and choreographer Merce Cunningham. André Breton (1896–1966) A co-founder and leading voice in the Surrealist movement. Breton was interested in creating works that

represented the unfettered freeing of the unconscious mind rather than the concerted effort of creating a fictional world and firmly believed that fiction, whether literature, theatre or cinema, could not convey surreal ideas (Auslander, 1980, p. 368). Ballets Russes (1909–1929) A ballet company founded in Paris by Serge Pavlovich Diaghilev (1872–1929). The Ballets Russes focused on the creation of new works and innovative storytelling and brought together choreography, music and design to create a total theatre experience. One of its most famous productions was Le Sacre du printemps [The Rite of Spring], composed by Igor Stravinsky with choreography by Vaslav Nijinsky (1889–1950); the sensational performance was later mythologised as a near-riot. Jean-Louis Barrault (1910–1994) A leading French actor who worked on both stage and screen. He trained with Charles Dullin at L’Atelier (1931–1933), where he met Étienne Decroux, under whom he would study mime. Together they would create some of the most important mime work of the twentieth century. He performed at the Comédie-Française and was the director of multiple theatres, including the Théâtre de France (1959–1969). Peter Brook (b. 1925) A British theatre director who was an early advocate of Artaud’s work in the English-speaking world. In 1964, he and Charles Marowitz explored Artaudian theatre through workshops and performances at the Lamda Theatre in London. Artaud was a key influence on Brook’s seminal book The Empty Space (1968). Since 1974, Brook has been based at the Bouffes du Nord in Paris. Cartel des Quatre [The Cartel of Four] A group of four directors – Charles Dullin (1885–1949), Louis Jouvet (1887–1951), Gaston Baty (1885–1952) and Georges Pitoëff (1884–1939) – who pooled resources and supported each other’s work as an alternative to the mainstream boulevard theatre rather than competing against each other. Though they did not represent a specific aesthetic movement, they were mutually dedicated to work that was simply staged and respected the author’s text. Artaud was a member of Dullin’s L’Atelier troupe (1921–1922) and worked with Pitoëff (1922–1923) and Jouvet (1931–1932).

gLOSSARY OF NAMeS

139

140

gLOSSARY OF NAMeS

Paul Claudel (1868–1955) A poet, playwright, essayist and member of the French Diplomatic Corps, which he joined in 1893. He is best known for his symbolist plays, such as Partage de Midi (1906), and his long lyric poems, Cinq Grandes Odes [Five Great Odes] (1910) and La Cantate à trois voix [Cantata for Three Voices] (1931). His profound Catholicism and international travel as an ambassador heavily informed his work. Jacques Copeau (1879–1949) Founded the Théâtre du Vieux- Colombier in 1913, which was dedicated to his new vision for theatre. Copeau outlined his vision for a new theatre in ‘Un Essai de Renovation Dramatique’ [An Attempt at Dramatic Renovation] (1913), which introduced le tréteau nu [the bare stage], the idea that the theatrical space should be stripped down to the essential elements of the bare stage. Edward Gordon Craig (1872–1966) An English theatre practitioner who is considered one of the great modernisers of twentieth-century theatre. He stressed the importance of the director, whom he considered to be the true artist of the theatre, and encouraged artistic rather than representational stagings. Gordon Craig is particularly remembered for his innovations in scenic and lighting design and his large corpus of theoretical writings. Jean Gaspard Deburau (1796–1846) The most influential of the early French mimes. He innovated and popularised silent, whitefaced mime in the 1820s, especially through his portrayal of the stock character Pierrot. He was famously portrayed by Barrault in the film Les Enfants du paradis [The Children of Paradise] (1945). Étienne Decroux (1898–1991) A French actor and director best known for his technique of corporeal mime. He studied at Copeau’s Théâtre du Vieux-Colombier before moving with Dullin to L’Atelier, where he would teach and further develop his work. He is often considered the father of modern mime. Roger Désormière (1898–1963) A French conductor and composer who premiered many of the most important works in modern French music and dance. These include the performances of Sergei Diaghilev’s renowned Ballets Russes production of Prokofiev’s Le Fils prodigue [The Prodigal Son] (1928), Messiaen’s Trois petites liturgies

