Theatre Theory and Performance: A Critical Interrogation [1 ed.] 1443895725, 9781443895729

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Theatre Theory and Performance

Theatre Theory and Performance: A Critical Interrogation By

Siddhartha Biswas

Theatre Theory and Performance: A Critical Interrogation By Siddhartha Biswas This book first published 2017 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2017 by Siddhartha Biswas All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-9572-5 ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-9572-9

The Theatre is two places with two entries, one for the audience and one for the actors. There are two worlds. The people in the dark peer into another world. That is illusion. That is why they come. —Peter Brook, Threads of Time, 41

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface ........................................................................................................ ix Acknowledgements .................................................................................... xi Chapter One ................................................................................................. 1 Beginnings Chapter Two ................................................................................................ 9 Signs and Semiotics Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 15 The Theatrical Text Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 25 Theatre and Politics Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 43 Performance and Performers Chapter Six ................................................................................................ 51 Three Theories of Theatre: Brecht, Artaud, Pinter Chapter Seven............................................................................................ 65 The Bhava-Rasa Theory Chapter Eight ............................................................................................. 75 Syncretic Theatre in India Chapter Nine.............................................................................................. 83 Postdramatic Theatre Bibliography .............................................................................................. 91 Index ........................................................................................................ 101

PREFACE

Both theatre and theories on it have been there for ages. In fact, performance is an integral part of social living. Over the years theorists and practitioners have tried to emulate life – they have tried to include lessons, political thought, social normative thinking and many such in the plays and through the performances. But the purpose of theatre has never been merely aesthetic. Theatre, because of its unique participative nature, has always been a form with an agenda. The agenda has often demanded formal evolution and over the ages we have seen theatre growing into a separate iconic presence with its collaborative signification. This book tries to draw a line from Aristotle to the present day – a line that is not linear but contemplative and perhaps a little whimsical. The dominance of the play-text and the playwright, particularly in the theorizations of theatre, faded away slowly and the focus slowly fell on the complex meaning-making through a language that is exclusive to theatre alone. Manipulation of this language no longer limits itself on the stage space but attempts to move beyond and include the audience–who becomes reader-participators in the making of the theatrical text–in the creation of the experience. The role of politics is especially crucial in this meaning-making and this book looks and interrogates most theories from such a perspective. This book tries to prove that at one point the purpose of theatre was to provide warnings–against problematic impulses like ambition and so on– and this remained a function of the state-sponsored theatre. But with the advent of democracy and the modern/postmodern paradigms, theatre began to speak with a different voice. And in the later twentieth and early twenty-first centuries theatre broke away, at least in some cases and movements, from the traditional and became a major tool in introducing people to a cerebral response to the stage. Theatre was mostly emotional – focusing on the idea of catharsis. But in the last one hundred years, such closure has been questioned. It was felt that theatre, like the other forms of art, should disturb, should initiate thinking, rather than give the audience a release from pity and fear. Satisfaction is not what art should give. Steering clear of theatre-history for the most part, the aim of this book is to raise certain issues. This is not designed to be a textbook of theatretheory. There are many competent as well as extraordinary books for such study. What interests the present author is the politics of representation

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that was there, and is very much here now. The movement of this political element connects the past with the present and certain phases–through certain texts–are dealt with in some analytical detail. This book essentially looks at the agenda of theatre and takes detours to include the classical and contemporary Indian contexts to see how they can be situated in the field of global theatrical innovation. The fact that the theatrical form is changing and the shifts are not yet going towards a definite direction is perhaps the key underlying movement of this book. There is a variety of possibilities and experiments, and it remains to be seen whether theatre will remain traditionally dramatic or it will settle into a distinct postdramatic form. This project began as a series of lectures for the M.Phil class at the Department of English, University of Calcutta. However, over the four years that have gone behind this, the project took on a different analytical angle altogether. This was no longer a mere historical survey of theatrerelated issues, but certain theoretical issues and new interpretations/angles began to form. Though the lecture structure remains, the project now contains mostly original observations that follow necessary outlining of theories regarding drama, performance and performers. Although this began as a discussion for a particular audience, now this project may interest both students of literature or of theatre and advanced researchers. This project does not claim to be comprehensive but is rather instigation for the inquisitive mind; a mind hoping to generate innovative research or just hoping for some food for thought. This project does not presume to speak for the entire globe, it looks at the European constant and brings in some Indian elements – and tries to posit both in their respective locations, as well as looking at the symbiosis that has been functioning for some time. There is no real movement from one chapter to another, they stand independent. This is not a treatise, but a collection of contemplations on certain issues. Quite deliberately, this book has neither an introduction nor a conclusion reaching a definite point. Theatre is a continuous process, and it is more than presumptuous to hope to find a static inference. This project aims to raise doubts and issues. The reader must do the rest.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My father, Salil Biswas, introduced me to the fact of life called theatre. His own love for the form and stories of his own experience of the stage were probably responsible for my own enthusiasm for it. In his younger days he was an active part of the Bengali theatre scene. He continues to be equally passionate. Our small apartment still overflows with books, journals and magazines, a whole lot of them on theatre. Audio recordings of famous performances (this was the prehistoric age before video recording was common) were regularly played and home is where I was first acquainted with luminaries of Bengali theatre such as Shambhu Mitra and Utpal Dutt. As a teacher of English literature, he established my firm interest in drama. His teaching along with his numerous articles on theatre and drama formed me from a very early time. And it is with my parents that I saw my first performance. But that is not all. Theatre criticism was also something I had experienced from an early age. My entire sensibility– including the capacity of reading politics within any text–was developed because he shared all quite freely, making me and the rest of the family see what is actually what. It is with great pride I can admit that I share both his passion for theatre and for photography. An accomplished translator, his translations continue to inspire my own translations. My mother, Sabita Biswas, has always supported all our passions, even when they often became strenuous vis-à-vis practical affairs of life. Her interests in photography and translation are no less inspiring. Her translations are now being appreciated by a wide audience. She still is the light that keeps all of us together. My wife Jaya is my muse. The confession of which she has always taken with amusement! She is a remarkable woman, a great photographer and an equally great teacher of Mathematics; and it is one of the great mysteries of the world how she has kept on tolerating me all these years. My sister Samata has always been a great support. Through her I have often found a semblance of normalcy in this insane world (and not only because of her training in psychology). My teachers in College and in University have left a lasting impression on me. But it is Professor Dipendu Chakrabarti who shaped my research skills and taught me how to see and understand that which is often hidden, and that which is hidden in plain sight. Theatre is his passion. And it is my great fortune that I could borrow from this acutely analytical mind. His wisdom, his patience with me, his resilience in the face of incredible

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adversity, have taught me not only how to tackle the academic side of life, but how to be a man of great positivity. Without him I would be much less than the little that I am. My entire literary sensibility was formed by a number of legendary teachers. Professor Kajal Sengupta and Professor Kalidas Bose are no longer with us; from them I learnt how to love literature keenly. We learnt what scholarship was from Professor Arun Kumar Dasgupta. Professor Jayati Gupta, Professor Bhaswati Chakraborty, Professor Krishna Sen, Professor Jharna Sanyal, Professor Sanjukta Dasgupta, Professor Tapati Gupta introduced us to a world of possibilities, a world devoid of the usual reverence, a world which made us question everything. And I must mention my friends (and it is my good fortune that most of my colleagues also have become very close friends) who have been instrumental in shaping me. Without their support and love I would have been nothing. At the beginning of my teaching career I met Sri Ratan Das. It is almost entirely from him that I had my early experience of the actual craft of theatre. He is now a major part of the Bengali theatrical scene, though he remains mostly offstage, and he still is someone from whom I learn a lot. Sri Amitava Dutta (and his amazing theatre company Ganakrishti) has been another influence. I have learnt much about the process from them. And my students have been perhaps the most significant influence upon me, challenging me to no end, and forcing me to look deeper into the life of theatrical things. Teaching is performance. And every lecture opens up a new vista and brings new insights into how collaborative/communicative performance can be. I must mention the ‘little’ magazine Nillohit. Sri Basab Dasgupta, Sri Subhankar Guha, Sri Sudip Das and Sri Sajal Ghosh were the creators of the magazine in its current form and it was under their watchful eyes that I slowly gathered the confidence of taking my writing to the public. Of course, any work on theatre originating from this part of the world must owe a debt of gratitude to Professor Ananda Lal. My interactions with this great mind have mostly been through his superlative work. I need to thank him for teaching me a number of things regarding performance. I have been extremely fortunate to have as my mentors great minds such as Professor Chinmoy Guha. His support and his faith in me has been a guiding light. I can never repay him for the many opportunities he has gifted me with. However, the person who has been inspirational, in much of my academic career, and particularly as far as this book is concerned, is Dr. Sinjini Bandyopadhyay. It is she who had put me in the lions’ den (also known as the University of Calcutta’s M.Phil class) where I could explore and exchange most of the ideas that find space in this book. This

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book owes its genesis to Dr. Bandyopadhyay. I must also thank Mr. Thakurdas Jana, who painstakingly combed the text and made it readable. I can never fully express my gratitude to Cambridge Scholars Publishing for accepting the manuscript. It is quite an amazing feeling to be associated with such an institution. And I must express my sincerest gratitude to Victoria Carruthers for bearing with me and guiding me through numerous issues that the manuscript had originally contained. I must also mention Sophie Edminson and Amanda Millar as they were absolutely integral to the creation of the book. The prepress team has also done a tremendous job. It is a privilege to be a part of such a wonderful team. There are many who remain unmentioned here, even though they have contributed much to this book, I offer to them my sincerest thanks. Siddhartha Biswas Kolkata 2017

CHAPTER ONE BEGINNINGS

The major issue in going back to the beginning of theatre is the absence of written texts dealing with early drama, and the text of the plays themselves. The oft-called father of history, Herodotus, only has two descriptions of events that seem to present instances of theatre.1 It is not before ancient Greece that we have tangible proof of theatre and theatrical organization. In fact Aristotle’s writings are now accepted as hard evidence, even though they themselves were more a survey than anything else. But of course, he was nearest to the actuality and therefore can be reasonably trusted. The gentleman who is responsible for the modern and so-called scientific research into ancient western theatre is Sir James Frazer. His The Golden Bough remains a major factor in our understanding of early ideation. His anthropological excursions into early human culture all over the world include an amazing amount of data. In fact, theatre was not his primary point of concern, but since early rituals and early drama are so much interwoven, The Golden Bough remains a vital element in any discussion on theatre. There are complaints against Frazer, and they are not pointless. For one thing, he equated technological progress with civilization and depended upon the easy equation between early and primitive. Also objectionable is his casual, and very Occidental, dismissal of dark skin as a sign of lack of civilization. His point of view was very orthodox and he compared all only with the yardstick of his contemporary European culture, and that too from a typical positivist outlook. So, following positivistic principles and the dictum of evolutionary biology that species tend generally to evolve slowly from one type to another by proceeding through a series of transitional forms, those studying the religion and rituals of “primitive” peoples, which they presumed served as the forerunners of theatre, expected to see in them 1

Mark Damen, "The Origins of Theatre and Drama." Classical Drama and Society. 2012. Web. 30 September 2016. .

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Chapter One evidence of the state of early Western civilization and thus not only what early Greek culture and theatre looked like but the pattern of gradual evolution followed by all human societies. Of course, in the end they did not find those transitional forms nor, in fact, any compelling evidence for such an evolution.1

In fact, this kind of observation and the classification of folk/tribal art as the remnants of a primitive era are fairly objectionable. The fact that folktheatre is also an evolved form has been concretely theorized by many a sane mind. Tom Pettitt, of the University of Southern Denmark, writes, The place and significance conventionally attributed to folk drama in theatre history stem directly from this theory of its origins. Since the mummers’ plays recorded in the eighteenth, nineteenth and twentieth centuries retain the fundamental structure of a pre-Christian ritual, something similar must have existed through the intervening centuries, even if “all unbeknown and hidden-like midst of the folk themselves.” The folk plays preserve a proto-dramatic activity antedating the emergence of drama-proper in the Middle Ages, and so belong at the beginning of the story, but as degenerate forms of ritual rather than drama-proper they could have had only indirect significance: a possible influence on theatre history rather than a part of it.2

Such feeling is shared by many critics of our time. What they object to, and quite rightly as this writer would say, is the complete absence of appreciation for those forms for their own aesthetic excellence. They become merely the evidence and do not find any position in the greater canon as texts which can stand by themselves, or forms that can be accepted as different kinds of theatre. From Frazer came the fascination with myth. This became relevant as early classical drama is almost entirely based on contemporary mythology. One of the major voices presenting myth as a social organ was Bronislaw Malinowski. According to him, myth was the theory/rationale acquired to explain the workings of different phenomena including those of nature and this was sanctioned and supported by social institutions. Of course, one may comment that such sanction always included certain politics, but that is not the present contention. Malinowski wrote,

1

Damen, ‘The Origins of Western Theatre’. Tom Pettitt, "When the Golden Bough Breaks: Folk Drama and the Theatre Historian." Nordic Journal of English Studies. 2005. Web. 30 September 2016. . 2

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Mythology, the sacred lore of the tribe, is, as we shall see, a powerful means of assisting primitive man, of allowing him to make the two ends of his cultural patrimony meet. We shall see, moreover, that the immense services to primitive culture performed by myth are done in connection with religious ritual, moral influence, and sociological principle.1

It was mainly the followers of Malinowski who applied his theories to theatre. They were called functionalists because, according to them, myth was a tool to justify the actions of the rulers. There is the idea that such interpretations are formed by the world the critics live in, and do not necessarily reflect the world of the past. Of course, there is a faction that thinks that just because politics shapes, all actions of today, one cannot say for certain that it was the same way thousands of years ago. They often argue that most classical plays were aetiological or seeking causal explanations looking at the actions of agents or agency; but even the explanatory components contained in them a factor of power-establishment. Claude Levi-Strauss spoke against Malinowski’s functionalist approach, saying that a people cannot be defined merely by the basic needs of life.2 There are other instincts at play. He promoted the idea that theatre was the negotiating space between conflicting ideas of dualities which usually make life unintelligible.3 Such an idea remains true, but limits itself to the creative impulse and does not really look at the afterlife or representation of the text. The author, as well, is very much a part of the structure and consciously or subconsciously he would have been influenced. In fact, we see a distinct move towards liberal questioning when we reach Euripides. Unlike Aeschylus or Sophocles, he is more human-oriented and more challenging. The idea of power-holders as absolute remains, but there is the germ of a voice against that. At the end of the day, these are all speculation and theorization – the fact of the matter is neither the anthropological nor the structuralist method can with evidence discover anything about what many call proto-theatre. However, we can keep on speculating. *** Theatre has grown out of the elements commonly found in all human societies. It is indeed a comment on disparate human behaviour that even though these essential elements are shared by all human societies, complex 1

Bronislaw Malinowski. Magic, Science and Religion and Other Essays. Edited by Robert Redfield (Glencoe, Illinois: Free Press, 1948), 76. 2 Claude Lévi-Strauss, Myth and Meaning (New York: Schocken, 1995), 15. 3 Damen, ‘The Origins of Western Theatre’.

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Chapter One

theatre traditions did not evolve equally. Only in more sophisticated cultures do we have the germination of that which we understand as theatre today. All societies depend heavily on ritual. The entire dynamic of a complex ‘civilized’ society is built on the many normative and patterned mode of behaviour which span from simple human contact to large political borderization. Not only is it a necessity for the continuation of culture/tradition, but also a vital cog in the creation of power equations and establishment of such on the psychological construction of the individual. Rituals originated as attempts to control life and time. The unevolved mind believed in sympathetic magic, both the homeopathic and the contagious kinds.1 And such magic becomes entangled in elaborate ceremonies which in turn evolve into rituals. In fact, homeopathic magic is also known as imitative. The imitation of a successful hunt perhaps, or an activity that brought positive results – was designed to recreate the success of the first occurrence. It is here that we find the first instance of conscious imitation for a definite purpose. Since magic was soon to become a career, the spectacular value grew quickly and the entire construct became dramatic, involving major theatrics from the practitioner’s self. Imitation and impersonation were/are staples of rituals. And these theatrics invaded all phases of life, including death. These rituals then further evolved into religion. One can easily see why religion has so much theatre ingrained in it: religion and theatre are essentially siblings. It was only a matter of time since theatre separated itself and established a parallel, though not always unattached, formation for itself. The transition from ritual to drama happened with a fluidity that emphasizes their correlation, at least in the early days of theatre history. From this discussion one may reach a slightly problematic conclusion that religion needs theatrics to survive. As a matter of fact, all organized 1

If we analyze the principles of thought on which magic is based, they will probably be found to resolve themselves into two: first, that like produces like, or that an effect resembles its cause; and, second, that things which have once been in contact with each other continue to act on each other at a distance after the physical contact has been severed. The former principle may be called the Law of Similarity, the latter the Law of Contact or Contagion. From the first of these principles, namely the Law of Similarity, the magician infers that he can produce any effect he desires merely by imitating it: from the second he infers that whatever he does to a material object will affect equally the person with whom the object was once in contact, whether it formed part of his body or not. [James George Frazer, ‘The Principles of Magic’ from The Golden Bough. Web. 30 September 2016. .]

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religions depend on some kind of performance to continue even if they all ultimately speak of an omniscient, omnipotent, formless divinity. Perhaps this evolves out of the human need for spectacle – and therefore the arts and religion have remained entwined throughout most of human history. The second element is more psychological. It deals with the essential behavioral pattern of humanity. This is something Aristotle called mimesis. Mimesis has been traditionally translated as imitation. However, mimesis is much more than simple copying. A step ahead of ritual, mimesis negotiates with the aesthetic and consequently becomes the process of an aestheticized re-presentation of a particular event. Imitation is a fact of life. As Aristotle himself recognized, children learn through imitation and games. And the fact that Aristotle focused on imitation puts focus on the instructive part of theatre. There was considerable difference between Plato and Aristotle regarding this concept. Whereas Plato, and a few others, held mimesis to be wicked as it is essentially untrue, merely a reflection, which can be corruptly used, and used to corrupt, and which has the capacity of arousing various defiant sentiments/feelings in the population. Art as mimesis had tremendous potential to disrupt the social fabric. Therefore Plato wanted the poets banned from his Republic. Aristotle, on the other hand, was pro-mimesis as it could present noble and virtuous acts to people who failed to see them first-hand, as it could show moral violations and the consequent punishments and as it could purify through catharsis. Aristotle prescribed what kinds of people will inhabit which kinds of theatre. And he posited tragedy as the pinnacle of theatre as it showed only people of high moral possibility and their downfall which was designed to support norm and was clearly a warning against violation of any kind. Representation of the grotesque or the ugly also had aesthetic virtue and by their imitation society was given the establishment’s approach towards the marginalized. In a way, the Platonic objections were re-framed by Aristotle in such a way that they functioned not as antiestablishment, but essentially as pro-structure. In fact, if one looks closely at the theory of tragedy presented by Aristotle, and the contemporary tragedies, as well as the comedies, one would clearly see that the aim is one of cautioning. Transgression is unacceptable to the gods. The path of the hero is one of great pain. And the hero must suffer through incredible hardship and agony. Therefore, the audience might want to glorify and glamorize the heroes, but they will definitely not want to be one. Society is kept safe through catharsis not only because they purge the problematic emotions, but also because catharsis at the cost of others is acceptable, the ordinary citizen does not want to be the generator of catharsis amongst others. Even though

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Nietzsche says that the Apollonian wins over the Dionysian by the time Euripides is writing and the choric impulse that holds the audience together gives way to the more individualistic ‘judgmental’ approach; yet even here the Apollonian in the sense of the pure intellectual does not gain primacy,1 it is still a response that is primarily emotional and effecting catharsis takes away the “passion” of the viewer and thereby removes the possibility of true challenges to the structure. The individual feels empowered, but without influencing the power-fabric in any way. The proof that this theory works is nowhere better proved than in a postmodern play like Look Back in Anger in which the noise generated creates a lot of purgation of frustration, without really challenging the structure in any way. The structure can easily allow a little shouting, as long as the shouts contain pleading, the moment they become demands the structure begins to feel great unease. In many ways, at least in the Occidental paradigm, theatre has remained for a long time a great cleanser of public angst, presenting them with an illusion of protest, a veneer of discontent. It is not until the mid-twentieth century that we see any major departure in that approach. For the first time the “transhistorical poetics”, as termed by Peter Szondi,2 was altered and the essential structure of theatre as observed by the West till then was altered. And those who violated this norm of conformity were summarily discarded to the canonical margins. Whether conforming or not, one of the essential elements of theatre is the core re-presentation: imitation of an action which is worth imitating. The process of imitating must take into consideration certain issues while forming the core storytelling text: whether it will be a case of representation or presentation, whether it will be based on reality or mythology or mythical reality, whether the presentation will be shaped as flattery or sarcasm and which political purpose to serve. Of course these elements are basic to any form of storytelling and theatre is, ultimately, a sophisticated way of telling a story. Stories have had a significant position in the development of society as we know it, and in the development of ritualized religion. From oral stories, from (almost) gossip to formally structured literary instances, these stories have been the core of all literary activity. In fact, mythology itself is a series of once believed stories about super-natural ideas and theatre is but the elaborate collaborative performance factor added to the simple act of storytelling. The need for such performances arose as societies developed. Both the story and the 1

Nietzsche. The Birth of Tragedy. Trans. Douglas Smith (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 65-69. 2 Peter Szondi, Theory of the Modern Drama, Ed. and Trans. Michael Hays (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1987), 4.

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audience needed more than verbal telling or songs; enactment came into being as a development from basic performance and as the receivers needed more. The theatrical storytelling became much popular because it was visual and because the imitation was presented through enactment–the figures from the text coming to life–and because actual human figures were involved the sympathetic connection between the story and the audience could work more efficiently. The story came to ‘life’ and the experience was not one of reading a text, but witnessing, and therefore becoming a participant, in an event that could leave a lasting impression. Not only did theatre give an extended life to already existing stories–the classical texts surviving give ample evidence–they also generated new stories. The theatrical space became a kind of a factory for new mythologies supporting the structure and was sponsored by the structure. One may say that theatre, from its very beginning, was used more as a tool than a simple form of entertainment. The essential storytelling instinct was not the only driving force behind the inception of this complicated form. Speaking of storytelling, the primary element that we find in these ‘stories’ is the element of myth. Myth is fundamentally fantasy. We generally associate fantasy to be generated out of a need to create a parallel world far from reality – but the fantasies belonging to early civilizations were created to make sense of reality, to impose upon it a sense of structure. The stories of nature-gods and the methods of pacification-bribery all came into being from an instinct to prosper and not be limited to the process of natural selection. Fantasy, as a byproduct of intelligence, has a handsome amount of negative impacts too. The problem, of course, was when the fantastic was accepted not merely as the real, but also as the super-real that can dictate the merely-real. Soon the innocence of early humanity was manipulated by the pseudo-innocence of a number of people who were equipped with greater intelligence than most. And soon this sneaked in the equations of power, and once the significance of fantasy was realized, all tools available were used to their full potential to provide the populace with structural and structured warnings. Never challenge the gods – this is the key concept that one can find in most classical tragedies. The dignity of humankind and all that is very much there, but one must be prepared to be a tragic hero in order to reach that grandeur. In the history of humankind, martyrdom has remained seriously low in numbers, and behind many such one can see many inspirers. Normally, human beings want peace and quiet.

CHAPTER TWO SIGNS AND SEMIOTICS

One should start this discussion with the question ‘why’. As a matter of fact, this question should be there in any and all discussion appearing severally. To answer this I refer to J. Hillis Miller; he had said there are two ways of reading: the innocent and the demystified.1 The first allows the magic of literature to work, the second allows us to analyze. While the former is necessary, the latter is essential. Knowing the sign systems allows us a deeper glimpse into the working of theatre. And that, in turn, gives us a better understanding of the world created for our benefit. As we know, sign systems have two major parts – the signifiers and the signified. The interaction, often compromise, between these two constitutes the divergences that delightfully complicate the whole idea. The Semiotics of theatre practically began with the investigations of the Prague School. Following which luminaries like Roland Barthes and Roman Jacobson engaged in a variety of ruminations on theatrical linguistics. Among the many thinkers contributing to theatrical semiotics, the greatest impression was created by Charles Sanders Peirce. It was Peirce who gave us the ideas of “icon” (the object/image), the “index” (that points to the object/image) and “symbol”/“interpretant” (pointing out to a different unlinked meaning altogether). Icons are basically signs which are representative of the objects they signify. These signs may be visually similar or may not be. In fact, Peirce says that icons may be divided into three categories: image, metaphor and diagram. Images obviously carry sense-perception similarities. Advertisements often carry the painting or photograph of the concerned products. Metaphors are obviously indirect connections between the signifier and the signified. They may represent essential elements of the signified and not the signified itself. For instance, the image of a skull generally implies death. It is necessary to mention that icons, just as the other categories, are often culture-specific. Diagrams represent a structure or a system. The map of a country or the magnetic image of the heart 1

J. Hillis Miller, ‘How to Read Literature’, in The J. Hillis Miller Reader, ed. Julian Wolfreys (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2005), 256.

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represents the actual. Diagrams can have different encodings or different ways of depiction, but they point to the same object in different ways (the political map and the geological map denote the same country).1 Indices are rarely what they denote – they are indicative of the object they signify. They either refer or point to something other or more. As an example, one may mention gongs of a clock which refers to time; they are not primarily significant for their sound or musical quality. A similar sounding doorbell will not refer to time, but to the fact that someone wants the door opened. As with icons, Peirce classified the Index into three kinds. The first one is Tracks–as in animal tracks–which associate almost directly with the signified. Tire-tracks often, at least to the trained eye, can give away the car that had made them. Symptoms, the second category, are perhaps the most familiar – they are symptomatic of a phenomenon that they are generally associated with. Someone wearing spectacles will mean that there is something wrong with that person’s eye/s, a bandage would signify a wound. The third category, Designation, is the most disassociated sign. The Designators point to something entirely different from themselves. An arrow might give directions, the outline of a feminine form may signify a ladies’ toilet! Just like in verbal language, theatre language also depends much on the development of these signs and the translation of them into the audience’s psyche.2 Symbols are the most culturally specific. They depend entirely on convention. If esoteric symbols are used–as in the case of the poetry of William Blake–then the audience will fail to realize the significance. The most utilized symbol is, of course, language.3 A person belonging to a different linguistic background may follow the new language, but the nuances and connotations will escape him/her. These symbols interpret the actions/motivations of the characters. They mass-communicate the same idea to the audience. In theatrical dialogue this is of no little significance. There are traditional cultural symbols that we all often use without realizing. These signs are the most frequent and of the highest importance since, usually, the theatrical communication depends quite handsomely on these. Of course, to introduce such formulae in the analysis of theatre may seem constricting, yet it has its uses, at least from the academic point of view. Since theatre claims to have its own language, it is worthwhile to 1

Drew Huening, ‘Theories of Media’ in Symbol, Index, Icon, The University of Chicago. Web. 18 April 2016. . 2 Huening, Symbol, Index, Icon. 3 Huening, Symbol, Index, Icon

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look at it from the semiotic point of view. Just like in the case of language, theatre also comes with a pre-organized meaning. And the negotiation of that meaning and the interpreted meaning is what makes this whole study so interesting. The success and failure depends on how well the signs have been used or presented. And since communication is the keyword in theatre, all this becomes rather relevant. Of course, this is where the major paradox lies. Communication is never equal when we are dealing with a large audience. Each individual will respond differently. To demand the same response is to undermine one’s freedom of interpretation. Simple issues like interest in a particular drama–pleasure/politics/nepotism– become rather important, and they colour the response to a play. To demand the same response from a production is equally restrictive. And it is a fact that each and every production would have its own agenda. Tim Supple’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream does not correspond to any other production of the play and his use of seven languages–mostly Asian– speaks of a new objective, however global and extraordinary. One must also remember the key elements in literature – form and content. A set of signs may vary with the change of content even if the form is the same. And I am not speaking of different plays. This is where theatre departs from the other arts. The content remains the same in the case of all other texts, but if we look at performance as a text it differs every single time. A play presented seriously and the same play presented experimentally (perhaps from a feminist angle or from a racial angle) or comically would change with the modification of a couple of elements or signs with the others remaining intact. And perhaps it is the very art of theatre that demands more from the audience since the form has to be taken into account while appreciating a performance. The content by itself remains inadequate – rather the content must include many extra-textual elements. So, in the case of theatre, the dialogue, the setting, props, the bodylanguage, costumes, levels of make-up, lighting, acting, music – and all the things visible/audible during performance become immediate signs. These signs sometimes act individually, but for a perfect performance, they must blend seamlessly. As a much respected technician of the Bengali stage had commented, if an audience criticizes the lighting then it is a flaw; if they praise it, it is equally a flaw. Lighting should not even be noticed if it truly blends with the theatrical presentation. Barring fanatics, it is understood that such use of signs would create the perfect communication between the presentation and its target. It is only in the case of analysis that these individual elements would be noticed. But the experience of theatre should remain comprehensive.

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Chapter Two

This is exactly the point of departure between a written dramatic text and theatre. Whereas, as a text, the play remains somewhat fixed– changing only in relation to the reader’s interpretation–the performance becomes a cooperative, and therefore various, enterprise. The other major departure is that the play takes shape in the imagination of the reader, while enactment involves real people, who act in corresponding real time, giving it the illusion of actuality. Sukanta Chaudhuri writes about the written text: Hermeneutic and compositional inputs constitute a diffusing process that extends the boundaries of a text. The first is closely linked to the conditions of physical production. Its basic input is the specific text, which it showcases and holds forth. The second moves away from the material manifestation of the text and, very soon, from its specific form and wording into what Peter Donaldson calls the ‘expanded text’. New conceptual, ‘creative’ inputs begin to enter: there is new, independent verbalization. This can take derived, ‘secondary’ forms like annotation or commentary; but these link up the ‘original’ text with other, unquestionably primary texts, assimilating it to various discourses, making of it not a sharply defined, isolated work but a node in a web. It is extended in turn by redactions that are new creations, ‘modelled on’, ‘inspired by’, ‘drawing on’ or ‘alluding to’ the previous work, setting new cycles of origin in motion. Thus all texts participate in a total circulation, a total discourse. Individual texts rise from this continuum only to resume their places within it. It is this manifold process that I would call ‘participative’.1

In the case of theatre this ‘participative’ element becomes multidimensional. Everyone involved in the process becomes a reader and a performer and it becomes a conglomeration of interpretations even before it reaches the reader/viewer. Enactment itself involves both time and space, the latter being unnecessary in the case of a textual reading. It is not only the stage space that is significant–with the production unit’s ideas of setting–it is the very stage that creates the distance. It is no longer the inner-space of the reader, but something that he/she would experience outside. Reading Macbeth creates a sympathetic link with the protagonist that remains very different when one sees a performed version with a different man presenting the character–speaking, walking, and behaving– in his very own way. Theatre, more often than not, needs this distancing. Even in the case of performance, there are prescribed limits which are often tried and tested. Performance arts such as mime, the circus, 1 Sukanta Chaudhuri, The Metaphysics of Text. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010)., 107.

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acrobatics, street theatre, and opera, among others – often invade the prim ‘theatre-proper’. Such challenges enrich more than violate. The fact that the actors are aware of the audience, for whom they are performing, is an important issue. This is sometimes utilized as in breaking the fourth wall. On the other hand, the performances which do not have any contact between the audience and the action on stage often add to them the aura of voyeurism. Only in the second case the humanity/reality of the characters becomes more specified, and not that of the actors (unless they make mistakes). Performance, in this case dramatic, is without a doubt iconic. Each and every action is a sign – that is the key concept of mimesis. An imagined reality reproduced. There are very few experiments–Pirandello’s Six Characters in Search of an Author for instance–which try to create the illusion of immediate time and space. Normally, both dialogue and gesture are used to create specific reactions – when they stand independently and are universal they are iconic. Often the lack of dialogue focuses more on the gestures – as in the case of most of the theatres of the Absurd. Those reactions may vary from person to person, but overall the general effect mostly remains the same. In the case of bad performances the result is incongruity and unintended mirth in the audience. Then there are the index signs – such as pointing a finger towards something to denote direction. Like personal pronouns, they are dependent on a set of previous events or words. The final category is the symbolic. Like language they are specific. The word ‘stage’ would denote the stage only to those who understand English. If we use the word mauncho, it would mean nothing to anyone but those who understand Bengali. Gestures also suffer from such cultural specificity – the middle finger perhaps can be a not so decent example. The gestures, of course, can be intentional or unintentional. Umberto Eco had spoken of ‘natural signs’ and ‘non-intentional signs’. In fact, it was Tadeusz Kowzan, a Polish thinker, who applied the divisions of ‘natural’ signs having cause and effect relationships like smoke and fire and ‘artificial’ signs which are results of human action/will.1 These, of course, can be mutually changeable. Putting a finger to the mouth would be a signal to stop speaking in almost any culture. But emotion inspired signs are very different and may vary even from individual to individual. An actor has to concentrate and adopt the possible gestures of the character being played. Often characters have specific eccentricities in their language or behaviour. In those cases, it becomes easy to locate and define that fictional person. But as in the case of plays by Pinter – one 1

Keir Elam, The Semiotics of Theatre and Drama (London: Routledge, 2002), 17.

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Chapter Two

needs to understand the whole class system before one can approach any of his characters. Even in the case of stage props the slightest presence/position can become very significant. The positioning of the door, a painting, flowers, colour of curtains and so on – each can add or defeat a layer of meaning. Eco himself moved away from this simplistic division and in the case of theatre he presented his support of Peirce and asserted the uniqueness of theatrical semiotics. It is necessary to quote him here: So the semiotics of theatrical performance has shown, during our short and introductory analysis, its own proprium, its distinguishing and peculiar features. A human body, along with its conventionally recognizable properties, surrounded by or supplied with a set of objects, inserted within a physical space, stands for something else to a reacting audience. In order to do so, it has been framed within a sort of performative situation that establishes that it has to be taken as a sign. From this moment on, the curtain is raised. From this moment on, anything can happen…..1

To go back to the initial question – why we must deal with the signs, Martin Esslin has the perfect answer. Just as a cricket match is no fun to watch without knowing the rules, and much more enjoyable when one understands each and every nuance and gesture – drama can become even more appreciable with the knowledge of the signs. It then becomes not merely a story told on stage, but something that the viewer can completely grasp.

1

Umberto Eco, ‘Semiotics of Theatrical Performance’, The Drama Review (Theatre and Social Action Issue) 21.1 (1977): 107-17. JSTOR. Web. 19 April 2016. .

CHAPTER THREE THE THEATRICAL TEXT

Theatre and performance are now considered to be texts in their own right. The difference between theatre and a written text, or a cinematic text, is that the theatrical text changes with each and every performance. It is a text that is truly ephemeral and therefore the value of such textuality is unimaginable. Each theatrical presentation is constructed of so many elements–each element modulating differently each time–that there can be no consistency from one to another. The written word changes with time and evolution of language – the theatre language shifts its meaning because it is made of human activity, including human speech and performance, which changes with the subtle changes in the performer’s self. The written text is merely the starting point of a performance and is fixed – barring, of course, interpretation which is and should be always variable. The written play turns into something else when presented on stage. Therefore, reading a play is one kind of experience and watching the same one is quite another. This may seem similar to the experience of reading a text and watching a film-version of it, but the difference is in the fact that every viewing of the film will be the same, whereas if one sees a play a number of times, the experience is bound to be different. This is one of the reasons many playwrights refuse to comment on their plays. Particularly the Postmodernists like Samuel Beckett, Tom Stoppard and Harold Pinter refuse to explain their work not merely because they would like their work to speak for itself, but also because the work itself changes with each production. One of the most complicated issues in the world of Arts is grasping the reader’s final impression of any text. Historically, this has been quantified as catharsis, projected as the sublime and so on. In fact, it is in the twentieth century that the focus has fallen on the audience rather than on the author. Even with the primacy of the reader, the task of understanding the reading mind has remained practically impossible since the variousness is mind-boggling. Manipulations of the expectations of the audience have been attempted as the formulaic restrictions practiced traditionally have conditioned the viewer/reader to expect certain trends.

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But with such manipulations now ceasing to be surprising, the dynamic of audience manipulation has drastically changed. If one uses the deceptively simple idea of satisfaction, then perhaps the idea of audience-response can be better understood. The new idea of a text is no longer limited to authorial authority; a new text is a collaborative construction of the author and the reader, and in the case of theatre, this becomes a much greater collaboration with the playwright, the director, the actors, the technicians and the audience-member coming together to create a final meaning for that performance. It is not merely a question of interpretation on the viewer-member’s part, but also that of construction. The question of liking-disliking is very different as it depends on the psychological makeup of the individual and will certainly vary from one individual to another. If we look at the individual viewer’s experience, the first two elements that he/she will notice are the posters and the stage, quite like the feel of a book and its cover. In fact, the modification of the stage-construct has a significant impact on the viewing mind. The impact of a picture-frame stage is not comparable to that of a performance on the street. Quite a few plays demand such locational restriction. Tim Supple’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, with its seven languages and different acting styles, was meant to be performed in the open. But when it was taken indoors and framed within a conventional stage the impression was very different and at least to this author quite diminished.1 It was less satisfactory, although strictly in comparison. The audience member who had only attended the second instance would have a different experience, but which definitely will not include the advantage of the openness of an exposed and much larger stage. The whole idea of street theatre is designed to make the audience a more active participant in the process of signification. Unlike in the case of the picture-frame stage experience, where the audience members interpret and personally create their own individual texts, in street theatre the merging of the on and offstage presences create a different dynamic altogether. The illusion seems less of an illusion and the reality-value increases manifolds. This is why activist theatre prefers this form. Involving the audience in the action of the play in such manner is practically impossible in the case of the traditional stage-oriented performances. The setting is the next element. In fact, if one was to extend the comparison of theatre with the written text, then in the latter acting, light, setting, sound, all come together to become words. However, it is 1 A Midsummer Night's Dream. By William Shakespeare. Dir. Tim Supple. Tolly Club, Kolkata. 30 Apr. 2006

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inappropriate to continue with such a comparison and consider such diverse elements equal to words which by their own nature are uni-dimensional symbols on paper. Their complexity is connotative; whereas the theatrical elements contain different physio-cognitive actions. Coming back to the point in hand, the presence or absence of setting is fundamental in the establishment of the performance itself. It is a kind of locating or dislocating that allows the viewer to enter the mode of the play. The playwright, unlike the author, does not have the luxury of introducing his/her characters in a void. The stage must be there, and the stage must have certain indicators which the audience will read. The stage may change from scene to scene, but not in the middle. Though experimentations have been common, the general trend is against disrupting the scene midway. The absence of props is a statement/strategy, just as their deliberate positioning. If one thinks of George Bernard Shaw or John Osborne, one would immediately see the strategy of the playwright. They need their audience to locate the stage specifically. Shaw begins Arms and the Man with: Night. A lady's bedchamber in Bulgaria, in a small town near the Dragoman Pass, late in November in the year 1885. Through an open window with a little balcony a peak of the Balkans, wonderfully white and beautiful in the starlit snow, seems quite close at hand, though it is really miles away. The interior of the room is not like anything to be seen in the east of Europe. It is half rich Bulgarian, half cheap Viennese. Above the head of the bed, which stands against a little wall cutting off the corner of the room diagonally, is a painted wooden shrine, blue and gold, with an ivory image of Christ, and a light hanging before it in a pierced metal ball suspended by three chains. The principal seat, placed towards the other side of the room and opposite the windows, is a Turkish ottoman. The counterpane and hangings of the bed, the window curtains, the little carpet, and all the ornamental textile fabrics in the room are oriental and gorgeous: the paper on the walls is occidental and paltry. The washstand, against the wall on the side nearest the ottoman and window, consists of an enamelled iron basin with a pail beneath it in a painted metal frame, and a single towel on the rail at the side. A chair near it is of Austrian bent wood, with cane seat. The dressing table, between the bed and the window, is a common pine table, covered with a cloth of many colors, with an expensive toilet mirror on it. The door is on the side nearest the bed, and there is a chest of drawers between. This chest of drawers is also covered by a variegated native cloth; and on it there is a pile of paper backed novels, a box of chocolate creams, and a miniature easel with a large photograph of an extremely handsome officer, whose lofty bearing and magnetic glance can be felt even from the portrait. The room is lighted by a candle on the

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Chapter Three chest of drawers, and another on the dressing table with a box of matches beside it. The window is hinged doorwise and stands wide open. Outside, a pair of wooden shutters, opening outwards, also stand open. On the balcony a young lady, intensely conscious of the romantic beauty of the night, and of the fact that her own youth and beauty are part of it, is gazing at the snowy Balkans. She is covered by a long mantle of furs, worth, on a moderate estimate, about three times the furniture of her room. Her reverie is interrupted by her mother, Catherine Petkoff, a woman over forty, imperiously energetic, with magnificent black hair and eyes, who might be a very splendid specimen of the wife of a mountain farmer, but is determined to be a Viennese lady, and to that end wears a fashionable tea gown on all occasions.1

The details which are given here had to be followed. Each and every stage direction has a purpose and tells the audience something about the characters or the location/period or the events to be. The comments about the clothing and the furniture, the comments on the characters are all for the performers. The audience is not supposed to be aware of such detailed instructions. But, here the playwright becomes tyrannical and disallows the director any alteration that he creatively or practically may have wanted to do. Of course, the director can always adapt – but that is another dynamic. Such adaptation would be in the details, but the careful setting of the room must be kept similar, even if not exact. Otherwise the play would not have the construction that is required of it. John Osborne’s Look Back in Anger has a similar issue. It begins with: The Porter’s one-room flat in a large Midland town. Early evening. April. The scene is a fairly large attic room, at the top of a large Victorian house. The ceiling slopes down quite sharply from L to R. down R are two small low windows. In front of these is a dark oak dressing table. Most of the furniture is simple, and rather old. Up R is a double bed, running the length of most of the back wall, the rest of which is taken up with a shelf of books, neckties and odds and ends, including a large, tattered toy teddy bear and soft, woolly squirrel. Up L is a door. Below this a small wardrobe. Most of the wall L is taken up with a high, oblong window. This looks out on the landing, but light comes through it from a skylight beyond. Below the wardrobe is a gas stove, and, beside this, a wooden food cupboard, on which is a small, portable radio. Down C is a sturdy dining

1

George Bernard Shaw, Arms and the Man, Ed. A. C. Ward (Hyderabad: Orient Blackswan, 2011), 1-2.

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table and three chairs, and, below this, L and R, two deep, shabby leather armchairs. At rise of curtain, Jimmy and Cliff are seated in the two armchairs R and L, respectively. All that we can see of either of them is two pairs of legs, sprawled way out beyond the newspapers which hide the rest of them from sight. They are both reading. Beside them, and between them, is a jungle of newspapers and weeklies. When we do eventually see them, we find that Jimmy is a tall, thin young man about twenty-five, wearing a very worn tweed jacket and flannels. Clouds of smoke fill the room from the pipe he is smoking. He is a disconcerting mixture of sincerity and cheerful malice, of tenderness and freebooting cruelty; restless, importunate, full of pride, a combination which alienates the sensitive and insensitive alike. Blistering honesty, or apparent honesty, like his, makes few friends. To many he may seem sensitive to the point of vulgarity. To others, he simply a loudmouth. To be as vehement as he is to be almost non-committal. Cliff is the same age, short, dark, big boned, wearing a pullover and grey, new, but very creased trousers. He is easy and relaxed, almost to lethargy, with the rather sad, natural intelligence of the self-taught. If Jimmy alienates love, Cliff seems to exact it – demonstrations of it, at least, even from the cautious. He is a soothing, natural counterpoint to Jimmy. Standing L, below the food cupboard, is Alison. She is leaning over an ironing board. Beside her is a pile of clothes. Hers is the most elusive personality to catch in the uneasy polyphony of these three people. She is turned in a different key, a key of well-bred malaise that is often drowned in the robust orchestration of the other two. Hanging over the grubby, but expensive, skirt she is wearing is a cherry red shirt of Jimmy’s, but she manages somehow to look quite elegant in it. She is roughly the same age as the men. Somehow, their combined physical oddity makes her beauty more striking than it really is. She is tall, slim, dark. The bones of her face are long and delicate. There is a surprising reservation about her eyes, which are so large and deep they should make equivocation impossible. The room is still, smoke-filled. The only sound is the occasional thud of Alison’s iron on the board. It is one of those chilly spring evenings, all cloud and shadows. Presently, Jimmy throws his paper down.1

Without this stage Look Back in Anger does not work. Since this is the continuous setting, the markers given by Osborne are of immense significance. There is not an element which is superfluous. Osborne, like Shaw, dictates not only the setting but also the characters he is about to present. He jealously keeps his control over all the three principal characters. The audience would have a visual feast at the beginning of the play and Alison is allowed to do a little bit of ironing before the dialogues 1 John Osborne, Look Back in Anger. Ed. G. J.V. Prasad (Delhi: Pearson Longman - Faber and Faber, 2006), 1-2.

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commence so as to give the spectators scope to observe and assess the setting. Similarly, Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot has to have the minimalistic stage that it has. Unlike in Shakespearean times, when stage directions were unnecessary–for practical difficulties, as well as for the sheer fact that the stage was always the same–and details were gathered from the dialogue, the manipulation of stage space in modern and postmodern times is something the audience is equipped to notice and evaluate. Shakespeare could easily write a balcony scene as he knew that his stage already has a balcony in it! Just like Beckett, Harold Pinter too dislikes detailed stage directions. The Birthday Party begins with: The living-room of a house in a seaside town. A door leading to the hall down left. Kitchen hatch, centre back. Kitchen door up right. Table and chairs, centre. PETEY enters from the door on the left with a paper and sits at the table. He begins to read. MEG’s voice comes through the kitchen hatch.1

This is as minimal as it gets. In fact, rarely does Pinter give any detail except a few instructions regarding movement. His directions are mostly like: She exits, left. STANLEY stands. He then goes to the mirror and looks in it. He goes into the kitchen, takes off his glasses and begins to wash his face. A pause. Enter, by the back door, GOLDBERG and MCCANN. MCCANN carries two suitcases, GOLDBERG a briefcase. They halt inside the door, then walk downstage. STANLEY, wiping his face, glimpses their backs through the hatch. GOLDBERG and MCCANN look round the room. STANLEY slips on his glasses, sidles through the kitchen door and out of the back door.2

The movements are, at times, dictated in detail. But no other information is given by the playwright and what the audience will see is the interpretation of the director and the actors and therefore Pinter’s plays are more collaborative in the final impression-making than plays by many others. Most of the play-texts have little mention, unless crucial to the plot, of light and sound. These ‘technicalities’ are left to the performancemanagers. But even if there is static simple light, that is decision to be 1 2

Harold Pinter, The Birthday Party (London: Faber and Faber, 1991), 9. Harold Pinter, The Birthday Party, 27.