de la Présence Divine [Three Small Liturgies of the Divine Presence] (1945) and Stravinsky’s Symphonie en trois mouvements [Symphony in Three Movements] (1946). La Fura dels Baus (founded 1979) A Catalan theatre group that creates large-scale, immersive multi-media works. Their work is often considered to be a realisation of Artaud’s vision for a Theatre of Cruelty (Sanchez, 2006). Firmin Gémier (1869–1933) A French actor, director and producer. Over the course of his career, he ran six different theatre companies and directed over three hundred plays (Jannarone, 2016, p. 87). He is most often remembered for originating the role of Père Ubu in the première of Alfred Jarry’s Ubu Roi (1896) at Lugné-Poë’s Théâtre de l’Œuvre. Robert Greene (1558–1592) One of the earliest professional Elizabethan playwrights. Educated at Oxford and Cambridge, Greene wrote plays in a variety of genres over the course of his career. He was famously critical of the other playwrights of the period and is often remembered for his pamphlet “Greenes, Groats-worth of Witte, bought with a million of Repentance” (1592), which, in what is often considered to be the first written reference to William Shakespeare, attacked him as an ‘upstart crow, beautified with our feathers’. Jerzy Grotowski (1933–1999) A Polish theatre director and theorist known for his theory of the ‘poor theatre’. Grotowski’s innovative training, which focuses on rigorous physical and mental training and the relationship between the actor and the spectator, is often compared to Artaud’s, though Grotowski developed his core ideas prior to encountering Artaud’s work. Sacha Guitry (1885–1957) An actor, director and playwright strongly associated with the Boulevard Theatres. He wrote 115 plays, many of which he starred in and directed, and in the ’30s began a successful career in the cinema. He is sometimes considered the last great actor of the Boulevard (see James Harding, Sacha Guitry: the Last Boulevardier. London: Methuen, 1968). Maria Izquierdo (1902–1955) A Mexican painter known for her small and medium scale easel work. She was one of the most prominent woman artists in Mexico, along with Frida Khalo. She was gLOSSARY OF NAMeS

141

142

gLOSSARY OF NAMeS

affiliated with the Contemporáneos [Contemporaries], a movement that advocated for modern Mexican art based on contemporary and cosmopolitan ideas rather than a focus on historical folklore. Alfred Jarry (1873–1907) A French playwright, novelist and essayist, best known for his series of plays exploring the character of Père Ubu, a despotic and buffoonish king based on one of the teachers from his boyhood. He is an essential figure in the development of the French avant-garde and was an important influence for figures in the Surrealist movement. Louis Jouvet (1887–1951) A French actor, director and filmmaker. He originally trained with Jacques Copeau at the Théâtre du VieuxColombier before going on to a successful career as the director of the Comédie des Champs-Élysées (1924–1934) and then the Théâtre de l’Athénée. Comte de Lautréamont (1846–1870) The pen name of poet Isidore Lucien Ducasse. Lautréamont only published two works, the prose poems Les Chants de Maldoror [The Songs of Maldoror] (1869) and Poésies [Poetry] (1870), but they were highly influential. Les Chants de Maldoror contains the oft-quoted line: ‘beautiful as the chance meeting on a dissecting-table of a sewing-machine and an umbrella’. Artaud praised him as ‘a genius who never ceased all his life to see clearly when he examined and probed the fallow ground of the as yet unutilised unconscious’ (SW, p. 472). Living Theatre (founded 1947) A theatre collective that actively explored Artaud’s theories through their practice. Founded by Judith Malina and Julian Beck, they produced their first work in 1951 and actively worked against Naturalism and the American interpretation of Stanislavski. Lugné-Poë (1869–1940) The professional name of Aurélien-Marie Lugné. He is best known as the founder of the Symbolist focused Théâtre de l’Œuvre (1893–1929). Stéphane Mallarmé (1842–1898) was one of the leading figures of the Symbolist movement in poetry. He was known for his innovative syntax and placement of his type on the page, esoteric imagery and use of the sounds of the words to create more complex layers of meaning.

Charles Marowitz – See Peter Brook Vsevolod Meyerhold (1874–1940) A Russian actor and director who innovated a highly physical style of theatre that looked to enliven the imagination rather than create a realist or naturalist theatre (in the style of Stanislavski). He developed a physical training system called bio-mechanics, which he refined during his tenure as director of the Moscow State Higher Theatre Workshop. He supported the Bolshevik revolution and was eventually targeted by Stalin, who imprisoned and executed him and his wife. Gérard de Nerval (1808–1855) A French poet whose work was a large influence on both the Symbolist and Surrealist movements. His texts explore imagination, dreams and madness, and Artaud considered him to be one of France’s finest poets. Anaïs Nin (1903–1977) A French author known for her erotic works, novels and series of diaries which chronicle her life from 1930 until 1974 across seven volumes. She was close friends with Artaud and discussed their interactions at length in the volume covering 1931–1934. Open Theatre (1963–1973) Originally a loose amalgamation of playwrights, directors, actors and critics in New York City developed around the Living Theatre, it came to be associated with the non-naturalistic experiments of Joseph Chaikin and its innovative ensemble work and acting methods based on improvisation. Erwin Piscator (1893–1966) A theatre-maker and theorist who created an explicitly political theatre. He founded the Proletarian Theatre in 1920. Bertolt Brecht joined his collective in 1927, and he was a key influence on Brecht’s development of Epic Theatre. He was known for his use of a film screen as the integration of archival voice recordings into his work. Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849) An American writer known for his macabre poetry and short stories. He is considered one of the great innovators of the short-story form and was a large influence on the Symbolist movement in France. Punchdrunk (founded 2000) An immersive theatre troupe based in the United Kingdom. They are known for their large-scale gLOSSARY OF NAMeS