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taken. Light manipulations are significant in the construction of the impression or of the meaning. Similarly, sound is also a major factor. The placement of sound equipment–and not merely the background score or thematic inclusions–modulate the performance. The acting process is limited and determined by simple positions of microphones and catchers. In the case of a performance without any such equipment the vocal capacities of performers become of the utmost consequence. Even the slightest mistake can jar the whole effect and break the illusion (if there is an illusion to be created). Even in the case of epic theatre–where the theatricality is highlighted at the cost of stage-realism–mistakes of any kind, particularly sound and light, can make the whole structure fail. The supreme primacy of the plot fades somewhat when it is subjected to performance. The plot is the ruling factor, but it is a temporal progression that gets vindicated only with the completion of performance. It is entirely carried through by acting–both verbal and physical–and that acting is complemented by all the other elements so far mentioned. The actors have the responsibility of carrying the ‘story’ forward and develop the roles they play. In fact, the plot remains significant as far as it is the story element that the audience is looking for and it becomes crucial only if the audience is already familiar with the story and can recognize or compare the movements in every step. One of the reasons why a play like Waiting for Godot creates a lesser impact on a person already familiar with it is the fact that he or she knows what to expect. Manipulating the expectation of a resolution is fundamental to the theatrical process. For the audience/reader a plot becomes a plot only at the end – before that it is only a series of scenes unfolding. It may be the point of beginning for the production, but for those who do not have the luxury of reading the written text earlier, the play becomes what it is supposed to be only at the end when the audience is given the final impression – whether that impression will provide satisfaction or not is another question altogether. Then there is the question of intertextual presences as in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. Such plays presuppose familiarity with an earlier text. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead does not work without an understanding of Hamlet. The significance of Spectacle cannot be disregarded. However much one may insist on realism or naturalism, without the Spectacular the audience will not be engaged in or impressed with the text in concern. The Spectacle does not need to be spectacular in either the Aristotelian or the CGI sense. The isolation of the stage or the segregation of the performance in a dedicated space automatically brings in the idea of spectacle in the sense of a show removed from reality. What people need to understand is

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the concept that what they are witnessing is an ordered and preordained set of events presented to them for their entertainment, and then they will pay attention. Two people arguing in the street may be overlooked by many (unless they have nothing else to do) but the same would be practically devoured when they are presented in the form of a soap-opera or a ‘megaserial’. The artificiality of the text and the packaging of even familiar events in ordered language and action is the Spectacle that people appreciate. In addition to that, if there are Spectacular elements–an actor playing Rochester’s dog in the theatre version of Jane Eyre1 or the Bridge sequence in The Caucasian Chalk Circle2 or the trapeze like dance performances of the fairies in A Midsummer Night’s Dream3–the audience is further entertained and their reading becomes closer, but more significantly, their memory is forced to record such and replay it so that the final construction remains with them for a longer period of time. This can also be achieved by exceptional performances and quite often melodrama can be well utilized. Musicals have the unreal naturally. Whether it is a production on a realistic storyline, like The Fiddler on the Roof, or on a fantastic one, such as Wicked,4 the songs and the special effects, particularly in the case of the latter, do give the audience many more elements than the non-musical productions. The anti-establishment mood that Wicked presented, through its reinvention of the canonical prostructure Wizard of Oz was suitably represented by what at first seemed light-hearted song and dance, but slowly took on a very different hue. The functionality of the theatrical text is another issue that is being thoroughly explored. It is indeed interesting that sources for theatrical performances are no longer written plays, but a wide variety of other generic texts as well. Novels have always been dramatized, canonical plays have regularly been adapted to suit contemporary needs; but now plays are inspired by news events, poems, paintings and such and the 1 Charles Spencer, ‘Jane Eyre, Bristol Old Vic’, review of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre, by Sally Cookson, The Telegraph, February 21, 2014, Theatre Reviews. Web. 12 December 2016. < http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/theatrereviews/10654110/Jane-Eyre-Bristol-Old-Vic-review.html>. 2 The current author’s production showing the Bridge constructed with the performers standing around blocks. The Caucasian Chalk Circle, by Bertolt Brecht, adapted and directed by Siddhartha Biswas, University of Calcutta Centenary Hall, Kolkata. 08 Apr. 2014, Performed by Students of the Department of English, University of Calcutta. 3 A Midsummer Night’s Dream directed by Tim Supple. 4 Wicked, directed by Winnie Holzman, Apollo Victoria Theatre, London. 28 Feb. 2007.

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result is that we now have a performance-script first and perhaps a published play afterwards. The relationship between the theatrical text and the written text is going through a major shift – in fact the stage or performance space is no longer looking merely towards literary texts, but is looking at the world and generating necessary responses through its own elements of textuality.

CHAPTER FOUR THEATRE AND POLITICS

Theatre, in general, has always been directly associated with contemporary life. It is not only a product of its surroundings; but more often than not it is a commentary or protest against the social negatives. There is a strong tradition of ‘political theatre’ but such theatre is often limited by its own premises. Peter Brook believes that if a play is to be “socially useful” it must go beyond polemics.1 David Hare tells us, not excluding playwrights like Bertolt Brecht, that a great many of the so-called political plays have the problem of believing in the answers they provide. Neither history nor life is so easily formulated. If a writer remains a slave to a single ideology then that may lead to blindness.2 David Hare writes about the playwright: He can put people’s sufferings in a historical context; and by doing that, he can help to explain their pain. But what I mean by history will not be the mechanized absolving force theorists will like it to be; it will be those strange uneasy factors that make a place here and nowhere else, make a time now and no other time. A theatre which is exclusively personal, just a place of private psychology, is inclined to self-indulgence; a theatre which is just social is inclined to unreality, to the impatient blindness I’ve talked about today.3

Theatre has to look at life, at society, at the collective, in its entirety. Otherwise, there would be no human story, but only a thesis, a sermon. As we know drama originated from ritual and religion. In fact, since ancient religion was a part of everything in everyday life, it is hardly surprising that the arts would be anchored in issues we may consider superstitious by modern standards. As Fritz Graf writes in ‘Religion and Drama’: It was not what one believed that counted, but participation in the collective rituals of one's group. This did not preclude personal piety or personal scepticism, even agnosticism, nor did it exclude public debate on 1

Peter Brook, Threads of Time (London: Methuen, 1999), 138. David Hare, ‘The Play is in the Air: On Political Theatre’, Writing Left-Handed (London: Faber and Faber, 1991), 31. 3 Hare, ‘The Play is in the Air: On Political Theatre’, Writing Left-Handed, 34. 2

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Chapter Four the character of the divine powers and their role in the life of the city, the family and each individual. Drama, as representation of human life, reflects the importance of ritual in the lives of Greeks and Romans. But it also reflects their complex and often contradictory thinking and speaking about the gods and heroes who were honoured in the rituals, all the more contradictory in the absence of any process for creating binding dogmas about what humans were to think about their gods.1

In fact, the religious tension can be felt through the arts themselves. John Hesk writes in ‘The Socio-political dimension of ancient tragedy’: The 'socio-political dimension' of fifth-century Greek tragedy amounts to its engagement with the collective ideology and competitive ethos of the democratized classical polis on the one hand, and more traditional Homeric and mythic conceptions of religion and heroic self-assertion on the other.2

The writers of tragedy in particular portrayed the contemporary dilemmas quite thoroughly in their plays. The myths used as the core were all known, it was the interpretation and presentation that mattered much in the experience not only artistic, but socio-political as well. Since drama is a matter of public performance, the experience transmitted is of collective nature, thereby not limiting itself to individual response which can be easily contained or restrained, drama remains to this day more of a sociopolitical entity than merely an aesthetic one. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why the ultra-individualistic Romantic and Victorian plays did not find takers. However, the dilemma on the part of the authors did not veil the power equations. Whatever the challenge may be, the result was always the same. Those who contested or opposed not only lost, but found a fate not entirely pleasant. Aeschylus opens his Prometheus Bound with violence and torture – it is a continuous act of violence magnificent in scope and is unending. Prometheus is a Titan and is immortal, yet this torture is intolerable even to his godlike nature. He is a figure who helped Zeus in his war against the Titans, but he is made to face such punishment because he was sympathetic to humanity against the wish of the king of Olympus. He has a choice, but in his heroism he chooses not to compromise and suffer the agony of the eagle eating his liver which will grow again immediately, therefore 1

McDonald, Marianne, and J. Michael Walton, eds. The Cambridge Companion to Greek and Roman Theatre (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2006), 55. 2 McDonald and Walton, The Cambridge Companion to Greek and Roman Theatre, 72.

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removing the possibility of death. Aeschylus presents Zeus with extreme magnificence – establishing and displaying not only his grandeur but the absolute nature of his power. There is no possibility of dissent here – anyone who decides to go against the power-structure must be ready to suffer unimaginable agony. We have similar examples almost in all classical tragedies. Oedipus Rex clearly shows that one cannot escape fate and one should not try. One text which remains remarkable is Euripides’ Medea. Not only is it a text with a strong woman-centric message–to a world where women are not allowed to move without chaperones and they hardly have a voice in their existence–but also one in which the inscrutable supernature exerts its power over humanity. Medea violates many rules, and in killing her children, she goes against the conventional locus of the mother. Jason’s betrayals appear to have political logic and Medea’s demand of faith seems hardly considerable in the system that we see. Human justice is incapable of handling the granddaughter of the sun, an immortal sorceress who can go against patriarchy with such violence and Euripides follows the myth and allows Medea to leave in a dragon-driven chariot, thereby asserting her supernaturality once more. The play ends with the chorus singing: In heaven, Zeus holds the balance. Expect the unexpected. What mortals dream, the gods frustrate; For the impossible they contrive a way. So it was with what happened here, today.1

Whether justified or not, the dreams of mortals are always subject to the whims of the higher beings and translated into a tribal society this higher whim represented as much the rulers as the gods that they were worshipping. Lucius Annaeus Seneca’s Thyestes belongs to the next stage of history. And we see the exercise of power presented through macabre spectacle. The tragedy of belonging to the house of Tantalus is unavoidable and the sons of Thyestes become sacrifices in the game of hatred between brothers. The house of Tantalus is guilty of all the sins one can think of – murder, adultery, incest, pride and so on. And amongst all this Thyestes is the weakling who does not want to be powerful and go against his brother. But his brother Atreus does not let such trifles affect him. This is a play in 1 Euripides. Medea. Trans. Frederic Raphael and Kenneth McLeish (London: Nick Hern, 1994), 49.

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which we see Thyestes unknowingly eating the flesh of his sons and drinking their blood. We see violence not sparing even a man who looked to avoid it. The crisis and corruption of power firmly prove that gaining power only leads to such fate. Power is not to be desired. Such perversion as we find in the play speaks volumes about the contemporary court–not surprising as Seneca was a tutor to Nero and had to commit suicide after a failed conspiracy1–and the politics that ruled Rome then. If we move to Elizabethan times we will see the same function of cautioning – only by this time the scope has enlarged. The contemporary fear of over-reaching which may destroy the newfound fabric of England as a nation is presented through the majority of canonical plays. Edward the Second shows how the monarch must stay limited within his own sphere of responsibilities and Marlowe negotiates with such weakness that may lead to national disaster. In fact, Mortimer, the key tragic figure, shows the ill effects of over-reaching. Although we see him as a better monarchical possibility, yet his lower birth excludes the possibility and he can but be the Lord Protector ruling by proxy. Such ambition cannot be accepted and the young Edward the Third manages to remove him and it is evident that that cannot be done without the support from other aristocrats. The supernatural now has been replaced by the political – but the core idea remains the same: limits must never be crossed. The Jew of Malta, Tamburlaine and Dido, Queen of Carthage – all these plays look at both ‘fatal flaws’ and ‘errors in judgment’ which lead principal characters to fall. But it is Doctor Faustus in which Marlowe focuses on how ambition leads not merely to ruin, but to eternal damnation and that occurs in a way that is as violent as the end of the second Edward. In the case of Macbeth, probably the widest read play by Shakespeare, the issue that had always bothered the present author is that of how the audience is manipulated into being relieved when the hero dies. Macbeth is allowed to hold on to our sympathy by an exquisitely presented poetic structure. What Shakespeare had to do was to remove the good king and focus on the Red King,2 as history has always called Macbeth. The ten years of good kingship are forgotten not only due to spatial crunch, but also because a man who has become king through regicide (as well as a murder of a kinsman and of a guest) could not be presented as a man who 1

John Paul Adams, "Seneca, Thyestes," www.csun.edu. California State University Northridge, 22 July 2003. Web. 22 Apr. 2016. . 2 "Macbeth 'the Red King'" Education Scotland. Web. 22 Apr. 2016. .

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could prosper. Macbeth’s death brings the audience so much relief from the anxiety created by the text that the audience overlooks so many pertinent facts. First of all, the whole idea of bringing a foreign nation into one’s sovereign land is always a bad idea – and England was, even with a confessing Edward on the throne, not a saintly nation. No nation is. And Malcolm’s weakness introduces Scotland to an enemy far subtler. Malcolm, as a king, would no doubt be excellent for England, but Scotland seems to have been quite unlucky as far as its kings were concerned. However, the point is–even with the audience’s sympathy for Macbeth– that the idea of Macbeth winning can never take root. Macbeth is a lesson in monarchical politics – he is a warning beacon. His angst is perhaps greater than that of any other hero inhabiting the London stage space. It is absolutely unnecessary to point out that we may all admire Macbeth, but only a handful of us would actually want to be like him. That is something Shakespeare ensures. In England there were some tragedies in the Jacobean period, but apart from a few, they are mostly forgotten. For a while, in fact, from then onwards, comedy took on the primary position. It is not that tragedy disappeared from the stage; the old plays were re-presented and most of the new tragedies, in line of All for Love, did not leave much impact. The comedic space was always domestic and was linked to the larger political scene by occasional references such as that to be found in Twelfth Night and its commentary on the Puritans. But as there were major sociopolitical changes, drama too altered itself and satire became the genre of the time. The Restoration Comedy of Manners became a kind of mirror to society – it did not pass judgment but the reflection was the comment. And the corruption of values became the primary concern of the dramatic establishment. This is the time when French theatre was the major influence on the other side of the channel. The sequence of Comedy of Manners to Sentimental Comedy to Anti-Sentimental Comedy is familiar and they have mostly outlived their currency. However, William Congreve’s Way of the World remains a testament to both theatrical and social dedication. The deep distrust that pervaded society and seeped into the elementary level of interpersonal bonding is nowhere better presented than in what is known as the Proviso scene. Congreve presents us with two intelligent and socially-adjusted people who love each other but cannot expose/express themselves. They need to reach almost a legal understanding in order to proceed with what is supposed to be but is no longer normal because the norm itself has changed into a perverted paradigm. The intense artificiality that dominated the then society is accurately delineated through this play.

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Since during the Romantic and Victorian phases of English literature, theatre was not the preferred mode of expression–the few examples we have seem only to assert this idea–we have to look at the Moderns. Via Ibsen we come to Shaw and Galsworthy. But by this time there is a palpable shift in the approach to theatre. The voices are no longer necessarily complicit in asserting the perceived correctness. The voices are now beginning to point towards certain practices which are outdated and in fact completely corrupted. Theatre, at least in Europe, is transforming into something completely different. Whereas in earlier plays we discover hidden agendas–as contemporary interpretations of The Merchant of Venice would bear testimony to–the ushering of twentieth century sees a self-consciousness that is not limited to aesthetic experimentation, but extends to a large-scale awareness of theatre’s impact on society itself. Henrik Ibsen’s plays inspired George Bernard Shaw and a number of contemporaries. We have examples such as John Galsworthy who is looking at a number of issues in his plays like Justice, Strife and The Silver Box. Though not widely read or performed outside academic circles, Galsworthy’s Justice remains a major example of the ‘activist’ plays of the time. Galsworthy shows how a lower-class person like William Falder can become an easy prey to the compassion-less and socially-unaware system of law. Motive and circumstances play no part in the passing of judgment and a man is completely ruined through this lack of vision. While Galsworthy’s tone was serious and he was aiming for the pathetic if not the tragic, George Bernard Shaw produced a number of comedies on practically all the social issues of the day. From Arms and the Man in which he presented his thesis against romantic ideas of love and war to Mrs. Warren’s Profession which spoke of hypocrisy, prostitution and women’s position in society in general to Man and Superman which plainly tells us that mankind has essentially failed to grow philosophically and man’s success has been merely in technically manipulating nature. In Shaw we find the new woman, the satire of a society which is incapable of sustaining true humanity and the Nietzschean idea of the Superman who is a perfect combination of mental prowess and physical power. According to Shaw, as he repeatedly preached in his plays, society itself needed to evolve. The progress in technology and time had turned Victorian and preVictorian ideas obsolete so fast that the traditional European society was still unable to grasp with the new. Of course, Shaw was not content merely with his plays presenting his ideas. He wrote long introductions explaining and instructing the audience, perhaps sometimes bullying them with his humour. His tool was theatre, but he was not fully dependent on the stage. He knew and prepared his plays for the reading public as well. Although

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rarely taken seriously Shaw’s contemporary Oscar Wilde also engaged himself in scathing satire on the British class system. His The Importance of Being Earnest is a brilliant commentary on class and hypocrisy. However, the reason it finds little consideration and is classed as a ‘society’ comedy is because he is limited to satire and does not have an alternative plan and his work ultimately betrays his fascination for the aristocracy – of which he could never become a part. This was also the time when theatre was becoming a major tool of protest. From the Irish National Theatre movement to several anti-fascist movements, theatre became the major voice of criticism and dissent. Dario Fo’s Accidental Death of an Anarchist is one of the most translated plays which speak against fascism. The play was written on the occasion of the death of a suspected bomber. On 12 December 1969 a bomb exploded in a bank in Milan and killed sixteen people and injured around a hundred people. The police arrested two known anarchists and during their interrogation one of the arrested fell down ‘accidentally’ from a fourth floor window. This is the immediate occasion of Fo’s play. The play satirically looks at this whole process and how the police, representing the establishment, was trying to cover their tracks. This play is a landmark and finds itself performed during the rule of any regime which toys with civil liberties. Theatre, with such plays, enters mainstream politics. Perhaps one should point out at this point that the theatre of protest that Fo, Brecht and such others created in the other parts of the world, did not really take root in England. England remained traditional, conventional and conservative. Shaw’s plays were not attacks or challenges, but critiques, and even he was derided for being a socialist. The plays that were actually subversive were disallowed for public performance by the Lord Chamberlain’s office, which was in charge of giving permission for each and every new play being prepped for the stage. This practice remained until 1968.1 And playwrights like Edward Bond were not allowed to present their plays to the general public. They had to use the repertory theatres where the leaner audience came by invitation only. However, certain plays, which conformed to the allowed mode of protest, the old safety valve theory applied once more, were not only given permission but were actually promoted and celebrated as voices of youth and icons of liberality. The play that is exemplary from this point of view, iconic is the word, is John Osborne’s Look Back in Anger. This play was celebrated as the 1

John Nathan, "Censorship in the Theatre." The Telegraph (UK). 14 Apr. 2010. Web. 23 Apr. 2016. .

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play of the people; a play that honestly and unapologetically points out everything that is wrong with the country. Kenneth Tynan’s review in the Observer was the most congratulatory: All the qualities are there, qualities one had despaired of ever seeing on the stage – the drift towards anarchy, the instinctive leftishness, the automatic rejection of ‘official’ attitudes, the surrealist sense of humour . . . the lack sense of lacking a crusade worth fighting for . . . . The Porters of our time deplore the tyranny of good taste and refuse to accept ‘emotional’ as a term of abuse; they are classless, and they are also leaderless. Mr. Osborne is their first spokesman in the London theatre.1

In Look Back in Anger we see Jimmy Porter consistently criticizing all the establishments, but his primary problem is with the past. He is essentially jealous of people who are still doing well–perhaps at the cost of the others–and he is upset with England losing its glory. What he does not want is change. There is no alternative suggested, there is no demand made, there is no serious violence offered – and therefore neither Jimmy Porter nor John Osborne becomes a threat. This play offers a lot of noise that allows people to release their frustrations, giving them a satisfied feeling of doing something, and thereby creating a social catharsis which takes care of the anger. This anger is not problematic for the establishment – it is welcome. The establishment wins since it is seen as liberal in allowing the noise, and is in no danger since people are only requesting, albeit loudly, to be given some bits and pieces. At the end of the day Look Back in Anger does not present serious political philosophy or harmful satire. Edward Bond’s plays have always been deemed as problematic. Of course, when a play is called The Pope’s Wedding, it is not difficult to understand why there may be objections to it. In fact, his play Early Morning portrayed a lesbian relationship between Queen Victoria and Florence Nightingale. However, it is not because of such conscious controversy courting that Bond finds space in the discussions of political theatre, but for at least two of his plays, Saved and Lear, which present life and politics through a fabric of violence paralleled by the likes of A Clockwork Orange. Lear reinvents the theme of King Lear and posits in a modern dystopic setting. The onstage violence, there is a blinding and an autopsy and a gruesome torture that take place in front of the audience, is designed not to give the audience catharsis, but to jar them and disturb 1

Quoted in Stephen Lacey. British Realist Theatre: The New Wave in Its Context 1956-1965. (London: Routledge, 1995), 18.

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them to such an extent that they do not forget the play the moment they leave the auditorium. The audience, much in the tradition of Epic theatre, is supposed to be inspired to think about the issues, rather than end the play with an emotional resolution. Shakespeare began his King Lear politically, but his tragedy ended with Lear’s personal redemption. Bond does not believe in that. Saved was his second play and the play that Bond is mostly remembered for. It presented the lives of a number of young Londoners belonging to a lower stratum of life and their completely directionless and undisciplined life. This play has the infamous scene in which a baby in a pram is tortured by the primary characters in the play and is finally stoned to death. As expected the scene generated a lot of outrage but was championed by many, not the least of them being Laurence Olivier.1 Bond wrote: So human aggression has important features that make it more destructive than the aggression of other animals. It is animal aggression, but it has to be accommodated by our human minds, and presumably it appears to us as more alarming and frightening than it does to other animals. This is true of our subjective feelings of aggression as well as of the aggression we meet from outside. We have more complicated resources to deal with this increased vulnerability. When panic and dear become unbearable it is if we lied and said they were not there, and out of this lie we build social morality. Children are especially vulnerable in this way, as I have said, but we are all exposed to the same pressures throughout our lives. As animals we react to threat in a natural biological way; but we must also react in more complicated ways as human beings – mentally, emotionally and morally. It is because we cannot do this successfully that we no longer function as a species. Instead we have created all the things that threaten us: our military giantism, moral hysteria, industrial servitude, and all the ugly aggressiveness of a commercial culture.2

Bond is looking for and preaching a complete paradigm shift. In Lear he shows how neither monarchy nor revolution can result in the change that will create Utopia. Nevertheless, his message is to keep trying. Harold Pinter began with his plays looking at violence and violation practiced by the state within the domestic space. The Birthday Party was his first full length play. It was completely misunderstood when it was first staged, but since then has obtained iconic status. The play shows how the concept of domestic safety can easily be destroyed by agents of the 1

Ellis, Samantha. "Edward Bond, Saved, 1965." The Guardian (UK). 23 Apr. 2003. Web. 23 Apr. 2016. . 2 Edward Bond, Lear, Ed. Patricia Hern, (London: Methuen, 2006), Lxiii.