143

144

gLOSSARY OF NAMeS

installations which allow audiences to walk through a theatrical space as the performance unfolds around them. Max Reinhardt (1872–1943) One of the original pioneers of modern directing, he founded a series of important theatres in Berlin, as well as the long-running Salzburg Festival (1920–present) with librettist Hugo von Hofmannsthal and composer Richard Strauss. He directed over five hundred plays and operas over the course of his career. Artaud was ‘particularly enthusiastic’ about Reinhardt’s work, which he encountered in Berlin (SW, p. 616). Arthur Rimbaud (1854–1891) A French poet who made strong contributions to the Symbolist movement and was an important inspiration for the Surrealists. His major poetic works include Une Saison en Enfer [A Season in Hell] (1873) and Les Illuminations [Illuminations] (1886), though by the time the latter was published, Rimbaud was living in Africa and no longer writing for the French literary scene. Jacques Rouché (1862–1957) Founder of the Théâtre des Arts (1910– 1913) and the director of the Paris Opera (1914–1945). Rouché championed the new modernist theatre that was emerging and advocated for the ‘total freedom’ of the director, who should create a mise-en-scène that is ‘realistic, fantastic, symbolic or synthetic’ depending on the needs of the work (cited in Tian, 2018, p. 131). Marquis de Sade (1740–1814) The pen name of Donatien Alphonse François. The Marquis de Sade was a French writer and theorist known for his extreme explorations of human sexuality and cruelty. Like Artaud, de Sade spent much of his life in mental institutions, ultimately dying in one. It is from de Sade that we get the term sadism, the derivation of pleasure, especially sexual pleasure, from causing pain or humiliation to others. Artaud and the Surrealists were champions of de Sade, advocating for the importance and revolutionary character of his work. Richard Schechner (b. 1934) A director and scholar who founded the influential American theatre group the Performance Group in 1964, known for its pioneering work in environmental performance. Schechner would go on to found the Performance Studies Department at Tisch School of the Arts (New York University), which developed a new field of inquiry into theatre and performance.

Tsutsui Tokujirō (1881–1953) A Japanese performer whose troupe was one of the first to bring Kabuki-style performance to the West. His troupe toured the United States and Europe, with a resulting influence on a wide range of practitioners, including Dullin, Bertolt Brecht and Edwin Piscator. Tristan Tzara (1896–1963) A founder of the Dada movement and a key figure in the history of the avant-garde. Born in Romania as Samuel Rosenstock to a wealthy Jewish family, he attended a French private school in Bucharest and a university in Zurich. It was at university that he started to write under the pen name Tristan Tzara and met the other artists with whom he would found the Dadaist movement, writing its most famous manifestos. Théâtre du Vieux-Colombier – See Jacques Copeau Ann Liv Young (b. 1981) An American performance artist based in New York City. She is known for her confrontational performances that combine pornography, music videos and audience participation.

gLOSSARY OF NAMeS

145

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Artaud’s works have been published in English through the work of various translators. Below are some of the major translations of Artaud’s works. There is overlap between the various collections, and cross- referencing different versions of the essays can help you understand how different translators approach his texts. Achard, Paul (1928) “Les ‘Surrealistes’ Manifestent: Mais Le ‘Songe’ n’est Pas Ce Qu’ils En Firent.” Paris-Midi, June 5. Artaud, Antonin (1958) The Theatre and Its Double. Translated by Mary Caroline Richards. New York: Grove Press. Artaud, Antonin (1968) Collected Works Volume 1. Translated by Victor Corti. London: Calder & Boyars. Artaud, Antonin (1970) The Theatre and Its Double. Translated by Victor Corti. Surrey: Alma Classics. Artaud, Antonin (1971) Collected Works Volume 2. Translated by Victor Corti. London: Calder & Boyars. Artaud, Antonin (1972) Collected Works Volume 3. Translated by Alastair Hamilton. London: Calder & Boyars.

148

BIBLIOgRAPHY

Artaud, Antonin (1974) Collected Works Volume 4. Translated by Victor Corti. London: Calder & Boyars. Artaud, Antonin (1975) The Peyote Dance. Translated by Helen Weaver. New York City: Farrar, Straus & Giroux. Artaud, Antonin (1976) Selected Writings. Translated by Helen Weaver and edited by Susan Sontag. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Artaud, Antonin (1995) Watchfiends & Rack Screams: Works from the Final Period. Translated by Clayton Eshleman. Cambridge, MA: Exact Change. Artaud, Antonin (2006) Artaud on Theatre. Translated by Brian Singleton and Claude Schumacher. York: Methuen. Artaud, Antonin (2014) Selected Late Letters of Antonin Artaud, 1945– 1947. Translated by Peter Valente and Cole Heinowitz. Artaud, Antonin (2016) 50 Drawings to Murder Magic. Translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith and edited by Evelyne Grossman. London; New York: Seagull Books. Artaud, Antonin (2019) Artaud 1937 Apocalypse: Letters from Ireland. Translated by Stephen Barber. Zürich: Diaphanes. Artaud, Antonin (2020) Antonin Artaud: Artaud the Mômo. Translated by Clayton Eshleman and edited by Stephen Barber. Dijon: Les presses du reel. Auslander, Philip (1980) “Surrealism in the Theatre: The Plays of Roger Vitrac.” Theatre Journal 32, no. 3: 357–369. https://doi.org/10. 2307/3206891. Balachova, Tania (1965) Antonin Artaud, par Tania Balachova et Bernard Dort. Interview by Bernard Dort. Video, October 25. Baldwin, Jane (2016) “Raising the Curtain on Suzanne Bing’s Life in the Theatre.” In Women, Collective Creation, and Devised Performance: The Rise of Women Theatre Artists in the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries, edited by Kathryn Mederos Syssoyeva and Scott Proudfit. New York City: Plagrave MacMillan, 29–50. Banes, Sally (1993) Greenwich Village 1963: Avant-Garde Performance and the Effervescent Body. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

Barba, Eugenio (1995) The Paper Canoe: A Guide to Theatre Anthropology. London; New York: Routledge. Barba, Eugenio, and Nicola Savarese (2019) The Five Continents of Theatre: Facts and Legends about the Material Culture of the Actor. Leiden: Brill. Barber, Stephen (1999) The Screaming Body. London: Creation Books. Barber, Stephen (2013) Artaud: Blows and Bombs. New York: Elektron Books [e-book]. Barrault, Jean-Louis (1974) Memories for Tomorrow; the Memoirs of JeanLouis Barrault. New York: Dutton. Berghaus, Günter (2010) “Artaud’s Le Jet de sang: An Unperformable Surrealist Play?” In Ritual and the Avant-Garde, edited by Thomas Crombez and Barbara Gronau. Documenta Jaargang 28(1), 21–35. Bermel, Albert (1997) Artaud’s Theatre of Cruelty. 1st edition. North Yorkshire: Methuen Drama. Blin, Roger, Antonin Artaud, Victoria Nes Kirby, Nancy E. Nes, and Aileen Robbins (1972) “Antonin Artaud in ‘Les Cenci’.” The Drama Review: TDR 16, no. 2: 91–145. Bradnock, Lucy (2010) “Life in the Shadows: Towards a Queer Artaud.” Papers of Surrealism 8 (Spring). Bramanti, Barbara, Katharine R. Dean, Lars Walløe, and Nils Chr. Stenseth (2019) “The Third Plague Pandemic in Europe.” Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences 286, no. 1901 (April 24): 20182429. Braun, Edward (1982) The Director and the Stage: From Naturalism to Grotowski. York: Methuen London Ltd. Breton, André (1972) Manifestos of Surrealism. Translated by Richard Seaver and Helen R. Lane. Ann Arbor: Ann Arbor Paperbacks. Cameron, Kenneth N., and Horst Frenz (1945) “The Stage History of Shelley’s the Cenci.” PMLA 60, no. 4: 1080–1105. Chambaud, Laurent, and Cristina Hernández-Quevedo (2018) “France.” In Organization and Financing of Public Health Services in Europe: Country Reports. Internet: European Observatory on Health Systems and Policies. BIBLIOgRAPHY