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establishment. The play, being typically Pinteresque, does not answer questions. From the identity of Stanley to the identity of his captors, from the past to the future of the captured, most issues are left unresolved. The idea is to focus on the violation at hand – the fact that the sanctuary of common life is so fragile that the mere whim of the establishment can shatter it without chance to remedy. The questions of human right and certainty disappear when we see the ease with which Goldberg and McCann can, without explanation or documentation, simply take Stanley away. In the process, they can traumatize a young woman and force the older woman to take shelter in denial. The lesson of the play is perhaps this: in order to survive in this world the two strategies that work best are escape and denial. The establishment will do whatever is necessary, and moral values or straightforward judgments pertaining to right and wrong do not work where power is concerned. Pinter became more directly political towards the later part of his career. His Mountain Language was inspired by the linguistic discrimination and widespread torture that the Turkish state unleashed on the Kurdish people. In the play we see wives looking for men who have disappeared, old women mercilessly mauled by dogs and the young woman who must do everything, including offering her body, so as to get information about her husband’s well being. Pinter claimed that this play is not about the Kurds, but, this is a situation more or less universal only some systems hide this better than the others. Paul Taylor wrote in The Independent: Milan Kundera has written that the final barbarity of totalitarian regime is that, by making its victims the butts of grim practical jokes, it even tires to deprive them of the tragic dignity which their sufferings merit. In a succession of short, jabbing scenes, Pinter's play introduces us to such a world. "You go out of your way to give them a helping hand and they fuck it up," is the plays grim, reductive punch line. With the young woman, Pinter explores a different atrocity to language. . . . But, after, she has been treated to the sight of the hooded, broken man-whom the soldiers try to pretend is not her husband-something in her snaps. Told of a man who comes in on Tuesdays and might be able to help her, she snarls, "Can I fuck him? If I fuck him will everything be alright?", clearly gaining physical release from her pretense of relishing in the four-letter words.1

The duration of this play is only 25 minutes but it creates quite an impact.

1

"Mountain Language - Premiere." HaroldPinter.org. Web. 23 Apr. 2016. .

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The theatre of protest took many shapes in the world. And in the United States of America several issues were addressed through this medium, and the question of racism was a major one. The voice of the “coloured” people, the African-Americans as they are currently known, was strongly represented through a number of plays. Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun shows how the black people must face all the challenges of life and face intense racism from all quarters. If there is a myth of a ‘black’ way of life, Hansberry clearly demolishes it and shows that life is the same and people are the same. Skin does not mean any degree of separation as far as dreams and problems are concerned. Brooks Atkinson wrote in the original review in The New York Times: Lorraine Hansberry touches on some serious problems. No doubt, her feelings about them are as strong as any one's. But she has not tipped her play to prove one thing or another. The play is honest. She has told the inner as well as the outer truth about a Negro family in the south-side of Chicago at the present time. Since the performance is also honest and since Sidney Poitier is a candid actor, A Raisin in the Sun has vigor as well as veracity and is likely to destroy the complacency of any one who sees it.1

Hansberry was the first black woman playwright to have her play performed on Broadway and her choice of not focusing on the issues of race alone makes a better point–giving the characters a human face rather than making them stereotypical carriers of voices–she manages to show life as it is and the poignancy and anguish speak for themselves. LeRoi Jones gave up his “slave” name and took the name Amiri Baraka. His Dutchman is about a white woman and a black man and their interactions. Through these Baraka manages to convey, with a biblical beginning of presenting Lula as Eve, the kind of labelling and segregation that comes naturally to the white psyche. Clay’s monologue constitutes the heart of the play and shows how there is a deep wound created by the racial treatment–even that without prejudice–this alienates the ‘other’ and pushes them towards violence. Hilton Als writes in The New Yorker: “Dutchman”’s rough iconoclasm is a kind of dissonant paean to that puritanism; it remains as seditious today as it was in 1964. (The night I saw it, the audience gasped when Lula attacked Clay’s mother, or, more specifically, the idea of black motherhood.) Here Baraka’s strengths as a 1

Brooks Atkinson, "Review of A Raisin in the Sun," The New York Times. 12 Mar. 1959. Web. 23 Apr. 2016. .

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Chapter Four dramatist make criticism of his later choices seem beside the point. One simply wants to enter into the taut narrative of the play, to be an observer on that train to nowhere. By bringing so much of America—its myths, its lore, its hatreds—onstage in “Dutchman,” Baraka changed the theatre forever.1

These plays take us to a place where art is no longer, to borrow from Hilton Als again, raceless.2 The idea of protest and the idea of showing a non-metaphorical world were necessary and playwrights like Hansberry and Baraka take us to that space without sacrificing the human faces they are representing. Theatre movements like that organized by The Interactive Resource Centre in Pakistan had been experimenting with street plays and their productions usually consisted of communicating directly with audience members. According to Mohammad Waseem, the director, quite often solutions come from the audience and even if the solution remains absent, locating the right question often becomes the more relevant issue. Working at the ground level, this group, like many such others, move around the country and interact with people and try to inspire the voice of the people. The Interactive Resource Centre has been training young theatre groups.3 Even in post-independence Indian theatre the idea of politics predominated. In West Bengal the theatrical scene was shared by the productions of Rabindranath Tagore’s musical plays–none without a strong political subtext–and the directly ideology-oriented (mostly Leftwing) theatre movements. Along with the class system and other traditional failures, the issue of religion and caste was major in many Indian theatrical scenes, particularly those from the North and South. Kandukuri Veeresalingam Pantulu writing in Telugu or Adya Rangacharya writing in Kannada was strongly criticizing socio-political conditions, whereas playwrights such as Bhisham Sahni, Habib Tanvir and Utpal Dutt, writing in Hindi and Bengali respectively, were associated with the proCommunism Indian Political Theatre Movement. For Utpal Dutt, theatre was an instrument for mass instruction, if not mass-inspiration. He was speaking for the people against subtly hidden forms of suppression and oppression. To him theatre was not the high-brow cultural space where 1

Hilton Als. "In Black and White: Amiri Baraka's Dutchman." The New Yorker. 5 Feb. 2007. Web. 23 Apr. 2016. . 2 Als, "In Black and White: Amiri Baraka's Dutchman." 3 Siddhartha Biswas, "Moitree Songbaad." Nandan. Jan. 2005, 63-66.

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aesthetic details were to be discussed and argued – but it was an unabashed propaganda with which people could be moved towards revolution. To this end he wrote and directed and performed in plays and engaged in Jatra performances in rural areas of Bengal. In Kolkata, Minerva theatre was a kind of headquarter for him. Angaar (Cinder, 1959) is considered to be the path-breaking production which began the series of plays that remains iconic in theatre of Bengal. Bertolt Brecht was Dutt’s primary inspiration, but he also looked towards Erwin Piscator. But he always adapted these Occidental theories and attuned them to his own agenda. Dutt realized that the European theories had their own socio-political dynamic and may not have the same effect on a culture such as ours. What he achieved was a kind of theatrical syncretism. Dutt’s target was to convert as many as possible. He was not merely looking for awareness but his aim was to form public opinion so as to effect a political change. Dutt said that political theatre is the ideological weapon that can counter the ideals promoted by the oppressors – ideas that we have come to believe as traditional Indian values.1 The Brechtian epic technique was necessary because he wanted the people to think – not to have an emotional response – but he knew that the audience will not be affected by the purely cerebral, they need entertainment and they need a neo-mythical structure. He said: Experiments in form should evolve from that tradition of folk culture from which the bourgeois tries to sever the masses. Theatrical experiment should evolve from that past which lies dormant in the audience’s memory.2

His plays such as Angaar (about coal miners), Ferari Fauj (The Runaway Army, 1961 – about the rebellion against the British in the 1930s) and Kallol (The Waves, 1965 – about the 1946 mutiny of the Royal Indian Navy) became reminders of a not so distant period of oppression and, more importantly, showed people the rich history of mass resistance that can be found in our part of the world. Most of his plays were full of quick trademark humour and had a large dose of melodrama. But these were the tools that Dutt used to connect to his audience. The contemporary political atmosphere was volatile and there were significant disruptions from the unsavoury arm of the establishment and Dutt was arrested and imprisoned without trial. He was imprisoned once again for six months in 1966. His crusade did not stop. He went back in history and presented stories that 1 2

On Theatre, 4. On Theatre, 20.

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allowed no legal complication to rise but offered exactly what he wanted to communicate. In Barricade (1972) he went to Hitler’s Germany, Ebar Rajar Pala (Enter the King, 1977) showed a megalomaniac actor who stood for a contemporary political personality; but in Duswapner Nagari (City of Nightmares, 1974) he showed the nightmarish Calcutta experience during the Emergency. Even when he was presenting his tribute to the legend of Bengali theatre Girish Chandra Ghosh, in Tiner Talowar (The Tin Sword, 1971), he included his theme of protest against the persecutors – the British in this case. Utpal Dutt’s theatre was much more nation-centric than that of Brecht’s. The latter’s plays focused on class and ideology while Dutt looked at class with a very specific geopolitical agenda. As his relationship with the Communist Party of India shows, he was more focused on the state of the masses than on any ‘universal’ (at least deemed so) ideology that was projected as the answer. He believed in Stanislavsky and his theatre became this fusion of the epic, the naturalistic and the mythical traditions. The other departure from Brecht was in the construction of the protagonist. While the Epic did not believe in heroes, Dutt was looking for central figures that epitomize the idea and spearhead the action. According to many of the critics who have written about him, this was due to Dutt’s fascination with Stalin. Another criticism that has been raised quite often is the issue of middle-class milieu. Theatre in Kolkata has always been a middle-class affair – both from the theatrician’s and the audience’s points of view. The actor/director/playwright segment even today is primarily filled in by the middle-class and the auditoriums are filled with the same. The criticism that has plagued this theatre, and the further complaint that this is why this theatre has not really flourished, is because even with global influence, this theatre has not been able to rise over middle-class values. One might go as far as to say that the preaching has been targeted at the already converted – and unfortunately this is the class which has never really engaged itself actively in any revolution. At least as far as the Bengali middle-class ethos is concerned, the intellectual has dominated. The urban middle-class Bengali has very rarely been good in actual action. This is a major problem even on the stage itself. The actors and directors have imported characters and stories or such inspiration from all over the world, but whatever the costume might be, very rarely has the production been able to transcend the local cultural flavour. This has not been limited to the inadequate costumes or make-up, but to the entire factor of representation. In the case of adaptations, the values and ideations have been brought nearer to the regional, and much has been lost in the process. That has served the purpose of identification, but the audience has never really

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been challenged to rise beyond their own moral/cultural limitations. In fact, it has often been seen that even the flavour of different classes have been unsatisfactorily represented. Perhaps realizing this, and for various other political reasons, Utpal Dutt looked at the other form of theatre available in Bengal. He was somewhat alienated from the mainstream Marxist groups because he had earlier aligned himself with the Naxalite movement and believed in Trotsky. He had left the Indian People’s Theatre Association (known popularly as IPTA) which he had founded along with Prithviraj Kapoor, Balraj Sahani, Ritwik Ghatak, Bijon Bhatacharya, Pandit Ravi Shankar and many such luminaries. And he understood that he needed to go closer to the soil, and far from the cozy prosceniums of the city, if he was to have any impact at all. This is what brought him to the Jatra performances that are so popular in rural areas. In 1969 he established his own Jatra company called Vivek Jatra Samaj. He wrote a number of Pala-s such as Rifle, Jaliwanwalabag, Mao Tse-Tung and so on. For one thing, he saw the amount of people that he could reach, and he also found theoretical parallels with the Renaissance European stage. He wrote: . . Jatra still has one great advantage over us – it is much closer to the masses, and reacts immediately to their needs and demands. By going through the repertoire of the 60-odd professional Jatra troupes in Bengal every year, you can tell pretty accurately what the rural masses are thinking.1

He modernized the Jatra to a large extent – introducing female actors, shortening the span of the performance, and manipulated the vivek and judi sections which function on a choric level in such a way that it almost creates a Brechtian alienation effect. Utpal Dutt used his tried and tested formula of using history to present a point and he went on to say that it was quite surprising how the rural people could quickly relate to the contemporary issues that were being indicated. Dutt’s work was rendered easier by the fact that Jatra already had a strong tradition of historical Pala-s. His most famous Pala is Sanyasir Tarabari which re-presents the Sanyasi rebellion of the 18th century. Utpal Dutt continued to work on both the Jatra and the proscenium platforms till his death. His aim was to reach both the urban and rural people and raise protest over everything that he deemed wrong with society.

1

On Theatre, 61.

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Now let me quote from an article called ‘The First Ten Years of Street Theatre: 1978-1988’, this was a landmark article from one of the most remarkable theatre-personalities India has ever seen: It is basically a militant political theatre of protest. Its function is to agitate the people and to mobilize them behind fighting organizations. In India, however, street theatre has developed in a different and more ambitious manner, especially during the last dozen years or so. The street theatre workers of the present generation, unlike the pioneers of the forties and the fifties, have become more conscious of its distinctly formal aspects. While unabashedly accepting the ideological nature of their theatre and its unconcealed alignment with political forces, they are no longer producing only poster plays. In our view there are two reasons for this new development. Firstly, in our cities with one or two exceptions, there is no tradition of theatre-going. The masses of our urban population have never been to a theatre. Our theatre, even the best of it, has remained mostly confined to a very select group of theatre-goers. The theatre, on its part, has also not been addressing itself to the common, working people. If our urban theatre had been a major cultural force—a living and popular art form reflecting the hopes, aspirations and struggles of the people—then perhaps our street theatre too would have remained only a functional propaganda device, surfacing every now and then to focus attention on burning issues. But since our mainstream theatre is by and large out of tune and touch with the majority of our people, the need remains for a fully developed people’s theatre, a theatre which is available to the masses.1

This was written by Safdar Hashmi. On First January 1989, Hashmi was brutally assaulted in Jhandapur (Uttar Pradesh) by goons belonging to a certain major political party. His group Jana Natya Manch (translates as ‘The People’s Stage’ and popularly known as Janam) was performing a play called Halla Bol (Raise Your Voice). Safdar Hashmi died in a Delhi hospital the next day.2 He was 34 years old. This was not the first time he was attacked. His death was commemorated not only by the gathering of the greatest minds of the country, but also with almost 25,000 street performances in practically all the corners of the nation.3 Although a political circus ensued – with the accusation that this death was marketed 1 India Theatre Forum: 1 January 2014. Web. 12 December 2016. . 2 On 3 November 2003 thirteen people including Congress backed municipal election candidate Mukesh Sharma who had orchestrated the attack, were found guilty and given life sentences by a Ghaziabad court. (Times of India, 05 November 2003) 3 Simran Bhargava, ‘A Creative Uproar’

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for political gain whereas the demise of Ram Bahadur who was mistakenly shot by the goons was rarely mentioned, and the fact that the commemoration arranged became an elite-oriented fund-raiser with Che-like T-shirts showing Hashmi being sold – still the impact of this event remains a significant point in the history of theatre; particularly so because this transcended the political barrier and did not remain attached to one single political front alone. On 4th January, the group went back to Jhandapur and finished the performance. Safdar Hashmi was among the most committed theatre-workers India has ever seen. He had resigned from a secure teaching employment for the sake of activism and theatre was his chosen tool. It was in the backdrop of the 1984 riots that Hashmi became a known face. His association with theatre had started while he was in college and he joined the IPTA and established his group Jana Natya Manch in 1973. Although this group started working in the proscenium space, after the Emergency the group engaged exclusively in performing street theatre. Among Hashmi’s notable works are Kursi, Kursi, Kursi (Chair, Chair, Chair, 1975), a preEmergency play focusing on the naked greed for power that the contemporary government had; Hatyare (Murderer, 1978), which focused on the riots produced for political gain in Aligarh; Aurat (Women, 1979), speaking against violence on women; and Machine (1978), a play on the killing of six workers in the Herig-India Chemical Factory during an agitation over basic demands. Till his death Hashmi, through Janam, was involved in almost 4000 street performances of 24 plays. These performances always took place in the areas that had a large concentration of people belonging to the working class, people who worked in factories and workshops and stayed in slum areas as well as areas with lowermiddle class residents. Janam continues to carry on the legacy of Safdar Hashmi. Hashmi’s theory of theatre was completely democratic. His aim was to create a theatre of the masses – not only with the issues that are relevant but also in the language, clothing, music and body-movements that common working-class people could associate with. The theatrical space – on the street – was not to be separated from the space that it was presented in at any given moment. Deconstructing the hegemony of any powerstructure became his sole aim – and that is why he broke through the power equation that the stage itself involves automatically. During a stage performance the audience has to maintain a disciplined presence forced by the demands of the structure – the street offers much more freedom. In fact, the elitism that the stage has come to represent–that a select few people onstage are enlightened and instruct the audience and generally

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dictate what they should think politically and culturally–was something Hashmi was trying to shatter. In his own way Hashmi was Brechtian–and he has been called ‘The Indian Brecht’–since he did not wish to generate catharsis and absolve the audience from thinking about the issue; and at the same time he did not wish to engage in propaganda, he wanted to be issue-specific rather than becoming a mouthpiece for any ideology. Perhaps this is where he is very different from Utpal Dutt. In a way, such an introspective mode allows the players and the audience the freedom to approach an issue in a pluralistic manner – using different narratives rather than being trapped in a single paradigm. Although both these playwrights had associations with the IPTA, their approaches were very different. It is not a question of comparing quality or effectuality, but how two people with similar ideologies used theatre in different ways. While there are a number of proscenium-based activist theatre movements in Delhi, Bengal had Badal Sircar’s Third Theatre. So the models were available, seen and judged and then accepted or rejected by the two playwrights mentioned here. The greatness that we find in both is due to the aesthetic presences in their work along with their political agendas. These two stalwarts were not averse to each other’s form or method, Utpal Dutt did street plays, though his primary choice was the stage and, it is quite interesting to note that the first production of Janam was Utpal Dutt’s play Mrityur Atit (After Death). At the moment we have Ratan Thiyam from Manipur and K.N. Panicker from Kerala among many such others – who are engaging in taking the system head-on and trying to raise awareness and educate the people about democracy and the need to respect human rights. However, with fundamentalist ideologies becoming increasingly active all over the world the threat to free theatre is also growing day by day.

CHAPTER FIVE PERFORMANCE AND PERFORMERS

Bottom expresses succinctly the issues facing an actor. An actor must be aware of so many factors, including the audience. Although Bottom’s assertion that the lion must not be too terrifying so as not to disturb the ladies is a concern more practical than aesthetic, such concerns are not without merit. Of course, the actor himself or herself may not bother too much with such elements, but the director must. In A Midsummer Night’s Dream Bottom lays out many rules of performance and we see them coming to fruition. If their actions are analyzed closely we may reach a few interesting premises. First of all, Bottom and company are not professional actors. Yet they show a passion which makes us wonder about their motivation. Money, of course, is not a point here, and as it seems, nor is the expectation of promotion. Their wish apparently springs from a genuine aim to entertain. The occasion is grand and we are not told whether there would be any proper play presented or not. And Bottom the Weaver, Quince the carpenter, Snug the joiner, Flute the bellows-mender, Snout the tinker and Starveling the tailor make the odd and evidently ill-equipped group which take on the responsibility of presenting the story of Pyramus and Thisbe. In fact, more than Pyramus or Thisbe, the lion seems to get better attention. Perhaps, the performer’s instinct here becomes greater than the actor’s instinct. What they fail to understand–not surprising since they have no education or understanding of the craft of theatre–is the fact that playing characters is more challenging than playing caricatures. However, their dedication is beyond reproach. To leave the safe boundaries of the city and go to the fairy-infested forest for rehearsals is truly admirable. Not only does the forest provide quiet space for concentration and planning, it also provides privacy. Quite understandably, the players here do not want the population to see the rehearsals, which would break the illusion they hope to create. No artist would want to reveal her/his work before it is finished – and Bottom and company may not be artists, but they are craftsmen, they have an instinctive appreciation of the final product they are to present. In a way, this group seems much more genuine than the Players in Hamlet, in which Hamlet seems to be more conversant

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with acting than the actors, or for that matter the Player in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, who is more metaphysically constructed. The craft of theatre is something that is well presented in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, something the playwrights were not entirely bothered with–as their agendas were very different–in the formation of the stage realities of the other two plays mentioned above. The performance itself is also quite interesting. We see a kind aristocratic audience watching the inept presenters and the appreciation is generally happy as the mood is of celebration and of relief (at least as far as the four protagonists are concerned). The flaws are gently satirized and the presenters are congratulated. What this captures is the general idea of celebratory performance neither segregated by the stage-space nor confined by professionalism. This is homely and being homely there is little expectation of professional excellence. So even though the attempt is honest, the result remains inadequate. Theseus cannot allow the epilogue as the audience has been entertained enough, and his speech is quite telling: No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there needs none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably discharged. (V.1.348-354)

The irony is probably lost on the players. Shakespeare clearly, and realistically, tells us that performance is not so easy. Thespis apparently stepped out of the chorus line to become a character. But this was dubbed dangerous by Solon because this was impersonation; also because this was an illusion that was convincing the audience that the unreal is real.1 So negotiation with realism became an important issue from the very beginning. Even though it is known that performance began with the beginning of mankind, and theatre as we understand it probably began in Greece, at least as far as the records are concerned. Acting in Ancient Greece was formal, stylized, restrained, with masks and heavy boots. Voice was important as well as the capacity to sing. By the time of Euripides, acting had become closer to human emotions. What one also should realize is that such ‘acting’ was associated 1

Maria Noussia Fantuzzi, Solon the Athenian, The Poetic Fragments, (Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2010), 394.

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with spectacle to the entertainment-starved audience – costumes, music and quite often there were competitive elements. Contests for playwrights were not unknown and there was also a social rivalry between groups of actors and even among city states.1 These factors increased the audience participation as well as the motivation of the performers. Rome was more spectacular. Most Roman actors were slaves – though some became rich, even free. Mime and oratory were important. Apparently Lucian of Samosata, a rhetorician and satirist, was quite upset with the Roman actor who got so immersed in the role of Ajax that he became very passionate. The ordinary audience was impressed, but the perceptive people were disgusted. Another actor who played a similar role with prudence and tact was highly praised.2 This shows the significance of objectivity on the part of the actor. In the Middle Age, the tradition of literary drama seemed to have died down in England. What became much more popular were the folk dances, acrobatics, juggling, mime, conjuring. Theatre was now, curiously enough, limited to the church. Throughout Europe the Miracle and Morality plays were highly popular. By this time, popularity through pageantry became more significant than historical or aesthetic accuracy. But even with such colourful presentations, the subtle acting style remained the prescribed one. Restrained and well-adjusted delivery in an insightful and collected performance was appreciated. Elizabethan acting techniques can be found in Hamlet’s speech to the actors: Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature. For anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is to hold, as ’twere, the mirror up to nature, to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now this overdone or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve, the censure of the which one must in your allowance o'erweigh a whole theatre of others.3

In Commedia dell’Arte, there were either improvisation or stock character presentations. What was special about this form was the use of stylized 1 Oliver Taplin, ‘Greek Theatre’, ed. John Russell Brown, The Oxford Illustrated History of Theatre (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 13. 2 Nathanael J. Andrade, Syrian Identity in Greco-Roman World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 275. 3 William Shakespeare, Hamlet (London: Routledge, 1993), 288-289.