149

150

BIBLIOgRAPHY

Clancy, Patricia (1985) “Artaud and the Balinese Theatre.” Modern Drama 28, no. 3: 397–412. Connick, Rob (2011) Rethinking Artaud’s Theoretical and Practical Works. Ph.D. Dissertation. Bowling Green State University. Cook, Jennifer (2009) Legacies of Plague in Literature, Theory and Film. London: Palgrave MacMillan. Crombez, Thomas (2005) “Artaud, the Parodist? The Appropriations of the Théâtre Alfred Jarry, 1927–1930.” Forum Modernes Theater 20, no. 1: 33–51. Cuddon, J. A. (2012) A Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons. Curtin, Adrian (2010) “Cruel Vibrations: Sounding Out Antonin Artaud’s Production of Les Cenci1.” Theatre Research International 35, no. 3 (October): 250–262. Deák, František (1977) “Antonin Artaud and Charles Dullin: Artaud’s Apprenticeship in Theatre.” Educational Theatre Journal 29, no. 3: 345–353. Di Ponio, Amanda (2018) The Early Modern Theatre of Cruelty and Its Doubles: Artaud and Influences. London: Palgrave. Dullin, Charles (1985) Souvenirs et Notes de Travail d’un Acteur. Paris: Librairie Théâtrale. Eshleman, Clayton (2001) Companion Spider: Essays. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press. Esslin, Martin (1976) Antonin Artaud. London: John Calder. Esslin, Martin (2009) The Theatre of the Absurd. New York City: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Evans, Mark (2006) Jacques Copeau. London: Routledge. Ewbank, Inga-Stina (1998) “The Intimate Theatre: Shakespeare Teaches Strindberg Theatrical Modernism.” Theatre Journal 50, no. 2: 165–174. Farrell, Michael (1994) “Opiate Withdrawal.” Addiction 89, no. 11: 1471–1475.

Filewod, Alan (2016) “Agitprop Theatre.” In Routledge Encyclopedia of Modernism. London: Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/ 9781135000356-REM1672-1. Finter, Helga (1997) “Antonin Artaud and the Impossible Theatre: The Legacy of the Theatre of Cruelty.” The Drama Review 41, no. 4: 15–40. Foley, Kathy (1992) “Trading Art(s): Artaud, Spies, and Current Indonesian/American Artistic Exchange and Collaboration.” Modern Drama 35, no. 1: 10–19. Gardner, Tony (2003) “Breathing’s Hieroglyphics.” Performance Research 8, no. 2: 109–116. https://doi.org/10.1080/13528165.2003.10871 934. Garner, Stanton B. (2006) “Artaud, Germ Theory, and the Theatre of Contagion.” Theatre Journal 58, no. 1: 1–14. Gillespie, David (2008) “Ett Drömspel (A Dream Play, 1901).” In An International Annotated Bibliography of Strindberg Studies 1870–2005: Vol. II, edited by Michael Robinson. The Plays. Modern Humanities Research Association, 4(ii), 1258–1330. Goodall, Jane (1987) “Artaud’s Revision of Shelley’s ‘The Cenci’: The Text and Its Double.” Comparative Drama 21, no. 2: 115–126. Goodall, Jane (1994) Artaud and the Gnostic Drama. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Greene, Naomi (1971) Antonin Artaud: Poet Without Words. 1st edition. New York: Simon & Schuster. Greene, Naomi (1994) “‘All the Great Myths Are Dark’: Artaud and Fascism.” In Antonin Artaud and the Modern Theater, edited by Gene A. Plunka. Cranbury: Associated University Presses, 102–116. Grotowski, Jerzy (2002) Towards a Poor Theatre. New York City: Routledge. Harries, Martin (2007) Forgetting Lot’s Wife: On Destructive Spectatorship. New York: Fordham University Press. Hemmings, F. W. J. (1994) Theatre and State in France, 1760–1905. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. BIBLIOgRAPHY

151

152

BIBLIOgRAPHY

Hertz, Uri (2003) “Artaud in Mexico.” Fragmentos 25: 11–17. Hewitt, Nicholas (2017) Montmartre: A Cultural History. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ho, Christopher (1997) “Antonin Artaud: From Center to Periphery, Periphery to Center.” Performing Arts Journal 19, no. 2: 6–22. Hockenjos, Vreni (2002) “Strindberg and the Sciopticon.” In Cultural Functions of Intermedial Exploration, edited by Erik Hedling and UllaBritta Lagerroth. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 103–112. Höpfl, Heather (2005) “Artaud and the Corruption of Judgement.” Culture and Organization 11, no. 4 (December): 249–258. Innes, Christopher (1993) Avant-Garde Theatre 1892–1992. London; New York: Routledge. Jannarone, Kimberly (2005) “The Theatre before Its Double: Artaud Directs in the Alfred Jarry Theatre.” Theatre Survey 46, no. 2: 247–273. Jannarone, Kimberly (2009) “Exquisite Theatre.” In The Exquisite Corpse: Chance and Collaboration in Surrealism’s Parlor Game, edited by Kanta Kochhar-Lindgren, Davis Schneiderman, and Tom Denlinger. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Jannarone, Kimberly (2010) Artaud and His Doubles. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Jannarone, Kimberly (2016) “Firmin Gémier, The Forgotten AvantGarde Populist.” In Preservation, Radicalism, and the Avant-Garde Canon, edited by Rebecca Ferreboeuf, Fiona Noble, and Tara Plunkett. New York: Palgrave Macmillan US, 87–110. Kamieński, Łukasz (2016) Shooting Up: A History of Drugs in Warfare. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Knapp, Bettina (1980) Antonin Artaud: Man of Vision. Athens, OH: Swallow Press. Knapp, Bettina (1985) French Theatre: 1918–1939. New York, NY: Olympic Marketing Corp. Knight, Malcolm Yates (2004) Masks Praxis: Theories and Practices in Modern Drama. Doctoral Thesis. University of Glasgow.

Krutak, Lars (2014) “(Sur)real or Unreal? Antonin Artaud in the Sierra Tarahumara of Mexcio.” Journal of Surrealism and the Americas 8: 28–55. Larrouy, Mireille (1997) Artaud et le théâtre, 1920–1935: quinze ans de bonheur. Auch: CRDP Midi Pyrénées. Leach, Robert (2004) Makers of Modern Theatre: An Introduction. London: Routledge. Lotringer, Sylvère (2015) Mad Like Artaud. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Macgowan, Kenneth (1922) Continental Stagecraft. New York City: Harcourt, Brace. MacKenzie, Scott (2019) “Méliès’ Dream Film and Stringdberg’s Dream Play: Compressing Time and Space.” In August Strindberg and Visual Culture, edited by Anna Westerstahl Stenport, Eszter Szalczer, and Jonathan Schroeder. London: Bloomsbury, 95–112. Marker, Frederick J., and Lise-Lone Marker (2002) Strindberg and Modernist Theatre: Post-Inferno Drama on the Stage. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. McCready, Susan (2016) Staging France between the World Wars: Performance, Politics and the Transformation of the Theatrical Canon. Lanham: Lexington Books. Melzer, Annabelle Henkin (1977) “Homage to Robert Aron, 1898– 1975.” Theatre Research International 2, no. 2: 131–139. Mileaf, Janine (2001) “Body to Politics: Surrealist Exhibition of the Tribal and the Modern at the Anti-Imperialist Exhibition and the Galerie Charles Ratton.” RES: Anthropology and Aesthetics, no. 40: 239–255. Monchon, Emile (1928) “‘Le Songe’ de Strindberg Au Théâtre Alfred Jarry.” Paris-Soir, June 1. Moore, Edward (2021) “Gnosticism.” In Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Martin: The University of Tennessee at Martin. https://iep.utm. edu/gnostic/. Mueller, Thomas, and Thomas Beddies (2006) “‘The Destruction of Life Unworthy of Living’ in National Socialist Germany.” International Journal of Mental Health 35, no. 3 (October): 94–104. BIBLIOgRAPHY

153

154

BIBLIOgRAPHY

Murray, Ros (2014) Antonin Artaud: The Scum of the Soul. Basingstoke: Palgrave MacMillan. Nin, Anaïs (1966) The Diary of Anaïs Nin: Vol 1. Edited by G. Stuhlmann. New York: Harvest/HBJ. Palmer, Richard H. (1967) “Style in Lighting Design.” Educational Theatre Journal 19, no. 2: 142–148. Pronko, Leonard Cabell (1967) Theater East and West: Perspectives Toward a Total Theater. Berkeley: University of California Press. Rapti, Vassiliki (2016) Ludics in Surrealist Theatre and Beyond. Burlington: Ashgate. Richards, Mary Caroline (1996) Opening Our Moral Eye: Essays, Talks & Poems Embracing Creativity & Community. Hudson: Steiner Books. Rickner, Robert (1972) Theatre as Ritual: Artaud’s Theatre of Cruelty and the Balinese Barong. Doctoral Dissertation. University of Hawaii. Roesner, David (2014) Musicality in Theatre: Music as Model, Method and Metaphor in Theatre-Making. London: Routledge. Rokem, Freddie (2005) Strindberg’s Secret Codes. Norwich: Norvik Pr. Rose, Mark (1983) The Actor and His Double: Antonin Artaud’s Theory and Practice of Gesture and Movement. Doctoral Dissertation. University of California, Davis. Roumieux, André (1996) Artaud et l’asile: Au-delà des murs, la mémoire. Paris: Séguier. Rowell, Margit (ed.) (1996) Antonin Artaud: Works on Paper. New York City: The Museum of Modern Art. Sadowsky, Jonathan (2017) Electroconvulsive Therapy in America: The Anatomy of a Medical Controversy. New York: Routledge. Sassoon, Donald (2006) The Culture of the Europeans: From 1800 to the Present. New York City: Harper Press. Savarese, Nicola (2001) “1931: Antonin Artaud Sees Balinese Theatre at the Paris Colonial Exposition.” TDR 45, no. 3: 51–77.