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costumes and masks – which revealed the nature and character of the figures on stage. Lope de Vega, writing from mid-sixteenth to midseventeenth century, allowed his actors to speak in common dialect and to communicate with the audience. But Pedro Calderón de la Barca returned mostly to the more formal elements. During Restoration we find actresses such as Mary Saunders becoming popular. In the eighteenth century acting in England was highly mannerized–following France–with exaggerated vocal performances, artificial rhythm, long pauses and abnormal movements. It was Charles Macklin who tried to introduce normal speech and costume styles. David Garrick was highly influenced by Macklin. In France it was François Joseph Talma, trained in England, who finally managed to fight for a more naturalistic theatre through the establishment of Le Théâtre Français de la Rue de Richelieu (later known as Théâtre de la République). Even in Germany, a movement towards naturalistic acting was brewing through Konrad Ekhof’s Academy for Actors. In fact, when Ekhof established the Hamburg National Theatre, he included plays from other countries which conformed to his ideas. Actors like Friedrich Ludwig Schroeder and August Wilhelm Iffland continued this trend, but the towering figure of German theatre at this time, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, took theatre to a more formal and restrained style; his ‘Rules for Actors’ specifically prescribed correct speech without the influence of dialects and formal body language. However, it was Schiller who reintroduced dynamism and joie de vivre in theatre, remaining within the formal sphere. The eighteenth century, despite all attempts, mostly followed the exaggerated style of acting. It was in the nineteenth century, with increased involvement of the middle and upper classes, and the domination of the proscenium stage, a more restrained and subtle element in acting became popular. This did not happen easily and actors such as Edmund Kean, who took meticulous care in preparing his roles, complained, These people don’t understand their businesses; they give me credit where I don’t deserve it, and pass over the passages on which I have bestowed the utmost care and attention. Because my style is easy and natural they think I don’t study, and talk about the ‘sudden impulse of genius’. There is no such thing as impulsive acting; all is premeditated and studied beforehand. A man may act better or worse on a particular night, from particular circumstances; but although the execution may not be so brilliant, the conception is the same.1

1

Quoted in Toby Cole and Helen Krich Chinoy, Actors on Acting (New York: Crown Publishers, 1962), 3.

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Towards the turn of the century we see a change in the mannerism-driven French theatre through the work of the newly established Théâtre Libre. In fact, in Germany, Ludwig Devrient got so much emotionally involved in his role of King Lear once, he could not finish the performance!1 This slowly changed, and we see the first major change in Russia. This change came with the establishment of the Russian Academy of Dramatic Art which involved luminaries such as Alexander Nikolayevich Ostrovsky. The new focus was on presenting the ordinary people with natural performances of national and international plays. But with Vladimir Nemirovich-Danchenko and Konstantin Stanislavsky’s efforts we had a major breakthrough in theatre itself. In the United States of America, a similar effort was going on. But from the very beginning one may see the prevalence of the ‘star system’ that rules most of stage and screen there even now.2 The beginning of the twentieth century was dominated by a reaction against realism. It was felt that some kind of ‘liberation’ is required in which actors can use the whole length of their genius. In fact Yeats’ Irish Literary Theatre was looking more for a poetic performance than a realistic one. On the other side of the Atlantic realism was much more favoured. The twentieth century, of course, has seen multiple experimentations not only with theatre but also with almost all aspects of performance as well. It was not until recently that the career of acting became lucrative both financially and socially. Actors have always been from the margins of society. And the glamour of being one is quite a recent phenomenon. In fact, the whole ‘Star’ concept as we understand it is more an offshoot of the ‘movies’. Only a handful of names like Richard Burbage or Edmund Kean or Sarah Bernhardt stand out in the millennia old history of the stage. Still, people have constantly populated the playhouses and there has never really been a shortage of actors/performers. Acting is hard work, and the thrill of stepping into some other person’s life seems to be quite an addictive habit. Historically, people may not have been aware that they are contributing a socio-aesthetic cause, but recently that element has not been lost upon people who engage themselves into different areas of theatre. Whatever the motivation might be, it is true that without actors there would be no theatrical performance. And as an art form it is completely fleeting. Shakespeare did not write about the poor players strutting and fretting and being heard no more without the underlying melancholy of all 1

David Carter, The Art of Acting and How to Master It (Herpenden, UK: Kamera, 2010), 45. 2 Carter, The Art of Acting and How to Master It, 50.

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brilliant performers – they cannot be identically repeated. The next performance is always different. Even with the advantage of video recording, the life that theatrical stage provides cannot truly be captured. Cinema gives the actors a different scope altogether; they act/interact knowing that their performance cannot be changed. That is a different kind of pressure. Just as the stage gives an opportunity to correct a mistake, it also does not allow brilliant performances to be frozen in time. However, one question remains pertinent, that is, the location of the performers visà-vis the area of performance. The relevance of the performance changes with the shift in location and that may reversely affect performance itself. It is obvious that a stage performance and a street performance can never be the same, but it is also an essential fact that a different stage or a different street will create a different performance and therefore a different construct. Space is a very significant factor. A lot of signification can be added or lost depending on the size of the stage itself. A performance may even be modified keeping the audience in mind. Cultural tropes of a particular region may demand certain elements to be edited in or out. That difference may be negligible or miniscule, but it will be there. This is one of the reasons why assessing a theatrical performance as a ‘text’ is so difficult. Technical issues can be replicated, but acting cannot be. The performative aspect of day to day living also problematizes the issue further. Everything we do can be categorized as performance. However, theatrical performance is bound by the norms of theatricality and artificiality. It takes place at a designated place and at a designated time. So, unless there is a conscious manipulation of the space– temporarily blurring the boundary between the audience and the performers–the theatrical space/time is understood to be separate from the real. The presence of the audience is a very significant part of the performance. An empty auditorium, or an emptied one, would ensure the cancellation of the performance – and not only for box-office reasons. An author hopes that there will be a reader in the future and the question of the common reader arises only after the production of the book. But in the case of theatre, unlike cinema, the production includes the reader/viewer. This is why the contemporary notion of ‘rehearsal studies’ becomes problematic. Rehearsals are like the writing process and they do not give us a glimpse into the final product. And they do not have a structured audience. Casual observers or even paying viewers–as sometimes happens with larger theatre companies–do not constitute the audience proper. Some

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recent critics are presenting the idea of ‘direct theatre’1 including in the theatrical paradigm the large-scale performances like festivals, fairs, different occasional parades, official rituals that require the stage and many such ideas. In fact, certain political activities and even news programmes on television are also included in this concept. In all these the performance is live and the audience actively engaged, and in most of these the performance is premeditated if not rehearsed. So, in a way, the boundary between a play being acted and such a programme being presented may not seem so different, even on an aesthetic scale. This, in fact, emphatically proves the artificiality and dishonesty our civilization is practicing more and more. If we look at the actors, then the degree of complication becomes clearer. Since the formulations of Konstantin Stanislavski method acting has become popular and one would think the life of actors has become easier – at least they now have a model to follow and do not have to be whimsically theatrical or artificial. Stanislavsky introduced the ideas of being in character, understanding the motivation and the emotional construction of the person on paper. He also presented the idea that the situation is to be surveyed and the actor must creatively situate himself within that position. Movement must also be measured since the audience will be reading every element on stage. One of the most significant things that Stanislavsky asked actors to do was to observe others – so they can adopt mannerisms and speaking styles and go beyond themselves when they are in character.2 All these were counter-argued by Brecht. Understanding the play and its purpose and its functionality vis-à-vis social issues become more important in the case of Epic Theatre. The actor, then, has to be aware of the form – for instance a person who is playing King Lear has to do it differently when he is following Stanislavsky in King Lear and must shift to Brecht when he is presenting Edward Bond’s Lear. Of course, it will probably not be the same person; but diverse styles of presentation are there and a complete orientation thus becomes necessary even before rehearsals begin. For the actor what is required is not merely an understanding of the ‘play-text’ but also the realization of the political flavour of that performance. Performance may synchronize with the 1

See Richard Schechner’s ‘Invasions Friendly and Unfriendly: The Dramaturgy of Direct Theatre’ in Janelle G. Reinelt and Joseph R. Roach’s Critical Theory and Performance (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2010). 2 Michael Billington, "S for Stanislavsky." The Guardian (UK). 17 Apr. 2012. Web. 25 Apr. 2016. .

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playwright’s design, or it may become more of an adaptation and create an interpretative presentation. In the construction of the performance’s impression, this is vital as the original playwright is thus interpreted or represented by the directorial voice and presented through the actors’ actions. This combination of the directorial vision and the performance of the acting and other technical units forms the theatrical narrative. Coalesce it with audience reception and we have the complete theatrical experience. Theatre theoreticians like Patrice Pavis have focused on the distinct discourse of the dramatic dialogue spoken by the actors on stage.1 They can be differently analyzed from the same words on the written page. Just as the actor must juggle between himself and the role being played, the audience must also decide whether they want to see the actor or the character he or she is attempting to portray. Luk Van den Dries calls these two roles, from the actor’s point of view, “I-identity” and “role-identity”.2 Van den Dries writes: The artist places his/her body on display at the intersection between the theatre and the gallery, between the theatre and the other arts – altering the body, mutilating it and offering it the viewer as a live act. . . . The artist’s infringement upon his/her body requires an appropriately radical response from the viewer and his/her statements.3

The idea is no longer limited to role-playing, but moves towards the display. And the actor’s body becomes the language as it is not merely the verbal that becomes the signifier, but the entire movement-sequence, including action-reaction and gestures, contribute to the audience’s reading. The added complication in this is that when there is more than one actor present on stage the audience must be directed towards the person who has the major section of the meaning to present. This subtle exchange has to be textual as well as physical. If attention is drawn to a comparatively minor presence then the audience may miss a point or the audience’s construction may get lopsided creating an impression that the production did not intend to create. So the actor must know when to step back. Ego must be controlled. Vanity is an actor’s greatest enemy.

1 Patrice Pavis, Dictionary of the Theatre: Terms, Concept and Analysis (Toronto: University of Toronto, 1998), 98. 2 Nayden Yotov, "The Actor as a Semiotic Narrator." New Bulgarian University. 2010. Web. 27 Apr. 2016. 3 Luk Van den Dries, ‘The Sublime Body’ in Maaike Bleeker, Steven De Belder, Kaat Debo, Luk Van Den Dries, and Kurt Vanhoutte, eds. Bodycheck: Relocating the Body in Contemporary Performing Art, (New York: Rodopi, 2002), 73.

CHAPTER SIX THREE THEORIES OF THEATRE: BRECHT, ARTAUD, PINTER

Aristotle wrote his Poetics 335 years before the birth of Christ. Since then the entire world has seen extraordinary developments. Even during the Renaissance, with Christianity at its peak and with the memory of the crusades quite fresh, Aristotle’s theorizations about tragedy could not be disregarded. The primary reason for this was the discovery of the classical dramatic texts along with the theory that presented the world (i.e. Europe, in its complete myopic conception of itself) a paradigm that had worked. The theatre arising out of the churches was going in a direction which may or may not have developed into something richer, but the discovery of the ancients was definitely a major contribution to Western philosophy and drama. The city-state ideal was no longer functional; in fact, the dominant ideal was that of the nation. The feudal system was working well and the new impact of trade and imperialistic ideas was now quietly gaining ground. Despite all this most of the ancient theory was adopted and applied. The departures are merely variations that are required to suit the age itself. The reason that Aristotelian formulae were more or less adequate was that the European political atmosphere was a continuation of the Classical. The ideas that are hidden in Poetics – the ideas of social hierarchy, the idea of political suppression, the idea of sustaining the imperial and religious systems – were appreciated by the Renaissance mind. Enlightenment was still class-specific and the common population was still considered to be a part of the background. Renaissance humanism was not something that embraced the entire mankind – it was strictly limited to the upper echelons. The idea of superiority, which goaded the West to look for the uncivilized so that they could civilize them for a handsome profit, was equally applicable to the serfs, the peasants, the craftsmen and the other riffraff – the only thing that they had in common was the shared geopolitical boundary which made them fellow countrymen and, of course, the skin. The new skin elsewhere around the globe created a new

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paradigm of disdain. But the general populace or the third estate was as tormented as always. This is the reason why Hamlet can so nonchalantly distribute destruction. The Renaissance Man did not need to think of the lesser human beings who fed him and clothed him and expected him to be responsible. Aristotle’s theory called for a high-born man who was imperfect and committed an error in judgment. Such men were everyone in the aristocracy. The elevation of status to tragic was happily embraced in Renaissance literature, at least in England. But the quest was not for the Epic. Epic demanded too much. The mistakes and crimes of the aristocracy could be celebrated, while even the slightest error on the part of the commoners was punished with extreme alacrity. Of course, literature was an aristocratic domain for a large period of history. Even during the Romantic period in England, Keats was derided because of his low birth. ‘Equal opportunity’ in literature came only with the advent of democracy and the association of money. And that is why we have the major paradigm shift in literature, especially drama, only in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. We see the focus of attention shifting towards a different set of people, a different kind of hero and heroine. With Ibsen and Shaw and Galsworthy, and Yeats and the entire Irish movement, theatre changed significantly in the early days of the twentieth century. It was not only in terms of the person/persona of the protagonist, but changes came into being in other Aristotelian concepts as well. The Aristotelian issue of catharsis brings in with itself the politics of satisfaction. By its very definition catharsis is the theatrical pleasure to be derived from the satisfactory end of a plot – irrespective of its tragic or comic or neutral finish. The audience goes home entertained and contented because the issues are neatly tied up, resolutions suitably provided. The experience, when emotionally handled, becomes complete in the process of reversal-recognition and the individual redemption that most plays usually offer at the finish. Even in comedy, with the issue of society supposedly taking centre-stage, we see resolutions which are purely personal and focused on the protagonist/antagonist dynamic. So, essentially, with the cathartic conclusion the element of dissatisfaction or discontent is successfully negated. In fact, in the guise of providing satisfaction, the audience/reader is often lulled into a false sense of security, even accomplishment. Besides the fact that most plays establish some power equation or the other, this was the other central issue behind the promotion of the cathartic school of drama. One of the key tools of the cathartic model is identification. It is the most significant entry point provided to the audience. Once the audience

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gets involved emotionally through empathy or sympathy or association, the flow slowly changes from the rational to the emotional. In the majority of cases the reader/viewer responds to the work of art on an emotional level more than through the intellectual. The problem with this approach is that it makes the reader focus on the characters and their personal outcomes rather than the larger picture they inhabit. Rarely does one question Malcolm’s design of bringing in English troops and the apparent benevolence of the English king in lending his military resources in Macbeth. One needs only to look at the English-Scottish political relationship of the time to realize that Malcolm’s decision will probably bring in more ruin than Macbeth’s reign ever could. In the case of Look Back in Anger, a post-Brechtian play, we celebrate, albeit with reservation, the return and acceptance of Alison, with the whole diatribe of Jimmy going into the background. Of course, Jimmy’s shouts seem rebellious, whereas they ultimately demand nothing. They are more like complaints from an unruly voice, expecting a personal remedy rather than slogans demanding actual social transformation. But the sheer noise drowns this fact too, as did the whole media celebration which turned the play into a phenomenon. This is where Brecht departs from cathartic theatre. His primary contention being that instead of being a mirror to society, a commentary, theatre should aim at constructing a new paradigm which effectively corrects the problems that plague the concerned society. In fact, for him theatre should be progressive not reactionary; it should be dynamic and not normative. It should look at life in its totality, not remain limited to the socially ineffective personal emotional experience. The artist was supposed to be aware of and make the audience aware of the social processes. Any theatre that strives only to entertain was called “Culinary Theatre” by Brecht.1 To move away from that in theatre, Brecht introduced the ‘Epic’ mode. The nomenclature comes from the fact that such theatre is prescribed to be narrative, not following the traditional dramatic conventions of plot presentation. Later in his life Brecht became partial to the name ‘Dialectical Theatre’. In fact, in this approach it is not only the audience who becomes observers rather than the participants; it is even the actors who remain in the distance. Involvement is a taboo for either party and therefore the whole negotiation is one of rationality and not for once does it create the necessary illusions that facilitate emotional identification. The characters are simply described by the actors and not 1

Marvin Carlson, Theories of the Theatre: Historical and Critical Survey from the Greeks to the Present (New York: Cornell University Press, 1993), 391.

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enacted by them. In fact, the actors may even comment–through their body language–on the actions of the other characters on stage. The actors, by not practicing the method-acting of getting in character, do not even accidentally invest the dramatis personae with any ‘life’, thereby they remain artificially faithful to the idea behind the artifice, and the production allows all participants to think critically without getting enmeshed into any emotional predicament. The humanity of the figures is not denied, what is denied is the pseudo-reality that theatre generally tries to construct. The Brechtian idea of Gestus is another element that actors of Epic theatre needed to follow. Gestus is gesture plus the entire social construction of the person – which includes facial expressions and intonation. So essentially defining types for each character – making it easier for the audience to read the person they are seeing and thereby remaining free to concentrate on the political significance. The songs are the most Gestic – presenting the ideas and often reinforcing the ideas quite clearly.1 The time-factor is another strategy followed by Brecht. Instead of giving the illusion of something happening now, what is presented is a story of the past. So, the question of suspense and commitment to the plot becomes invalid. The structure becomes more narrative than dramatic in the conventional sense. The puzzle-solving element of literature–reading through the layers to find the authorial comment–was completely abandoned and the idea was to go to the point directly. The audience was not allowed to remain in suspense so that they could focus on the ideas rather than on the ‘story’. Brecht’s idea was called the Alienation Effect, translated from the German word verfremdung, also known as the V-Effect. Linked to the Marxist idea of entfremdung, this speaks of a theatrical alienation in line of the political theory of the workers’ alienation from the mass-produced product. This lack of an essential connection is transported to the auditorium where both the audience and the actors are supposed to remain free of emotional attachment with the production they are involved in. In order to attain the desired effect the audience needs to be involved in a manner very different from the usual theatrical experience. What Brecht and his followers did was to allow the audience a semblance of freedom. Quite often the lights of the auditorium would be kept switched on so the audience would be conscious of each other and the fact that they are in an auditorium. Darkness in the auditorium makes the viewer feel alone; therefore, allowing the experience to become quite personal which in turn 1

Patrice Pavis, Dictionary of the Theatre: Terms, Concepts, and Analysis, 164.

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allows the viewer to internalize the experience. This becomes effective when the desired result is emotional catharsis. The audience was quite often allowed to smoke or drink and thus engage in community activities which turned the theatrical experience into something public, something shared. In 1926 Brecht convinced the director of his play The Wedding to replace a traditional stage and use a boxing ring instead.1 This would create the required shock value which would make the audience think and remain emotionally alienated from the narrative. Elements of disruption, such as songs, narrators breaking in, placards and such were quite often used. Each episode in the play would have an independent significance as well as the final impression. Everything on the stage–set, light, sound– would contribute to put the focus on the issue. Brecht remained true to the simplistic stage, but his contemporary and compatriot, Erwin Piscator, used films intensively in his theatre. Brecht did not support the use of such technology, but both of them were working towards the same outcome.2 Even though later in his life Brecht found his theory inadequate, he still remained constant on one point, the engagement of the audience in a manner different than the traditional. He had written about the Alienation Effect in his article ‘Alienation Effects in Chinese Acting’ in 1935. In 1948 he wrote in A Short Organum for the Theatre: As we cannot invite the audience to fling itself into the story as if it were a river and let itself be carried vaguely hither and thither, the individual episodes have to be knotted together in such a way that the knots are easily noticed. The episodes must not succeed one another indistinguishably but must give us a chance to interpose our judgment. (If it were above all the obscurity of the original interrelations that interested us, then just this circumstance would have to be sufficiently alienated.) The parts of the story have to be carefully set off one against another by giving each its own structure as a play within a play.3

One of the constant complaints against Brecht is that not all of his plays follow his theories. And he himself continually altered his theory and never could establish a ‘final’ version. The issue with his theory is that he uses a very complex jargon to present his ideas. Although he proposed an aesthetic very different from the traditional, his own plays could not be 1

Edward Braun, The Director and the Stage: From Naturalism to Grotowski (London: Methuen Drama, 1982), 16. 2 C. D. Innes, Erwin Piscator’s Political Theatre: The Development of Modern German Drama (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972), 191. 3 Eds. Suman Gupta and David Johnson, A Twentieth Century Literature Reader (London: Routledge, 2005), 139.

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free from tradition – even while he adopted ideas from several traditions such as the classical European, the European folk, the Chinese and so on, and combined them. Brecht depended on the chorus in The Caucasian Chalk Circle and there were a number of asides in The Good Person of Szechwan. But these conventions were often manipulated in a way that created a new effect. It is a common grievance that Brecht confused empathy with illusion. Critics such as Martin Esslin spoke against this fear of empathy, pointing out that empathy works in Brechtian theatre anyway. Peter Brook has an interesting observation regarding this, A quarter of a century later Brecht explained to me how important it was for his to prevent an audience from identifying with what happens on the stage. For this he had invented a whole series of devices – such as placards, slogans, and very bright lights to keep the spectator at a safe distance. I listened to him politely but remained unconvinced. Identification is far more subtle and subversive than he seemed to imply. A television screen is bright, and while we know in our bones that it is a box and we are in our own room, nonetheless if a finger is rightly raised we identify with it. A gun, a clenched fist, and the illusion is complete.1

However, for Brecht and later playwrights such as Augusto Boal, empathy-identification was the problem with traditional drama. Frances Babbage writes in her book on Augusto Boal: Most insidious of all, Boal argues, is that by losing herself in the dramatic action, the spectator adopts its values, as well as its emotions, as her own. The implication of this is that lessons drawn from a fictitious universe are imposed upon the spectator’s social reality, by a process of ‘aesthetic osmosis’. . . . In most theatre, the spectator remains unaware that his is occurring but is rather the ‘victim, so to speak, of a hypnotic experience’. . .2

Boal’s Theatre of the Oppressed worked on similar political lines as that of Brecht and in many ways it is a part of the German playwright’s legacy. This revolutionary form is a development over Brecht’s Epic Theatre. It is much more interactive, explorative and open to new ideas while being equally committed to social justice.3 Boal also created the idea of ‘Invisible Theatre’ in Argentina in which the audience was presented with a play without them being aware that they are watching something 1

Brook, Threads of Time, 6. Frances Babbage, Augusto Boal (London: Routledge, 2004), 43. 3 Ed. Colin Chambers, The Continuum Companion to Twentieth Century Theatre (London: Continuum, 2002), 98. 2

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artificial.1 Brecht is an established influence over many playwrights all over the world and in India activist-playwrights like Badal Sircar have taken many ideas from Brecht in the establishment of their own theatrical process. More importantly, many of Brecht’s plays have been adopted and adapted all over the world. Epic Theatre may not have survived in the way Brecht would have liked it to, but its elements have been accepted by many such as Robert Bolt and Edward Bond. The Alienation Effect, essentially being a strategy of theatre, has been and continues to be applied to many dramatic texts written by diverse playwrights all over the world. If Bertolt Brecht was looking for an intellectual response to theatrical performances, Antonin Artaud was trying to achieve something quite different. Instead of avoiding an emotional response, Artaud wanted to set free responses that are suppressed automatically, responses that come out of the deep subconscious. Artaud wanted theatre to bring the nightmares of the world back to the audience, instead of supplying them with an entertaining escape. Going in the opposite direction from Brecht, Artaud rejected rational interpretations and promoted the instinctive impulses that arise out of the theatrical experience. Artaud was a tortured soul and he spent much of his life in asylums or under the influence of narcotics. He was aiming for an honest response that went beyond the bounds of civility and civilization. His Theatre of Cruelty was supposed to hit the audience right where the pain centres are – even though he insisted repeatedly that his theatre was not sadistic but the terror and fear are necessary to understand the world we inhabit and it will teach us much about ourselves. In the Preface to The Theatre and Its Double Artaud wrote: Our fossilized idea of theatre is tied in with our fossilized idea of a shadowless culture where, whatever way we turn, our minds meet nothing but emptiness while space is full. But true theatre, because it moves and makes use of living instruments, goes on stirring up shadows, while life endlessly stumbles along. An actor does not repeat the same gestures twice, but he gesticulates, moves and, although he brutalizes forms, as he destroys them he is united with what lives on behind and after them, producing their continuation. Theatre, which is nothing, but uses all languages (gestures, words, sound, fire and screams), is to be found precisely at the point where the minds needs a language to bring about its manifestations. And confining theatre to one language, speech, written words, music, lighting or sound, heralds its imminent ruin, since choosing one single language proves the inclinations we have for the facilities of that language. But one effect of a single language’s limitations is that it dries up. 1

Chambers, The Continuum Companion to Twentieth Century Theatre, 385.

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Chapter Six For theatre, just as for culture, the problem remains to designate and direct shadows. And theatre, not confined to any fixed language or form, destroys false shadows because of this, and prepares the way for another shadowed birth, uniting the true spectacle of life around it.1

The violence with which Artaud advocated the shattering of the “fossilized” culture looks forward to his idea of cruelty. He wanted to use the material that was already there, but only after subjecting all of it to rigorous reinvention. Amplified human noises were something he demanded from his theatre – screams, cries, moans and groans to graphically re-present the agony that the characters go through. This is also extremely demanding for the actors as they would have to magnify the action-reaction to suit this thesis. Along with structured language, these would become complementary. For a brief period he devised his theory of the Theatre of Cruelty. Curiously enough Artaud himself produced only one play following his idea of Cruelty. It was Percy Bysshe Shelley’s The Cenci which was produced in 1935. It was a commercial failure and Artaud took it as a rejection. It is not hard to understand why this type of theatre did not flourish. As Martin Esslin records in his book on Artaud, the playwright had written to Louis Jouvet and asked for twenty giant puppets which will be swinging to military music while there would be fireworks exploding all around. All of this was just for one dream scene.2 Artaud’s own description sufficiently explains the impossible intensity he had desired. I use the word cruelty in the sense of hungering after life, cosmic vigour, relentless necessity, in the Gnostic sense of a whirlwind of life eating up the shadows, in the sense of that pain, apart from whose inescapable necessity life could not continue.3

However, this form did not entirely disappear but was kept alive though in a mellower avatar. Artaud died in 1948, and his ideas found partial expression in the work of many other playwrights. Jerzy Grotowski and Peter Brook were perhaps the two most famous theatre people who discussed and practiced some of the elements of the Theatre of Cruelty. 1 Antonin Artaud, The Theatre and Its Double, Trans. Victor Corti (Richmond, UK: Oneworld Classics, 2010), 7. 2 Martin Esslin, Antonin Artaud (London: J. Calder, 1976), 36. 3 Quoted in André Green, ‘The Psycho-analytic Reading of Tragedy’ in Ed. Timothy Murray, Mimesis, Masochism & Mime: The Politics of Theatricality in Contemporary French Thought (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2000), 146.

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Although he is more famous for his short-lived Theatre of Cruelty– which is an intense version of his personal convictions–Artaud’s theatre was more surrealistic and much more atavistic. The primary influence upon Artaud was the theatre of Alfred Jarry and his science of imaginary solutions called Pataphysics.1 The traits of Artaud’s theatre were very unlike Brecht’s, even though it promoted audience participation. But the aim was primarily to shock the viewers using sensory bombardment and images of extreme violence. Anything that would jar the equanimity of the individual and appeal to his/her subconscious was advocated by Artaud. Instead of the text being at the centre of the production the emphasis was on physical movement – dance and gesture. Since Artaud was intensely influenced by surrealism, and even though he later aligned himself with the communists, he allowed his theatre to remain surrealistic. He wanted theatre to have a dreamlike setting because he wanted to use dreams as the expression of the subconscious. He believed that myth and ritual–the activities from the dawn of humankind–could take the audience back to their primitive selves. Exactly the opposite of Brecht, Artaud wanted his audience to be completely engrossed in the play. He wanted theatre to work as therapy – for society. His methods included breaking the proscenium structure and he preferred having enactments in barns or such large spaces so that the whole structure could be broken and the audience could be placed either in the centre with the action taking place all around them or in such ways that they would feel they were within the action itself. In fact, he wanted the setting to evolve into a greater signifier and merge with the audience-action assimilation. As far as the ‘story’ was concerned, Artaud did not want normal imitation or Aristotelian selective imitation. He wanted to present something larger than life which would influence the audience to a great emotional extent. In fact, he wanted to remodel the old stories of towering personalities, crimes which were appalling and actions which impacted life in a drastic way. And his theatrical form was not supposed to follow the schema or language or ordinary life bound by morals and accepted parameters, but was supposed to speak in a different system altogether, breaking away from the familiar and the normative. Everything would be highly theatrical. The costumes, the music, the light – all the elements would be so crafted that they would truly jolt the audience and play on their nerves. Artaud wanted to experiment with each and every element, such as the style of speaking, the musical instruments. Quite obviously the actors were not inspired to present characters true to life; rather, they were supposed to use all their 1

Chambers, The Continuum Companion to Twentieth Century Theatre, 404.

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devices to present heightened emotions in a way that would initiate the same in the audience. The issue with Artaud is that his theory and the method of theatre do not always happily coexist. Critics like J. L. Styan clearly state that his contribution is suspect and that his writing shows a clear case of theory overtaking practice.1 The visceral experience that Artaud was looking for was quite possible theoretically, but such elaborate elements often posed practical problems and, of course, there was always a possibility of a massive failure. The intuitive response from the audience–in which the audience is supposed to be open enough to look into his/her self–can never be practically anticipated. And the audience has its own demands. Simple possibilities of an exit or a break have to be integrated within a performance. If one aims for a continuous level of heightened emotionality then there is every possibility that certain members of the audience would find the idea difficult and refuse to participate. The other issue was Artaud’s sense of reality. He was not only addicted to narcotic substances but was also diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and his notions were evidently conceived with the heightened sensitivity that comes with such a disorder. For a lesser audience, such premises are often difficult to keep up with. Artaud’s distrust of the artificial order and his attempts to re-present the human chaos were problematic as theatre must retain a structure – it itself cannot become chaotic. While Brecht and Artaud wrote extensively on theatre, Harold Pinter avoided discussion of his plays. Martin Esslin bracketed him with the other practitioners of the Theatre of the Absurd, but Pinter did not really have any surrealistic or absurd elements in his plays. What Pinter wanted to portray was the power equations that exist between individuals and between the individual and the state. His use of pauses and silences and his unique style actually created a term–Pinteresque–which was accepted in the Oxford English Dictionary. Pinter was vocal against any form of injustice he could see and his theatre was one that challenged the established notions of citizens’ rights and citizens’ freedom. Throughout his career he spoke against totalitarian regimes–subtly in his plays, but overtly in life–and strove to show that all regimes are ultimately totalitarian. Pinter presents a world which is not located in any recognizable system of values or structures. The characters fight for power, and that fight is teeth and claw. In a way there is a link with Brecht. Pinter, in not giving any exposition, does not allow the audience to 1 J.L Styan, Modern Drama in Theory and Practice, Volume 2: Symbolism, Surrealism and the Absurd (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 105.

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form an emotional bond with the people seen on stage. In fact, Pinter’s stage is very basic. There is no experimentation, no flourish or shock in the setting. There is bare minimum stage direction. Very often everything happens in a sparsely-furnished room. The entire theatre lies in the interaction of the people we see. Minimalism is something Pinter believed in. In this minimality, the audience is inspired to think, to connect the dots in any way they can. Pinter did not believe in being George Bernard Shaw – he was never known for imposing a thesis on his viewers. He said in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech, titled ‘Art, Truth & Politics’: Political theatre presents an entirely different set of problems. Sermonising has to be avoided at all cost. Objectivity is essential. The characters must be allowed to breathe their own air. The author cannot confine and constrict them to satisfy his own taste or disposition or prejudice. He must be prepared to approach them from a variety of angles, from a full and uninhibited range of perspectives, take them by surprise, perhaps, occasionally, but nevertheless give them the freedom to go which way they will. This does not always work. And political satire, of course, adheres to none of these precepts, in fact does precisely the opposite, which is its proper function.1

Imposition of ideas is the worst crime of all. Pinter was against all bracketing such as ‘political theatre’ since he would have said that all theatre is ultimately political, and was particularly unhappy with the ‘Comedy of Menace’ tag. He said, . . . when I said I was tired of menace, I was using a word that I didn’t coin. I never thought of menace myself. It was called ‘comedy of menace’ quite a long time ago. I never stuck categories on myself, or on any of us. But if what I understand the word menace to mean is certain elements that I have employed in the past in the shape of a particular play, then I don’t think it’s worthy of much more exploration. After The Homecoming I tried writing–odds and ends–and failed, for some time. I remember one of two of them, writing a couple of pages in which again someone came into a room and all that. And it was quite dry, quite dry really. No, I’m not at all interested in ‘threatening behaviour’ any more although I don’t think this makes plays like The Homecoming and The Birthday Party invalid. But you’re always stuck. You’re stuck as a writer.2

1

Harold Pinter, "Art, Truth & Politics," www.nobelprize.org, The Nobel Foundation, 2005. Web. 30 Apr. 2016. . 2 Mel Gussow, Conversations with Pinter (New York: Grove Press, 1994), 24.

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He was not looking for a literary debate. What he wanted was intellectual involvement on part of his audience. What makes Pinter special is his presentation of the real. He does not follow the tenets of so-called realism. What he does want to do is to give the audience a segment of life. And remaining true to the stage space-time the reader/viewer gets no background, no glimpse into the future. The stage for Pinter is a space where we only see what is happening; it is like a window through which we see a portion of someone else’s life. In Pinter characters lie, without circumstantial information made available to the audience, which allows them to recognize the lie. So the automatic trust in the dialogue of the onstage characters becomes invalid here. This is more real as we have this unnatural trust for everything people say onstage. Pinter also does not believe in presenting a well-defined traditional plot. Life is never symmetrically constructed. It is full of chance and surprises and that is something Pinter presents accurately in his plays, just as his use of the language register is absolutely accurate. Pinter is exquisitely aware of the class-divisions. He understands that people belonging to the lower classes are more concerned about food than philosophy. That is why his tramp–Davies in The Caretaker–is never found speaking wise words or feeling lost: his aim is to establish himself in a position of power, and that is a normal human response. Pinter was writing in a time when other English playwrights such as John Osborne, Arnold Wesker, Tom Stoppard and Edward Bond were also in their prime. Some of them were looking directly at social issues, some of them at the philosophical ones; but Pinter was looking closely at the human response from a voyeur’s point of view. He was trying to show the denial and oblivion that people generally suffered from. One of the most significant ideas that he wanted to present was the complete vulnerability of the common people. His The Birthday Party portrayed the utter helplessness of a host-couple when their guest/boarder was taken away by force by a couple of unidentified strangers. Their names were given, but without even a façade of legitimate authority they took a person away after violently brainwashing him. Meg and Petey, the owners of the boarding house, could do absolutely nothing. The audience also remained puzzled as Stanley’s background was undisclosed by the playwright. But what Pinter wanted people to feel was that this is something we witness every day, and we have two options available, to be in denial like Meg or to escape from the whole episode like Petey. The Birthday Party was set in England. Pinter simply wanted to prove that such an event is not limited to totalitarian regimes, they can happen anywhere. They do happen everywhere – Kafkaesque paranoia often turns into reality.

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Pinter kept his plays free from direct political involvement. The later plays are more politically oriented, but they look at core ideas and issues rather than immediate local or international scenarios – except for Mountain Language, which was supposedly inspired by the torture on the Kurdish people by the Turkish state. Pinter was personally very vocal and he did not hide his opinions about what he called the American aggression against the rest of the world. While David Hare wrote plays like Stuff Happens, mentioning different ‘world leaders’ by name, Pinter never used such locationing in his plays. They remain universal. To quote from Pinter’s Nobel acceptance speech again, Truth in drama is forever elusive. You never quite find it but the search for it is compulsive. The search is clearly what drives the endeavour. The search is your task. More often than not you stumble upon the truth in the dark, colliding with it or just glimpsing an image or a shape which seems to correspond to the truth, often without realising that you have done so. But the real truth is that there never is any such thing as one truth to be found in dramatic art. There are many. These truths challenge each other, recoil from each other, reflect each other, ignore each other, tease each other, are blind to each other. Sometimes you feel you have the truth of a moment in your hand, then it slips through your fingers and is lost.1

This is precisely where Pinter becomes very different from Brecht and Artaud. His quest for truth does not exclude the possibility of other truths. In fact, what we have here is an examination of the idea of truth and awareness that truth can be manipulated by any and all. The theories which have challenged the conventional idea of theatre, particularly in the twentieth century, have been mostly generated from a political agenda. Rising either from activism or direct political persecution, these theories have tried to influence people to move towards an ideal which has been essentially a counter-argument. As Edward Bond shows in his Lear, all power structures become corrupted, however Messianic they may have seemed at the beginning. It is only towards the end of the century that we find playwrights like Pinter who try to steer clear of any particular agenda and ask the audience to be aware of what they are choosing, to be aware of what their blindness will bring. Pinter, and a number of contemporaries, has advocated one thing only: each individual must be politically conscious, otherwise the state will always manipulate and intimidate them.

1

Harold Pinter, "Art, Truth & Politics"

CHAPTER SEVEN THE BHAVA-RASA THEORY

The Bhava-Rasa theory of theatre, as formulated by Bharat Muni in ancient India1, presents certain remarkable differences with the classical Greek formulations – particularly those filtered by Aristotle. One should remember this theory came centuries after Alexander’s adventures in India. Aristotle was Alexander’s tutor. So there is every possibility that the Greek theatrical theories were quite familiar in this part of the world. Bharat Muni defined theatre as: Drama is the mimicry of actions and conducts of people, which is rich in various emotions and which depicts different situations. This will relate to actions of men good, bad and indifferent, and will give courage, amusement and happiness as well as counsel to them all.2

He spoke of ten kinds of theatrical presentation – Nataka (about a man of high stature and concerning a theme of heroism or eroticism), Prakarana (a play about a man in search of fulfilment), Bhana (a play with a single actor), Vyayoga (one act play), Samavakara (short plays involving deities), Dima (a play involving gods and semi-gods thematically excluding the erotic and the comic), Ihamriga (short plays concerned with war involving women and the divine element), Anka (short play about lamentation), Vithi (a play with two or three actors representing different ranks in society and having dialogues with imaginary counterparts) and Prahasana (farcical play).3 According to ancient Indian mythology, theatrical presentation was to be a tool of mass instruction – as Natyaveda was the only Veda which was accessible to all castes.4 1

Second or Third century A.D. M. L. Varadpande, Ancient India and Indo-Greek Theatre (New Delhi: Abhinav Publications, 1981), p 51. 3 ‘Rupakas, Types of Sanskrit Dramas’. 03 May 2010. Web. 12 December 2016

4 Darshan Choudhury, Bangla Natoker Itihash (Kolkata: Pustak Biponi, 2011) p 20. 2

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The Bhava-Rasa theory presents an interaction-oriented approach to life which looks both at the theatrical structure of the play being created and the reception of the play as well. In this deterministic approach the Bhava and consequent Rasa mould the emotional and emotive aspects of the play which, in turn, are supposed to carry the theme to the audience through their inherent interplay of different shades. The audience is left with one dominant Bhava-Rasa element, but that particular end is gradually arrived at through the perfect balance created by the manipulation of the other elements. Although the whole structure seems to leave no possibility of artistic independence as far as performers are concerned– leaving them the limited width of interpreting and presenting each Rasa/Bhava in their personal/individual manner–yet the harmony that it presupposes is exceptional. The human self is considered in terms of Bhava – which is a combination of emotion and thought and, therefore, a perfect reflection of action-reaction. Since it is not completely dictated by intellect it allows the fabric of comprehensive behaviour to dominate the theme. The Aristotelian concept of catharsis has often been interpreted as the tool that creates an emotional response to a political issue, and the purgation of pity and fear allows the mind to be diverted from intellectually negotiating the issues raised. Therefore, Aristotle’s emphasis is ultimately on audience manipulation, whereas Bharat Muni does not go that far. This, of course, can be otherwise interpreted as ignorance or ignoring of the issues/grievances that may have existed in society, bringing us to the conclusion that the aristocracy was completely insulated. Whichever may be the case, the Bhava-Rasa theory limits itself into an aesthetic exploration that looks within the human emotions and consequent responses/reactions; it does not begin by locating the protagonist or demanding spectacle. Bharat Muni’s entire concept of theatre as stated in the NƗаyaĞƗstra stands on the idea of evoking Rasa. Rasa is a concept very difficult to translate accurately. It is quite like the essence of an object that defines it, the ultimate sensation-impression that is derived from any experience. Sometimes it is interpreted as the ‘relish’ of any aesthetic experience.1 But Rasa is more than that. It is somewhat like the quintessential core of experience that one is left with after the experience is over. M. L. Varadpande defines it as “Basic aesthetic sentiments portrayed in art and

1

"Rasa Theory with Reference to Bharata's Natyashastra." http://www.shadjamadhyam.com/. 2014. Web. 2 May 2016. .

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literature.”1 Since theatre is the aesthetic reflection of life, the idea is to generate parallel emotional positions, only distilled and carefully guided. The Bhava is created by the actors and is transmitted to the audience through their craft, and the Bhava translates into its corresponding Rasa. A theatrical performance is understood to be imperfect, even a failure, if this Bhava-Rasa construction remains unachieved. The ‘meaning’ is considered entirely in aesthetic/emotional terms, but is not independent of intellect. The segregation between thought and feeling is considered imperfect because the general populace cannot have an existence in which they can live either a life of pure intellect or a life of sheer emotion. The realization of the beauty of the world cannot be done unless one involves one’s entire self – and the self is incomplete, mechanical or entirely chaotic, if one part of it is missing. Bharat Muni, just like Aristotle, was not creating anything new. He was also looking at the theatrical practices and critically analyzing them. He was not only looking at the performance space, but was also focusing on the process of communication. Reception is vital in the case of theatre; defective communication can actually make the construction of the experience awry for the audience. In fact, it can create a different construction–than that intended by the presentation–altogether. If the acting is misread, or if the actors misread their roles, then the whole structure collapses. Therefore, instead of thinking in terms of individual catharsis he formulates a rigid set of rules a learned audience will be familiar with and will be able to follow the construction of meaning on the stage. Bharat Muni gives us the concepts of Bhava, Vibhava and Anubhava. The first one is the core of performance-based art, essentially the art of becoming the object of representation; the second one is the reason of the events and incidents; and the last one is the natural reaction of the mind. It is understood that the theatrical presentation of each Bhava will be slightly exaggerated so as to make it clear to the audience, but understanding the correct Bhava is of the greatest importance otherwise a different Rasa will be initiated in the mind of the viewer and he/she will fail to find the intended effect. Understanding the human mind quite acutely, this theory presents a negotiation between the presenters and the receivers. Just like a number of ingredients come together to create the perfect flavour, the Bhavas and the Rasas are designed to create the perfect, at least as perceived by Bharat Muni, state of experience. By generating a combination

1

M. L. Varadpande, Ancient India and Indo-Greek Theatre (New Delhi: Abhinav Publications, 1981), p 135.

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of Bhavas the actors create the corresponding combination of the Rasas. The Bhava-Rasa correspondence is as follows:1 Bhava

Rasa

Rati (love)

Sringara (amorous)

Hasa (mirth)

Hasya (humorous)

Shoka (grief)

Karuna (pathetic)

Krodha (anger)

Raudra (furious)

Utsaha (heroism)

Vira (valorous)

Bhaya (fear)

Bhayanaka (horrific)

Jugupsa (disgust)

Bibhatsa (repugnant)

Vismaya (wonder)

Adbhuta (wondrous)

To complicate matters further, since the composition of the human mind cannot be that simply captured, the Bhava is divided into three categories. These are the Sthayi Bhava with eight subcategories of its own; the Vyabichari Bhava with thirty-three subcategories; and the Satvika Bhava which is further divided into eight subcategories. In fact, in the case of acting the Satvika Bhava becomes the most significant as it contains the following subsections: Sthamba (astonishment), Sveda (perspiration), Romancha (excitement), Svarabheda (modulations of voice due to emotional alterations), Vepathu (shivering), Vaivarnya (change of colour due to fear or embarrassment or such), Asru (tears) and Pralaya (collapsing). The intermingling of these creates the ultimate effect. This, in its completeness, is called the Natyarasa (the flavour of drama, loosely translated). The audience, being entertained, becomes Rasika (those initiated in the flavour) as they are now in possession of the Rasas provided. Although this theory looks deeply into the human mind and the responses, it does not believe in what we call ‘reader response’. The reader is taken down a fixed path and the reader is forced to feel everything in a prefabricated way. The individual mind’s individual response becomes 1

"Rasa Theory with Reference to Bharata's Natyashastra." Web. 12 December 2016.