Schneider, Rebecca, and Gabrielle H. Cody (2002) Re: Direction: A Theoretical and Practical Guide. London: Routledge. Sellin, Eric (1968) The Dramatic Concepts of Antonin Artaud. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Shafer, David (2016) Antonin Artaud. London: Reaktion Books. Sharpling, Gerard (2004) “Women’s Stage: Female Characters in Antonin Artaud’s Theatre of Cruelty.” Dalhousie French Studies 66, 39–52. Sherman, Daniel (1999) The Construction of Memory in Interwar France. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Short, Robert S. (1966) “The Politics of Surrealism, 1920–36.” Journal of Contemporary History 1, no. 2: 3–25. Sigal, Raphaël (2017) “Letters on Loan: Antonin Artaud’s Correspondence with Jacques Rivière.” Diacritics 45, no. 1: 50–73. Slowiak, James, and Jairo Cuesta (2007) Jerzy Grotowski. 1st edition. New York: Routledge. Snowden, Frank M. (2019) Epidemics and Society: From the Black Death to the Present. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Sontag, Susan (1981) Under the Sign of Saturn. New York: Vintage Books. Stockenström, Göran (1996) “Strindberg’s Cosmos in a Dream Play: Medieval or Modern.” Comparative Drama 30, no. 1: 72–105. Stounbjerg, Per (2013) “Rebels and Renegades – Strindberg, Artaud and the Avant-Garde.” In A Cultural History of the Avant-Garde in the Nordic Countries 1900–1925, edited by H. V. D. Berg, I. Hautmäki, B. Hjartarson, T. Jelsbak, R. Schönström, P. Stounbjerg, T. Ørum, and I. D. Aagesen. Amsterdam: Brill, 71–80. Stout, John C. (1996) Antonin Artaud’s Alternate Genealogies: Self-Portraits and Family Romances. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press. Strindberg, August (1912) Plays by August Strindberg: The Dream Play, the Link, the Dance of Death, Part I, The Dance of Death, Part II. Translated by Edwin Björkman. New York: C. Scribner’s sons.

BIBLIOgRAPHY

155

156

BIBLIOgRAPHY

Surel-Tupin, Monique (1984) Charles Dullin. Bordeaux: Presses Univ de Bordea. Szalczer, Ezster (2011) August Strindberg. London: Routledge. Taylor-Batty, M. J. (2007) Roger Blin: Collaborations and Methodologies. New York: Peter Lang. Thévenin, Paule, and Bettina Knapp (1965) “A Letter on Artaud.” The Tulane Drama Review 9, no. 3: 99–117. Thomas, Aaron C. (2015) “Viewing the Pornographic Theatre: Explicit Voyeurism, Artaud and Ann Liv Young’s Cinderella.” In Theatre as Voyeurism: The Pleasures of Watching, edited by George Rodosthenous. London: Palgrave Macmillan UK, 166–184. Tian, Min (2018) The Use of Asian Theatre for Modern Western Theatre: The Displaced Mirror. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Times, Special Cable to The New York (1931) “Fire Ruins Dutch Pavilion at French Exhibit; America’s Mt. Vernon Endangered But Saved (29 June).” The New York Times. Trainor, Sebastian (2012) “Rachilde’s Supermale of Letters and the Invention of the Ubu Roi Riot.” Text and Presentation: 92–108. Trompf, Garry W., Gunner B. Mikkelsen, and Jay Johnston (eds.) (2018) The Gnostic World. London; New York: Routledge. Virmaux, Alain, and Olivier Penot-Lacassagne (eds.) (2005) Artaud en revues. Lausanne: L’age d’homme. Virmaux, Alain, and Simone Sanzenbach (1966) “Artaud and Film.” The Tulane Drama Review 11, no. 1: 154–165. Whitton, David (1987) Stage Directors in Modern France. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Wilder, Thornton (1957) Our Town. New York: Harper & Row. Williams, Tami (2014) Germiane Dulac: A Cinema of Sensations. Chicago: University of Illinois Press.