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rather a problem than a challenge. Even in the Western paradigm there is a predetermined approach to the story being told. Plots were designed either to make people, even if overtly, respond in different ways. It is not until the late twentieth century that the adherence to the tragedy-comedy structure was questioned. So, the choice of the form always foretold the impression expected, but the emphasis was about the movement of the plot, whereas in this theory the performance determines the emotional journey as much as the plot does. The Aristotelian paradigm does not dictate how the actor playing Oedipus should react when he finds out that Jocasta is his mother. But in the NƗаyaĞƗstra paradigm the actor is bound by the formulations mentioned. The theorization here focuses on the method of acting/performance as well as the crafting of the plot. Therefore, there is lesser liberty as far as the storytelling is concerned as the story itself is bound by the ten categories and within those forms the content cannot maneuver freely since a balanced presence of all the aforementioned elements is a fundamental requirement. When Aristotle was writing his Poetics, the Greek city states were in turmoil. After the Peloponnesian War the entire structure of politics changed. The power of the city states was now slowly disappearing as the Macedonian Kingdom was on the rise. Alexander the Great was Aristotle’s pupil. And since the existing political system was of a protodemocratic nature, the establishment and situationing of power was vital to the well being of the state-machinery. In fact, if one analyses the Greek myth-based drama patterns, it will be seen that almost all of them deal with negotiations with authority. The key concept of the tragic hero in itself points to the larger than life existence impossible (or statistically miniscule) in reality. In the stories/themes/plots and in the rhetoric, we see the extreme pain that the hero must suffer. The idea of catharsis focuses only on the release of pity and fear. The focus on pity and fear is politically fascinating. The pity is designed for the victim whose suffering is the result of either ambition or a mistake / flaw. Keeping in mind that the hero is, by definition, extraordinary, neither the nature of ambition nor the mistake/flaw would be ordinary. They will involve the super-structure – including the dominant divine paradigm. As a result, the punishment/consequence/self-inflicting of any kind would simultaneously create cautionary fear and terrified pity. The theatrical form, therefore, seems to have been deliberately or subconsciously used by the intelligentsia to discourage dissent. However, the very presence of such plays point to either the concrete possibility of such dissatisfaction or a common form of paranoia found in each and every power-equation. The sanctioned arts–canon and those allowed to be critically considered–

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therefore allowed the myths to exist in their next evolution. It is not insignificant that tragedy, in its cautionary nature, was promoted as the higher form of literature second only to the epic. Comedy was neglected and confined to the domestic layer. Epic was about those who were aligned with the gods and such grand ambition was impossible for the common population, more so since epic heroes were more or less chosen by the fates. Volunteering to be an epic hero has never been easy. One might trace the difference between the ‘Oriental’ and ‘Occidental’ theatrical theories in the essentially different worldviews of the East and West. The West has been obsessed with extremes such as heaven and hell, whereas the East, well, the Orient, has been more relaxed and modelled the whole system on the basis of continuous existence. The rebirth theories may be curiosities, but the incessant atomic reconfiguration of the physical state cannot be denied. The Eastern outlook has been one of co-existence, whereas the whole Western outlook is of conquest. The Himalayas were always there–as long as human history at least–and they were respectfully negotiated and worshipped and transit through them was quite constant. But climbing the peaks as high adventure began only after the Occidental gaze fell on them. The idea of violence and violation in such a scale came with the British. Such being the dominant Western outlook, it is not a matter of surprise that any such system would be in constant danger from challenges. The power negotiations and cautioning found in theatre theories are logical manifestations of such a restless ethos. It is not that the ancient Indian theatre is devoid of power-contexts. Ancient Indian art was probably dominated by the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. But there are a number of other texts as well. In fact, Hinduism, being the way of life of a settled structure which was slowly losing flexibility as far as social systems such as caste were concerned, had a greater level of aristocratic comfort. We are led to believe that the evolution of society created the systems of different castes, not religion. The system was quite immediately corrupted and turned into a rigid idea of segregation, but again, as we are told, once it was supposedly fluid. The mobile caste system offered not stagnation but a sense of peace which allowed expression of art to take the shape it took. In fact, the sophistication that one finds in the power-games in the two great epics represents a complexity that is all inclusive. But in both we see the lower echelons of society completely ignored. In fact the otherization is so strong that even the tribal allies are turned into sub-human apes! Karna’s stature in Mahabharata or these sub-human presences in the Ramayana – they all represent crises which are not deemed as catastrophic and therefore they are never allowed to become significant, the grand

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narratives comfortably overshadow them. Possibly because of the concretely layered location that contemporary society contained, the primary focus was not on the power equation between the gods (representing the power structure) and humanity (the non-aristocratic and non-religious layer of society) – the aristocracy had its own politics and the gods had to come down to that level. In this context, one may refer to the fact that in this mythology Veda Vyas could summon a god to do his bidding – that is, he could make Lord Ganesh do the secretarial work. The justification was that such divine flow could not possibly be captured by the human hand (instead of invoking a god or muse you could actually get one to sit down and do real work). The aristocracy–social or religious–was often at par with divinity. The ancient sages, such as Vashishth or Valmiki, were thought to be the inhabitants of a stage of existence inbetween the divine and the human. And it is through them that we have a lot of balancing of power-equations. Unlike in the Western paradigm the gods do not seem as whimsical as to completely disregard human welfare and toy with the fate of mankind. In fact, Bharat Muni says that drama originated as the fifth Veda because there was disharmony in the world. The great god Brahma created drama on request of the other gods and drama was supposed to be the diversion which will remove the discord. Of course, Natya-Veda, according to this legend, was more for the ĝnjdras (the fourth and lowest caste) who could not even listen to the Vedas and subsequently theatre is identified as a profession belonging to the lower castes. Theatre, then, begins as a subaltern activity which is untouchable, yet an activity that can be enjoyed by the upper castes from a distance. So, while the process of theatre therefore remains highly politicized, the plays present a different idea.1 But the issue is of keeping the image of the structure intact through the use of arts. However, this was done not through stories of exemplary punishments – rather with a complete denial of the margins. But at heart the two theories share the same design – preservation of social hierarchy and harmony. The Western theory speaks of pity and fear, the Eastern overlooks the entire overt political construct and focuses on a different human-divine association. The latter does not even allow the focus to fall on any discord or protest that might go against the structure and constructs a completely stylized theory of representation dealing more in terms of the ‘spiritual’. In the case of the plays that follow the NƗаyaĞƗstra–be it AbhijñƗnaĞƗkuntalam or Meghadnjta or any such–we see the conflict is not 1

Adya Rangacharya, Introduction to Bharata's NƗаyaĞƗstra (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Pvt Ltd, 2011), 4-6.

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created out of disharmony between the divinely powerful human beings and the helpless ones. Dushyanta’s betrayal is not out of a whim, but there is a whole different dynamic attached to it which deals with duty and decorum. Once the shroud is removed, happy endings become quite possible. There is no tragedy in Indian culture. One does not have to be drastically destructive or disruptive to attain or ascertain human dignity. Human greatness was never a point of doubt. Of course, when you have the luxury of rebirth to atone for your sins, you do not need Reversal or Recognition. Even in the case of Meghadnjta the crisis is not the punishment of exile, but the separation that is caused by it. Social justice– as epitomized through divine justice–is rarely put under scrutiny. One may call it denial or suppression, but the fact remains that the ancient theory of Indian theatre focused only on the stylistic aspect. As time progressed and social evolution occurred everywhere, we have theories of theatre that looks at various elements. But the core theory is more concerned with formalized emotional interactions rather than politics at a macro-cosmic level. One may include an interesting point here: there are plays which deviated from Bharat Muni’s formulation. M‫܀‬cchaka‫ܒ‬ika by ĝnjdraka (writing somewhere between Third Century B.C. – Fifth Century A.D.) deals with different layers of society and the political issues in an imaginary scenario. Although some critics include it in the Prakarana form,1 it is more of an exception to the overall rule. Although theatre has altered significantly over the ages, the dominant Western paradigm still has the overarching influence of Aristotelian concepts as the foundation of all theories. All experiments have taken shape positing them vis-à-vis the Aristotelian idea. It is only with the postpostmodern concepts like Hans-Thies Lehman’s Post-dramatic theory that we see any major departure or at least the attempt to break away from the system. Indian theatre developed traditionally for most of its history; however, with constant cultural assimilations the Indian theatrical scenario developed variously. This evolution took a new direction with the establishment of British influence. The Western paradigm was accepted by the high-brow culture and the native was confined to low-brow domains such as Jatra or Nautanki and such. Post-Independence India saw theatre activists like Girish Karnad and modern practitioners such as Ratan Thiyam become the exponents of Syncretic theatre which tried to create a harmonious relationship between the Indian and the Western. One can mention experiments such as Urubhangam in which there is a constant 1

David Mason, ‘Introduction to Theatre in India’. 2011. Web. 12 December 2016.

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negotiation between multiple forms of performative art quite in the tradition of classical Indian theatre held within the trappings of the Western stage. I will end this chapter quoting Utpal Dutt’s objections to NƗаyaĞƗstra. One may or may not agree with him entirely or even partially. But his points cannot be completely disregarded. He wrote: The Natyashastra allowed low-born characters on stage such as guards, courtesans and crowds. But they were not allowed to profane Sanskrit by speaking it. Sanskrit could be spoken only by the gods, and Aryan riff-raff and women spoke a Prakrit dialect on stage. Nay, more – the Natyashastra banned the writing of tragedy, lest it offend the artistic sensibility of the higher caste audience. While all plays were supposed to end happily, the Natyashastra explored all possibilities in the use of the hands and body, the tone and volume of voice projection. It is obvious that only a connoisseur could follow an old Indian play in full. This was only natural because the masses were strictly barred from theatre.1

Perhaps one may just respectfully comment that all early high-brow art forms were aimed at a limited audience. In fact, the audience will always consist of the connoisseur and the artistically uninitiated, the latter being the majority. But the omission of the people cannot be overlooked. This theory of theatre emphasized completely on the performative; and in the process of doing so it shows a conspicuous absence of contemporary political issues. This fact alone shows it to be politically motivated.

1

Dutt, On Theatre, p 43.

CHAPTER EIGHT SYNCRETIC THEATRE IN INDIA

Perhaps India is the last place where every period of history can still coexist, where the ugliness of neon lighting can illuminate ceremonies that have not changed in ritual form nor in outer clothing since the origin of the Hindu faith.1

Western theatrical conventions thrive on the construction of the ‘other’ – in fact the very basic design of conflict is constructed on this particular notion. The conflict is essentially resolved by either curing or removing the other. One may further argue that the idea of creating a naturalistic theatre is aimed at creating another reality that imitates this one but remains separated by the performative space. The western conventions are built around the concept of the absolute value of social ideals – even when they are challenged, the return to the status quo is authoritatively prescribed. The key vision that rules western theatre is the politics of power–macro or micro–and the resolution ends in the victory of the establishment over the other. Generally from Oedipus Rex to The Tempest to Peter Pan to the present we still have the same tradition of othering, the question of privilege, and power and re-establishment of the order that makes better sense at the end. In fact, through the development of the proscenium stage, the audience has been deliberately kept outside the purview of the action. They have been given the role of observer, never a participator. In fact, this system allows only one open wall, unlike the Elizabethan or the Indian Jatra stages. The other extension is professionalization of the stage, in which the ‘star’ system can thrive, but the system itself creates a distance between the actor and the audience. With the establishment of colonial rule, these parameters filtered into the Indian theatrical scene as well, replacing the indigenous tradition that spoke through symbolism and movements that often avoided the superficially real; it was a tradition that focused more on the essence of everything, looking for the rhythm of life. Simple realism regarding events or characters was never its central concern. Conflict was there, the other 1

Brook, Threads of Time, 208.

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was there. But this other was more an extension of the same self, or, there was an attempt to internalize the other, and thereby create a solution. This, of course, is gross simplification and the complexities are myriad, yet this can encapsulate the basic distinction between the two ways of life that created the colonial difference and constructed the essential distinction between two races that came together in violence, but never could rise beyond it. Perhaps it is quite fitting that Peter Brook, from his ‘Occidental’ point of view, strove to understand the paradigm. He wrote about creating his Mahabharata: Today, we have many astonishing films, plays, and novels on the horrors of war, but unlike them, the Mahabharata is not negative. It leads one into the basic meaning of conflict. It shows that the movements of history are inevitable, that great miseries and disasters may be unavoidable, but within each passing moment a new possibility can open, and life can still be lived in all its fullness. This can help us understand how to live. It can help us cross the darkest ages. . . How to survive is an urgent contemporary question, but it can easily cover up a far greater question, which the Mahabharata places firmly in its rightful place. Not only how to survive, but why?1

The colonial viewpoint bracketed everything indigenous within the terms ‘uncivilized’ and ‘native’ – the latter in a derogatory sense that still lingers today. And with Western education, Western theatrical values became the yardsticks of merit. Although we have come quite a distance from the days when the Western colonial gaze was of absolute critical value, we adhere to a handsome portion of the Western theatrical formula. This, of course, is quite in line with the ‘Oriental’ approach of inclusiveness in which the world is welcomed, and the new or the different is not allowed to become the other. In fact, they are integrated into the lifeblood of local culture. There are unfortunate political strategies of denial, but on the whole we still believe in the happy intermingling of all varieties and the necessary evolution it produces, instead of going back to certain points of time which might seem appropriate to ultra-patriarchal religious right-wing structures. Culture, theatre and politics are uniquely and integrally associated. Theatre has always been a mirror and a tool in the hands of those who create either the structure or the dissent. The diversity of political response was exceptional in India. Convergence was possible because of the imperial presences and their natural centripetal pull. Perhaps the Western cultural influence is also a force that provides the connecting point of 1

Brook, Threads of Time, 219-20.

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many regional cultural expressions. However, the otherness of certain cultural situations was quite deliberately used in the construction of the anti-imperial identity during the British rule and several pockets reemerged. So, even though national integration remains a much hyped propaganda, the ‘salad bowl’ impression seems more appropriate than the existence of a well-balanced overarching identity. There is a concrete attempt from certain quarters to go back to an earlier cultural construct– which is quite often imagined–that prevailed. But the development of the national psyche has been thus that such a complete generic backtracking seems impossible. Needless to say, all alien influence is not thought to be contamination. There is also the issue of post-colonial politics – the colonies may not be there, but the colonizer’s policies and economic colonization, are still rampantly in place. Internal colonialism is a very alarming reality. Syncretism, with its inclusive parameters, has often been employed to clearly delineate such issues. Quite often, neo-colonial attitudes attempt to depoliticize the arts so as to suppress such voices, and try to institute pre-colonial ideals as absolutes. The aim of returning to a pre-colonial sanitized status quo is not the solution, but a syncretic representation may be the point of order. Curiously enough, the issue in itself becomes anti-colonial in its absence of rigidity and its thesis of openness. The Western theatrical paradigm initially established itself mainly in two cities – cities that are now known as Mumbai and Kolkata. The theatre, adhering strictly to Western models, was meant to be an escape from the ‘native’ reality into at least the illusory representation of the home that the colonizers had gallantly left in pursuit of ‘higher’ purposes.1 Even when the ‘native’ component started using this mode of theatre, it was essentially the Western aesthetic that was followed; even when the discourse was anti-British and veiled in Indian mythology. There were two distinct lines followed during the era of the freedom struggle: the ‘high culture’ theatre with sub-textual references to the anti-imperial movement and the ‘low culture’ performances, such as Tamasha or Jatra, that were presented in the rural areas with more overt content. The disdain that this structure had for the folk is exactly what was challenged by the Roots movement which aimed to bridge the gap between the cultural divide constructed during the whole history of the post-British theatrical tradition. This was done variously since there were different local theatrical

1 Erin B. Mee, Theatre of Roots: Redirecting the Modern Indian Stage (Oxford: Seagull, 2008), 42.

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traditions in different parts of the country and the process had to be very different. Therefore, syncretism in India is not a single uniform paradigm. The same is true in the case of any political boundary that includes various indigenous tribes and/or races. The diversity of cultures presents us with a large variety of methods and modes. Perhaps the most significant issue that syncretism introduces is tolerance as against the colonial strategy of othering. An approach like syncretism includes a harmony that goes against the very essence of the colonial structure. By blending the two or more traditions that may come together, syncretism ensures progression, keeping a balance between all the imagined contradictions. There are times when the playwrights remove the colonial markers entirely and try to present a completely indigenous phenomenon. But even here the complete denial of the Occidental is rare. And if that is the case, then the idea of syncretism is no longer valid in that particular case. In many cases the stage itself is removed and an open performance takes its place. If for some constrains the stage cannot be avoided, then the fourth wall is broken and often the performance space is extended beyond the limits of the proscenium structure. The intermingling of cultural tropes (such as regional dances) with traditional dialogue or narration is one of the most familiar methods followed by the playwrights who deal with such forms. In this, Indian syncretic theatre is parallel to Jean-Louis Barrault’s idea of ‘Total Theatre’. The dominating use of mythology, rather than structured history, is another way that finds direct communication with the audience. The cultural connection that mythology has with the people out-values the political construct of history most of the times. The participation of unprofessional actors, non-actors, other performers has also been used as tools against the conventional stage wisdom. At this point of time, syncretism is not merely a postcolonial trope, it is also one in which the centre-margin dichotomy finds balance. Not only in terms of power, but also in terms of the high-low conflict and the intellect-physical variance as well, in such theatre the body has often been more theatricized than the plot element. Not only through costumes or such other elements, but also through hyper-movements syncretic theatre has brought about new modes of representation. And this was complemented by the use of seven languages in Tim Supple’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Largely with an Asian cast, Supple presented a rare spectacle in which many limits were broken and the construction of meaning reached a far greater level than traditional Shakespearean presentations. In recent times, there has been a reverse influence as well; even the traditional stage is adopting some of these elements.

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At the moment there are many eminent theatre-persons who are engaging in various methods of hybridity. Among them one must name at least three exponents of Indian theatre who come from three very different parts of India. They are challenging traditional Western concepts of theatre and creating a syncretic experience blending Indian cultural staples with the limiting principles of European drama. The Aristotelian tradition has been conventionally accepted as prescriptive – allowing only the very Western concept of boundaries and calculated freedom, rarely leaving allowance for expansive and inclusive practices. And historically Western theatre has developed vis-à-vis these rules, never really moving any considerable distance from them. Instead of going back to being rigidly faithful to the Indian NƗаyaĞƗstra, the new exponents of syncretic theatre have primarily focused on immediately available cultural tools and tokens. We have the Tanatu Natakavedi (indigenous theatre) concept evolving from the Kalari movement in Kerala which focused entirely on the regional aesthetics but playwrights such as K. N. Panicker from Kerala also engaged in a theatre that combines regional tradition with the dominant method. We have similar instances with Ratan Thiyam and Heisnam Kanhailal from Manipur – who are creating new theatrical paradigms. One must mention Manish Mitra’s Urubhangam – which tests the limits of theatre. In many ways, Manish Mitra goes back to the core idea of storytelling. His Urubhangam is a mixture of dance forms with a narrator telling the whole story. By returning to the essence of drama, experimenting with the performance space and time, Mitra creates a completely unique experience. These theatricians follow the experiments undertaken by contemporary greats like Girish Karnad and Vijay Tendulkar and Badal Sircar. But in many ways, it was Rabindranath Tagore who was one of the pioneers of such syncretic experimentation. Girish Karnad, the great Kannad playwright, uses Indian mythology and legends, folktales, folk-history and often combines them with contemporary issues so as to have the perfect equation with his audience. In fact, even in the formal and technical aspects he often goes back to folk forms, particularly folk theatre. Even in his use of English we see complete Indianization. The central idea behind Karnad’s use of such elements is to re-establish the Indian ethos which has been in some threat from technological and neo-imperial advances. The indigenous sensibility, at one point of time, was being bombarded with such vehemence that it needed a few champions. There was, and is, the project of completely ignoring the external forces, but that includes the danger of losing modernity and denying the good that is a part of the new influence. So, a balanced approach was called for and Karnad allows this syncretism in his

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plays. Without being militant, he counters the propaganda that the Indian past is inglorious or ‘unfashionable’. In fact, in play after play, as in Fire and the Rain or Hayavadana, we see him go back to Indian rituals, Indian supernatural configurations, ancient texts such as Kathasaritasagara and the use of local instruments for sound, typically archaic lighting and other such technical tools. All these elements serve to highlight the return to Indianness. The syncretism is further achieved often by using Brechtian techniques of alienation – keeping the stage apparatus perceptible, using narrators and so on. Vijay Tendulkar, in Maharashtra, working on the similar principles, focused on the internal colonial aspects and power structures that depend on marginalization. He often presented historical characters from contemporary times. In Ghasiram Kotwal he depicted Nana Phadnavis in a non-flattering light and faced a handsome amount of controversy. In fact, he remains immersed in the urban space and uses many urban myths. One of the most significant aspects of his theatre is the examination of identity within a sphere which is evolving out of a colonial structure and sometimes subtly, sometimes desperately trying to create a space for the new Indian identity. The negotiation between immediate history and construction of violence sets Tendulkar apart. Badal Sircar, the practitioner of alternative theatre in West Bengal, clearly stated his purpose of integrating the Western and the indigenous traditions in his On Theatre. He wrote: It would be meaningless to valorize one and condemn the other. What we need to do is to analyze both the theatre forms to find the exact points of strength and weaknesses and their causes, and that may give us the clue for an attempt to create a Theatre of Synthesis – a Third Theatre.1

His concept of the Third Theatre is one of the clearest doctrines of syncretism. This theatre is unique in its attempts to bring together the rural and the urban in both thematic and theatrical aspects; in encouraging the audience to participate; in its absence of stylized props and costumes to ensure flexibility and in its focus on acting. Plays like Sagina Mahato and Spartacus demonstrate the influences of folk and other indigenous theatre traditions like Jatra and several regional dance forms. In Evam Indrajit he deals with existential issues and one can find elements of the Absurd. His attempt to move out of the proscenium format into the open space, following earlier Indian traditions, is a significant contribution towards crafting a new archetype. Badal Sircar and Heisnam Kanhailal had met in 1972. It is generally agreed this encounter turned Kanhailal into an 1

Badal Sircar, On Theatre (Kolkata: Seagull, 2009), 2.

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experimenter as far as performance was concerned. He was already a great playwright and did great work, such as Tamnalai, Pebet and Imphal 73, but after 1972 the whole ideation changed. In 1978 he gathered one hundred women vendors and inspired them to perform in the production of Nupilan (Women’s Agitation). It was an open air performance which presented the struggles in the Nupi Keithel (the historic women’s market). Kanhailal went on to do much experimental work and he used a whole village in Sanjennaha community in Churachandpur. Ratan Thiyam has taken the theatre of Manipur to another level. Thiyam focuses on a diverse array of elements. In fact, his actors use non-linguistic verbal tools, such as growling, offering a different experience manipulating the structured expectation of the audience. He uses martial arts, devotional dance, acrobatics – all of which are native to his culture. His production of Antigone brought together the ancient classics and contemporary politics using all the syncretic tools. Similarly K.N. Panicker incorporates many regional elements such as martial arts, dance forms. His emphasis on improvisation sets him quite apart. His presentation of Bhasha’s Madhyama Vyayogam in Sanskrit had great focus on the dynamic of the bodily expression of the actors. His theatre troupe Sopanam strives to tell traditional stories, particularly those from the epics, and intertwines local music, mohininatyam, kuttiyattam and other such forms in their productions. Rabindranath Tagore is of much significance in this discussion. From him we draw much of the principles of syncretic ideology. Writing within the colonial space he accepted much from the world and integrated it into the Bengali ethos; he also accepted much from the indigenous traditions – not only from his region but from many diverse local sources. In fact, a major paradigm shift was effected by him when he introduced his dancedrama form. From the colonial point of view, and through those inspired by that point of view, dance had become somewhat problematic in the Bengali “bhadrolok” (gentleman) sphere. In fact, to this day, dance has not regained its casual commonplace footing in the high-class Bengali culture. It is no longer a part of upper class rituals or ceremonies. It is now relegated to certain carnivalesque spheres or is a part of the melodramatic margins. Like in most other Indian cultures the Bengali gentility does not engage in such physical display of emotions. As high art and in the boundary of the stage it has its space, but not elsewhere. This is one of the regional hangovers that this part of India still heavily suffers from. And without Rabindranath Tagore, dance in Bengali culture would have remained a despicable contrary of the so called intelligent response to life. In his theatre Rabindranath Tagore infused not only the elements of music and drama, but also the living mythology that much of India moves

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through. Rural areas still maintain much of the mythical heritage and the subaltern arena still holds on to many epic/legend/myth-based constructs vis-à-vis formation of identity in particular. By bringing all that to the forefront, Rabindranath Tagore created a whole new vision that stood against the colonial construction of everything Indian, never denying the elements that could be, and was, effortlessly integrated. In fact, this fascination with dance forms that Rabindranath had at this point of time came from his increasing interest in spirituality. Ecstasy, the ultimate spiritual experience can be obtained through certain forms of dance. In fact, much of Indian dance-forms are mystical in nature. They speak of liberation of the body through harmony of music. This amalgamation of dance forms with certain issues not only created an emotional connection, but also moved towards a higher sensitivity, a more spiritual realization of the world. The specialty of these texts lies in the fact that they combine such elements with issues that are contemporary – as in Chandalika where untouchability and identity formation and gender issues take centre-stage. In Chitrangada, Rabindranath explored human relationships and also different dance-forms. Tasher Desh strives to celebrate a new ideal of dynamic adventure and understanding that he felt was somewhat lacking in the culture of the day. Muktodhara in its ecological concern, Raktakarabi in its assessment of civilization, Daakghar in its political content – all point to a deep anxiety with human life and a significant exploration of the possibility of an inclusive spiritual solution. The use of syncretic elements not only functions as an anti-colonial method or a post-colonial re-valuation, it also contributes to a review of the present cultural situation. It often re-posits certain ideas and moves towards a creation of a new space which might stand as a new paradigm altogether, or by contrast show the state of the existing pattern. Such syncretism has the potential to stand against the Bhabhaesque hybridity and consequent crisis in identity. In fact, in the modern globalized world, syncretism seems to be quite necessary. Across the globe we see such projects being adopted in the theatrical world. From Wole Soyinka in Nigeria, David Edgar in England, Jack Davis in Australia, to the Indian playwrights, and many more all round the world, we have a huge crosssection of writers assessing, hypothesizing, negotiating syncretic issues, and trying to create a paradigm that necessarily contests all colonial and neo-colonial hegemony.