INDEX

Allendy, René 22, 65–67, 78, 80 Allendy, Yvonne 5, 22, 67, 78, 80, 97 Aron, Robert: as author 36; end of Théâtre Alfred Jarry 98–99; founding of Théâtre Alfred Jarry 21–22, 47; running the Théâtre Alfred Jarry 77–79; and Le Songe, 83, 86-7, 93-4; see also Théâtre Alfred Jarry L’Atelier: Artaud’s break with 13–15; and East Asian Theatre 10–11, 82; founding of 8–9, 100; and improvisation 58–59, 95, 115–119; productions at 12–13; training at 9–10; see also Dullin, Charles Balachova, Tania 85, 89, 91, 93–94, 96 Balinese performance 11–12, 25–26, 52, 55–57, 64, 90 Blin, Roger: as assistant director of Les Cenci 28, 76, 90, 93–94; as friend 35, 37, 103–104

breath: Artaud’s science of 61–62, 91; and Dullin’s training programme 8–9, 96, 115; exercises for 105–114 Brecht, Bertolt 70, 103 Breton, André 17–20, 35, 97 Catholicism 3, 19, 30 cinema 16–17, 22–25, 39, 51, 89–90 closet drama 28 Communism see Marxism Copeau, Jacques 9, 11–12, 116 cruelty 28, 48, 50–52, 61–62, 98; see also Theatre of Cruelty Dadaism 17–18, 41–42 Decroux, Étienne 25, 92–93 double: and Balinese theatre 55; and plague 69, 70; theory of 49–50; use in performance 83, 88 drug use 4–5, 17, 31–32, 35, 100 Dulac, Germaine 23–24

158

INDEX

Dullin, Charles: Artaud’s audition with 8; as director 12–15, 81, 90–91, 94–95; and East Asian Theatre 10–12, 82, 90; founding of L’Atelier 8–9, 100; and improvisation 58–59, 114–119; training programme 9–10, 60–61, 93, 96, 104–105; see also L’Atelier electroconvulsive therapy 3, 36–37 Gémier, Firmin 7–8, 52, 59 Gnosticism 42–43, 49, 83 Grotowski, Jerzy 60–61, 120 improvisation 8–10, 57–59, 64, 95–96, 114–119 incest 28, 51, 53 Ireland 32–34 Izquierdo, Maria 31 Jarry, Alfred 21, 77 Jouvet, Louis 24, 27, 44–45, 72, 94, 100 Kabbalah 62 language: and Balinese performance 55–57; limits of 45–46, 72; medium specific 24–25, 38, 43–44, 47, 55, 64, 97–98; metaphysical 19, 43, 49–50, 52, 83; in theatre 87, 89–90, 93–94, 98 Les Cenci: failure of 60, 96, 99–100; reception of 28–29; staging of 27–29, 76, 90, 100, 116, 129; writing of 34 Le Songe: acting in 94–96; costume design of 92–93; lighting design 87–89; reception of 97–98; scenic design 84–87; sound design

89–92; spirit of 81–83; at Théâtre de l’Avenue 79–80 lighting 57, 63, 87–89, 101, 124–126 Lugné-Poë, Aurélien-Marie 7, 13, 22, 28 Marxism 20, 30, 41, 70, 79 metaphysics 19, 27, 42–43, 52–57 Mexico 17, 29–32, 34, 63–64 mise-en-scène: and developing through practical exercises 119–135; and director 14, 60; and Dullin, Charles 14, 81; and metaphysics 52–54; praise of Artaud’s skill 29; and scenarios 63–64; and Le Songe, 84-96; and symbolism 27; and total theatrical experience 13, 47, 52, 72 Nin, Anaïs 48, 66–67 La Nouvelle Revue Française (NRF) 18, 22, 27, 34, 45–46, 65 Pitoëff, Georges and Ludmilla 15–16, 71, 78 plague: as double 49; history of 65–66; mind-body connection 67–68; performance of 66–67; radical politics of 69–71 playwright 21, 27, 37, 44–45, 62, 80 Poe, Edgar Allan 3, 10 proscenium 28, 59, 78–79 Rarámuri people 31–32 Reinhardt, Max 59, 86, 89, 97 Rivière, Jacques 18, 45–46 Rodez 3, 35–37 Rouleau, Raymond 86, 92–96 scenarios: for the cinema 23–25, 72; La Conquête du Mexique 29, 63–64;

staging from scenarios 62–65, 73, 80–81, 127, 131–135; at Théâtre Alfred Jarry 76–78, 90 Strindberg, August see Le Songe Surrealism 17–21, 23–26, 30, 35–36, 41–42, 96–98; see also Breton, André Théâtre Alfred Jarry: end of 98–101; founding of 21–22; manifestos of 47–48; productions at 28, 77–79; Le Songe 80–97; staging choices 27

Theatre and its Double: key themes 49–51; and language 45; publication of 34, 48; in translation 72 Theatre of Cruelty: as excavation process 43, 46, 103; inspiration of 26; manifestos of 27, 39, 49–52, 99; as radical practice 70; staging of 14, 27, 62–65, 76–77, 88, 132 Tzara, Tristan 18 Vichy 7, 35–36 Vitrac, Roger 18, 20–22, 47, 77–80, 87, 98–101

INDEX

159