CHAPTER NINE POSTDRAMATIC THEATRE

Hans-Thies Lehmann’s Postdramatic Theatre was published in German in 1999; the English translation came into being in 2006. In this book Lehmann first theorized a concept that had been in practice and was found sporadically in various critical discourses for some time. The idea of postdramatic theatre is not a theoretical one, but it originated in practice as there was, and is, a general feeling around the world that something more than the diction-dominated plays may be due. There is still an absence of any upcoming dominant paradigm, but experimentations with theatrical form–practically everywhere in the world–are numerous and the idea of postdramatic theatre essentially looks at these possibilities. With the progression of time, the evolution of theatre has taken a particularly political–perhaps more overtly than always–turn. And the ideologies that are invading the theatrical space mostly have meta-aesthetic motivations behind them. Along with the postmodern the postcolonial has been a great influence on theatre and a major component in postdramatic prototypes is an extension of the postcolonial agenda. The Syncretic element provides ample scope for inclusion of other cultural tropes within the theatrical space. Native art forms coalesce with the predominant western theatrical pattern to create a stronger emotional connect – though, certain experiments find success while others fail. But the emphasis on such extra-textual music and dance elements are favoured by a number of theatricians of the day. In the past, there had been much experimentation with the theatrical representation. Anton Chekhov wanted to create “a laughing mood”1 rather than having an ultra-naturalist interpretation of his plays which initiated his legendary falling out with Stanislavky. Brecht was looking to create an experience which will force the audience to think about the issues that he presented in his plays and in his attempt to do so he departed from the method-acting process of Stanislavsky. Pirandello was against realism as well as against the rationale of theatre and he wanted to capture the unquantifiable nature of life and, therefore, he went against the conventional ideas of plot and character. Of course, the theatre of the 1

Chambers, The Continuum Companion to Twentieth Century Theatre, 148.

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Absurd, the Theatre of Cruelty and many other such movements cropped up from time to time. The one thing they had in common was the dependence on the written text. These were primarily playwrights who were writing with a purpose and for that reason the written word remained supreme, the original blueprint on which the rest was constructed. They did manipulate the theatrical practices, but always with the text at the centre. In the case of postdramatic theatre the primary challenge is to the supremacy of the written text that still remains the core of the theatrical presentation. The habitual serenity of verbal resolution is often challenged with effects derived through elements which successfully agitate the audience towards a designated feeling. These elements, not quantifiable or even representable, through the written word, introduce a new dimension in the theatrical experience. It also completely changes the idea of the performance narrative. The local flavour is of great significance as the audience’s response can be anticipated and therefore manipulated. There is an opinion that postdramatic theatre becomes necessary because there is a general dissatisfaction with the established trends of representation which includes the linearity of time. Perhaps so; or perhaps it is time for the next step in evolution. In fact, forwarding a trend that Harold Pinter practiced–the trend of not including backgrounds or clues to the activities of the character which is always unreal and asserts the fictive nature of the play–the idea of an organized and selective representation of the ‘real’ world is being explored in the new kinds of dramatic texts. The delicately crafted thesis plays or musicals or any such needs to evolve into something that will perhaps re-present the chaotic nature of life itself. The absence of the jumble of impressions an ordinary receiver is exposed to every day will have an impact that will make contact even on the subconscious level. If temporality is challenged, then the experience can be presented in a multi-directional manner, essentially following the logic of the ‘story’. Although, in a way, the ‘story’ itself seems to lose its primacy in the face of new psycho-political impressions that becomes the new objective. The aim is not to create chaos, but to create an organized impression of circumstantial chaos and chance-events that surround us. As Lehmann had written, this form is: . . more presence than representation, more shared than communicated experience, more process than product, more manifestation than signification, more energetic impulse than information.1

1

Quoted in Brandon Woolf, "Towards a Paradoxically Paralexical Postdramatic Politics," Eds. Karen Jürs-Munby, Jerome Carroll and Steve Giles, Postdramatic

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In this collaborative process the singularity of an authorial presence can be challenged, the negotiation then would not be limited to the author and his reader/viewer but would become more collaborative, therefore, more like reality. The meaning would be jointly constructed and not dictated to the audience. In fact, in many ways it aims not at imparting information-based impact, but rather at creating a joint experience shared by all who are present. Since, these deviations go against the established construct of ‘drama’, not ‘theatre’, the new textual presences can be called postdramatic. In fact, the reinvention of the presentation has been taken to such limits that Gerda Poschmann has termed the erstwhile characters as ‘textbearers’.1 The unfortunate echo of ‘pall bearers’ notwithstanding, this creates interesting possibilities in redefining the position of actors within and outside the performance itself. This re-locationing gives freedom from the earlier constrictions but creates newer questions, and allows one to look at tradition quite intertextually. In the absence of a dominant paradigm, different performances follow different paths; the text-bearers do not necessarily carry the text in the sense of written drama, but the text that they are trying to convey. This shows how the classical or the Stanislavskian method of acting is also challenged along with other structural departures. The Brechtian tradition is sometimes followed; sometimes the performers come up with newer ideas. Particularly while synchronizing with other art-forms the conventional method-acting becomes not only difficult but also irrelevant. In 1966 Peter Handke’s Publikumsbeschimpfung (Offending the Audience) was first performed. It was conceived more as a pamphlet, but was transformed into a performance. It contained no plot, no dialogue (at least none between the characters themselves) and no ‘imitation’ as such, only ironic invective and created a kind of para-dialogue with the audience. This was one of the texts that inspired Lehmann. In his review of the 2008 revival in New York, Jason Zinoman calls it an “anti-play”.2 Zinoman describes the play as: Around 20 well-groomed performers periodically stand up and sit down, shake their hips alluringly or speak their lines — a collection of assertions

Theatre and the Political: International Perspectives on Contemporary Performances, (London: Bloomsbury, 2013), 38. 1 Cristina Delgado-García, Rethinking Character in Contemporary British Drama (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2015), 37. 2 Jason Zinoman, "What Were You Expecting, Mr. Milquetoast, a Plot?" Rev. of Offending the Audience, by Peter Handke. New York Times [New York] 5 Feb. 2008, Theatre Review sec.

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Chapter Nine about what this play isn’t: no slice of life, no documentary, no story and on and on — in a variety of funny, frequently loud, voices. By the end of this hourlong museum piece, the actors inform us that it’s time to be offended and proceed to lob insults like “milquetoast” and “zero.”1

However, according to the reviewer, the text of the play is no longer offensive as the ‘insults’ are no longer insulting. The nature of provocation needs to evolve. Handke’s Selbstbezichtigung (Self-Accusation) is created on similar lines. Handke, unlike most of his contemporaries, did not believe in the intrusion of mainstream politics in art. He believed as much in emotional response as the rational. In fact, he refused to extract the rational or the emotional separately from a given experience. He told Arthur Joseph, I can’t separate the rational and emotional effects. Doesn’t a stunning new thought, a new insight, a new view that is based on Reason, often make you feel wholly emotional effects? I think what happens is that the novelty, the new perspective, removes the rational view, and emotions come into being – a kind of joy that you could call emotional. However, in Offending the Audience many spectators didn’t even listen to what was being said. They heard the rhythms, and apparently, rhythms somehow reduce the distance between speakers and listeners. These rhythms turn directly into emotions, bringing objects closer.2

He was interested more in the exploration of a new kind of theatre and his plays did get cult status. However, after 1996 he involved himself more actively in world politics. His theatre remains one that sought a different texture of sounds, of emotions manipulated out of tranquillity. Sarah Kane’s 4:48 Psychosis looks at its central theme in a manner that befits the theme and challenges traditional ideals. Kane committed suicide in 1999 and this play was performed posthumously in 2000. The play has no stage direction and follows no rational progression. Since there are no defined characters or identifiably separate characters the play can be presented almost surrealistically. David Greig writes in his ‘Introduction’ to the Complete Plays: 4:48 Psychosis is not a letter from one person to another but a play, intended to be voiced by at least one and probably more actors. The mind that is the subject of the play’s fragments is the psychotic mind. A mind 1

Jason Zinoman, "What Were You Expecting, Mr. Milquetoast, a Plot?" Marton Marko, "'Das Erdorchester Bedienen': Epiphany, Enchantment and the Sonorous World of Peter Handke." Austrian Studies 17 (2009): 164-78. Google Books. Web. 19 May 2016. 2

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which is the author, and which is also more than the author. It’s a mind that the play’s open form allows the audience to enter and recognise themselves within.1

Kane completely removes all semblances of sanity and presents the disjointed mind and in doing so, she dispenses with plot, character and all the traditional ideas that one expects from theatre. This is the direct voice of the subconscious. Many have called this her suicide note, but that is disrespectful to the author as well as to the text. All works of art, regardless of formal jugglery or innovation, are the imprints of the authors; but it becomes the reader’s the moment it is presented to the world. Through this text the reader/viewer can negotiate their own subconscious and above and beyond autobiographical elements; this is the point that one should note. Manish Mitra’s Urubhangam presents a different postdramatic experience. Its experimentation is done through thematic syncretism and quite often it feels more like a dance-heavy performance rather than a traditional theatrical presentation. Perhaps Mitra was thinking of Utpal Dutt’s idea that “Theatrical experiment should evolve from that past which lies dormant in the audience’s memory.”2 According to Bharata’s NƗаyaĞƗstra drama (natya) is the third category of dance (the other two being pure dance – nritta, and expressive dance - nritya).3 Of course, this is vis-à-vis dance and not theatre. But in the NƗаyaĞƗstra model the use of Rasa is the same in the case of dance and acting (abhinaya). So the integration of dance and theatre is not entirely a new concept in the Indian theatrical space. But this was practically lost under the influence of the Western theories; though we have a great many examples in Rabindranath Tagore’s work. The original Urubhangam by Bhasa is extraordinary because it not only deals with the death of Duryodhan but also shows it onstage – something that is unequivocally forbidden in the NƗаyaĞƗstra. Of course, there is a possibility that this play was conceived before the NƗаyaĞƗstra became a canonical text. Whatever the reason, the original text limits itself with that one moment in the epic Mahabharat. Manish Mitra’s play expands the play so as to incorporate episodes leading to the moment in question. In fact, it becomes a dance-oriented retelling of the whole epic. Ananda Lal thinks there is a definite influence

1

Sarah Kane, Complete Plays. London: Methuen Drama, 2001, xvi-xvii. Dutt, On Theatre, 20. 3 Ananda Lal, Theatres of India: A Concise Companion (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2014), 217. 2

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of Peter Brook’s Mahabharata.1 However, Mitra breaks away from the Western tradition again and again in the course of the performance. Often breaking away from the idea of dialogue–which is supplanted by a narrative voice present onstage–and often discarding different actors performing different roles–we have one person becoming two through different mudras–the whole theatrical experience is repositioned. In fact, verbal narration combines seamlessly with dance movements which introduce a different kind of communication. Manish Mitra had commented in an interview: We decided to depict The Mahabharata in the form of a physical narrative. And to do that, it is important to understand the body. We were looking for a common Indian theatre language. It wasn’t easy to find it in such a vast multi-cultural country. But during our journeys, we found several similarities. The Indian body is different from the European body, it has a unique language. Yakshagana in Karnataka maybe different from Chhau dance from Purulia, but they also have many similarities. Indian theatre, in any form, is a celebration of the bhavas and rasas. . .2

Mitra also plays with time and space. This is a six hour performance with four breaks in-between. Mitra uses these breaks by having small performances–songs, bodies of dead soldiers in the foyer and so on–that keep the continuity in terms of narrative, time and space. The audience is not allowed to escape. The use of the dance forms Kathakali and Kudiyattam not only introduces syncretic elements along with the use of Indian classical mythology; but the performance strategies take us truly beyond the scope of traditional proscenium theatre and create an experience very different from the customary. A major issue facing the postdramatic scenario is the audience itself. Traditionally the audience expects a certain communication from theatre. And if that is not present then the general audience will get baffled and defeat the purpose entirely. It is very necessary for a new paradigm to establish itself slowly and widely before it can function with optimum impact. At the moment there are a few elements that the audience is comfortable with and a level of manipulation is well received. But this 1 Ananda Lal, "Falling Short," The Telegraph [Kolkata] 13 July 2013. Web. Accessed 20 May 2016. . 2 Sravasti Datta, "The Power Centre," The Hindu [Chennai] 23 Jan. 2014. Web. Accessed 20 May 2016.

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kind of audience is still limited as most expect the customary. Lehmann echoes the idea of Baudrillardian hyper-reality – so even in theatre people continue to look for the elements that will allow willing suspension of disbelief and not allow the mimesis to take its own shape. Therefore, training the viewing gaze is a major necessity and it cannot be done overnight. In fact, semi-traditional concepts like the absurd still do not find favour with a large number of people. So it should not be expected that this whole new idea will be immediately and extensively accepted by one and all. Xenophobia is normal. The question of why this is necessary remains to be answered. When I say ‘remains to be answered’ I do not mean that the next few lines would do so. This is a question that should remain. This is the question that is essentially the origin of all artistic evolution. Aesthetic merit is significant but it is temporally dominated and is culture-specific. It requires constant reinvention. But the socio-political angle evolves along with culture and boundaries, and theatre–with its immediate communicative functions, a form where the performance and reading occur simultaneously and can be more collaborative–has to adapt and provide content that will resonate with the audience. This resonance is vital when one remembers how fascism and other such forces have always tried to utilize theatre for their own purpose–the Nazis burned books but supported production of The Merchant of Venice–yet theatre has also remained the tool of dissent. In fact, the activist nature of theatre has become overtly necessary as civilization has progressed. It is mostly in the twentieth century that we see a non-religious yet political purposiveness emerging. From the Shavian social-consciousness issues to the direct political propaganda of Edward Bond and such others, we have travelled towards a phenomenally functional approach. The fact that the traditional theatre would become inadequate is not really surprising as theatre now not only suffers from greater competition from forms like cinema and televised entertainment but also from geriatric fatigue. The new generations require newer modes which will cater to the people of this internet-age of speed and temporary celebrity culture. Theatre must evolve as it still remains the only mode of live-communication which can both aesthetically entertain and involve the viewer/reader in the endangered concept of cerebration.

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INDEX

AbhijñƗnaĞƗkuntalam 71 Aeschylus 3, 26, 27, 91 Prometheus Bound 26 All for Love 30, 91 Als, Hilton 35, 36, 94 Aristotle 1, 5, 51, 52, 65, 67, 69, 91 Poetics 51, 69 Artaud, Antonin 51, 57-60, 63, 91, 97 Theatre and Its Double, The 57, 91 Atkinson, Brooks 35, 94

Saved 32, 33, 91, 97 Brecht, Bertolt 25, 31, 37, 38, 39, 42, 49, 51-57, 59, 60, 63, 80, 83, 85, 91, 93 Caucasian Chalk Circle, The 22, 56, 91, 93 Good Person of Szechwan, The 56, 91 Short Organum for the Theatre, A 55 Wedding, The 55 Brook, Peter 25, 56, 58, 75, 76, 88, 95 Burbage, Richard 47

B

C

Babbage, Frances 56, 94 Barrault, Jean-Louis 78 Barthes, Roland 9 Beckett, Samuel 15, 20 Waiting for Godot 20, 21 Bernhardt, Sarah 47 Bharat Muni 65-67, 71, 72, 87, 94, 99 NƗаyaĞƗstra 66, 69, 71, 73, 79, 87, 99 Bhasha 81 Madhyama Vyayogam 81 Bhattacharya, Bijon 39 Blake, William 10 Boal, Augusto 56, 94 Bolt, Robert 57 Bond, Edward 31, 32, 33, 49, 57, 61, 62, 63, 89, 91, 97 Early Morning 32, 91 Lear 32, 33, 49, 63, 91, 92 Pope’s Wedding, The 32, 91

Calderon de la Barca, Pedro 46 Chaudhuri, Sukanta 12, 96 Chekhov, Anton 83 Clockwork Orange, A 32, 91 Congreve, William 29, 91 Way of the World 29, 91

A

D Davis, Jack 82 Devrient, Ludwig 47 Donaldson, Peter 12 Dutt, Utpal 36-39, 42, 73, 87, 94, 96, 99 Angaar 37 Barricade 38 Duswapner Nagari 38 Ebar Rajar Pala 38 Ferari Fauj 37 Jaliwanwalabag 39 Kallol 37 Mao Tse-Tung 39

Index

102 Mrityur Atit 42 On Theatre 96 Rifle 39 Sanyasir Tarabari 39 Tiner Talowar 38 E Ekhof, Konrad 46 Eco, Umberto 13, 14, 96 Edgar, David 82 Esslin, Martin 14, 56, 58, 60, 97 Euripides 3, 6, 27, 44, 91 Medea 27, 91 F Fiddler on the Roof, The 22 Fo, Dario 31, 91 Accidental Death of an Anarchist 31, 91 Frazer, Sir James 1, 2, 4, 97 Golden Bough, The 1, 4, 97 G Galsworthy, John 30, 52, 91 Justice 30, 91 Silver Box, The 30 Strife 30 Garrick, David 46 Ghatak, Ritwik 39 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von 46 Graf, Fritz 25 Greig, David 86 Grotowski, Jerzy 58, 95 H Handke, Peter 85, 86, 98, 100 Publikumsbeschimpfung 85 Selbstbezichtigung 86 Hansberry, Lorraine 35, 36, 91

A Raisin in the Sun 35, 91, 94 Hare, David 25, 63 Stuff Happens 63, 91 Hashmi, Safdar 40-42, 94, 97, 100 Aurat 41 Halla Bol 40 Hatyare 41 Kursi, Kursi, Kursi 41 Machine 41 Herodotus 1 Hesk, John 26 I Ibsen, Henrik 30, 52 Iffland, August Wilhelm 46 J Jacobson, Roman 9 Jane Eyre 22, 97, 100 Jarry, Alfred 59 Jones, LeRoy (Baraka, Amiri) 35, 36, 91, 95 Dutchman 35, 36, 91, 94 Joseph, Arthur 86 Jouvet, Louis 58 K Kapoor, Prithviraj 39 Kanhailal, Heisnam 79, 80, 81, 94 Imphal 73 81 Nupilan 81 Pebet 81, 94 Tamnalai 81 Kane, Sarah 86, 87, 92 4:48 Psychosis 86 Karnad, Girish 72, 79, 92, 93, 99 Fire and the Rain 80, 92 Hayavadana 80, 92 Kathasaritasagara 80 Kean, Edmund 46, 47 Keats, John 52 Kowzan, Tadeusz 13,

Theatre Theory and Performance: A Critical Interrogation L Lal, Ananda 87, 98 Lehman, Hans-Thies 72, 83, 84, 85, 89 Levi-Strauss, Claude 3 Lope de Vega, Felix 46 M Macklin, Charles 46 Malinowski, Bronislaw 2, 3, 98 Marlowe, Christopher 28, 92 Dido, Queen of Carthage 28, 92 Doctor Faustus 28, 92 Edward the Second 28, 92 Jew of Malta, The 28, 92 Tamburlaine 28, 92 Meghadnjta 71, 72 Miller, J. Hillis 9, 100 Mitra, Manish 79, 87, 88, 93 Urubhangam 72, 79, 87, 93

103

Pantulu, Kandukuri Veeresalingam 36 Pavis, Patrice 50, 99 Peirce, Charles Saders 9, 10, 14 Peter Pan 75 Pettitt, Tom 2, 99 Pinter, Harold 13, 15, 20, 33, 34, 51, 60-63, 84, 92, 93, 95, 97 Birthday Party, The 20, 33, 61, 62, 92 Caretaker, The 62 Mountain Language 34, 63, 92, 94 Pirandello, Luigi 13, 83 Six Characters in Search of an Author 13 Piscator, Erwin 37, 55, 97 Plato 5 Poschmann, Gerda R Ramayana 70 Rangacharya, Adya 36, 99

N

S

Nemirovich-Danchenko, Vladimir 47 Nietzsche, Friedrich 6, 30, 99

Sahani, Balraj 39 Sahni, Bhisham 36 Saunders, Mary 46 Schiller, Friedrich 46 Schroeder, Friedrich Ludwig 46 Seneca, Lucius Annaeus 27, 28, 94 Thyestes 27, 28, 94 Shakespeare, William 16, 20, 28, 29, 33, 44, 47, 78, 91, 92 Hamlet 21, 43, 45, 52, 92 King Lear 32, 33, 49, 92 Macbeth 12, 28-29, 53, 92 Merchant of Venice, The 30, 89, 92 Midsummer Night’s Dream, A 11, 16, 22, 43, 44, 78 Tempest, The 75 Twelfth Night 29, 92

O Olivier, Laurence 33 Osborne, John 17, 18, 19, 31, 32, 62, 92 Look Back in Anger 6, 18, 19, 31-32, 53, 92 Ostrovsky, Alexander Nikolayevich 47 P Panicker, Kavalam Narayana 42, 79, 81

104

Index

Shankar, Ravi (Pandit) 39 Shaw, George Bernard 17, 19, 30, 31, 52, 61, 92, 97 Arms and the Man 17, 30, 92 Man and Superman 30, 92 Mrs. Warren’s Profession 30, 92 Shelley, Percy Bysshe 58 Sircar, Badal 42, 57, 79, 80, 93, 94, 97, 99 Evam Indrajit 80, 93 On Theatre 80, 99 Sagina Mahato 80, 93 Sophocles 3, 93 Oedipus Rex 75 Soyinka, Wole 82 Stanislavsky, Konstantin 38, 47, 49, 83, 95, 99 Stoppard, Tom 15, 62 Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead 21, 44 Styan, J.L. 60, 100 ĝnjdraka 72 M‫܀‬cchaka‫ܒ‬ika 72 Supple, Tim 11, 16, 78, 91 Szondi 6, 101

Muktodhara 82 Raktakarabi 82, 93 Tasher Desh 82, 93 Talma, François Joseph 46 Tanveer, Habib 36 Tendulkar, Vijay 79, 80, 93, 95 Ghasiram Kotwal 80 Thiyam, Ratan 42, 72, 79, 81 Antigone 81 Tynan, Kenneth 32 Taylor, Paul 34

T

Y

Tagore, Rabindranath 36, 79, 81, 82, 87, 93, 94, 96 Chandalika 82, 93, 96 Chitrangada 82, 93 Daakghar 82

Yeats, William Butler 47, 52

V Van den Dries, Luk 50, 95 Varadpande, M.L. 66, 100 Veda Vyas 71 Mahabharata 70, 76, 88 W Waseem, Mohammad 36 Wesker, Arnold 62 Wicked 22, 93 Wilde, Oscar 31, 93 Importance of Being Earnest, The 31, 93 Wizard of Oz 22

Z Zinoman, Jason 85, 100