volume ten no.

1
spring 1990
soviet
and
east european
performance
SEEP is a publication of the Institute for Contemporary Eastern Euro-
pean Drama and Theatre under the auspices of the Center for
Advanced Study in Theatre Arts (CASTA), Graduate Center, City
University of New York. The Institute Office is Room 1206A, City
University Graduate Center, 33 West 42nd Street, New York, NY
10036. All subscription requests and submissions should be addressed
to the Editors of SEEP: Daniel Gerould and Alma Law, CAST A,
Theatre Program, City University Graduate Center, 33 West 42nd
Street, New York, NY 10036.
EDITORS
Daniel Gerould
Alma Law
ASSOCIATE EDITOR
Edward Dee
ADVISORY BOARD
Edwin Wilson, Chairman
Marvin Carlson
Leo Hecht
Martha W. Coigney
CASTA EDITORIAL ASSISTANT
Richard Brad Medoff
Copyright 1990 CASTA
SEEP has a very liberal reprinting policy. Journals and newsletters
which desire to reproduce articles, reviews, and other materials which
have appeared in SEEP may do so, as long as the following provisions
are met:
a. Permission to reprint must be requested from SEEP in writing before
the fact.
b. Credit to SEEP must be given in the reprint.
c. Two copies of the publication in which the reprinted material has
appeared must be furnished to the Editor of SEEP immediately upon
publication.
2
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Editorial Policy ................................................................................................ 4
From the Editors ............................................................................................ . 5
Events ................................................................................................................ 6
"Address by Anik6 and Katalin Vajda
December 31, 1989" ....................................................................................... 11
"Interview with Katalin Vajda,
Artistic Director of the
J atekszin Theatre, Budapest"
.ZSu.zsa Berger ................................................................................................ 13
"Impressions of Theatre
in a Changing Political Climate:
Warsaw, East Berlin and Budapest"
Felicia Hardison I..ondre ............................................................................... 20
"Cinders in the U.S.S.R."
Janusz Gibwacki ............................................................................................ 27
"The Gang of Crazy Youth"
Alma Law ....................................................................................................... 30
"A Glimpse into the Life and Work of
Aleksandr Galin: An Interview"
Rebecca Rovit ................................................................................................ 35
Reviews
"'By and for Havel': A Review"
Edward Dee .................................................................................... 44
"Edmund Kean in Riga: A Review''
Ron Engle ........................................................................................ 48
Contributors ............................... ................................................. ................... 52
Playscripts in Translation Series .................................................................. 53
Subscription Policy ..................................................... , .................................. 55
3
EDITORIAL POLICY
Manuscripts in the following categories are solicited: articles of no more than
2,500 words; book reviews; performance and film reviews; and bibliographies. Please
bear in mind that all of the above submissions must concern themselves either with con-
temporary materials on Soviet and East European theatre, drama and film, or with new
approaches to older materials in recently published works, or new performances of older
plays. In other words, we would welcome submissions reviewing innovative perform-
ances of Gogol or recently published books on Gogol, for example, but we could not use
original articles discussing Gogol as a playwright.
Although we welcome translations of articles and reviews from foreign pub-
lications, we do require copyright release statements.
We will also gladly publish announcements of special events, new book
releases, job opportunities and anything else which may be of interest to our discipline.
All submissions are refereed.
All submissions must be typed double-spaced and carefully proofread. Submit
two copies of each manuscript and attach a stamped, self addressed envelope. The
Chicago Manual of Style should be followed. Transliterations should follow the Library
of Congress system. Submissions will be evaluated, and authors will be notified after
approximately four weeks.
4
FROM THE EDITORS
This first issue of 1990 offers a variety of reports on theatre in
Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union. The cultural context and the lan-
guage spoken from the stage in each of these countries are uniquely dif-
ferent. But the concerns expressed by theatre practitioners, whatever
the country and nationality, are much the same: what is the mission of
theatre today now that censorship has been abolished, and how can
theatre best survive the loss of state support and subsidies. However
these challenges are resolved as theatres everywhere in the East adjust
to new economic and political conditions, one thing is clear: the most
important ingredients for making theatre remain the same: imagina-
tion, wit, and energy.
We feel it is especially appropriate to lead off this issue with
Anik6 and Katalin Vajda's New Year's Eve address calling for
Hungarian and Romanian actors to fmd unity in the common language
of theatre. Their reminder that theatre has the potential to serve as a
great unifying force is of particular importance for the crucial period
ahead, not only in Hungary and Romania, but in every country.
We appreciate the response to our appeal for reports from you,
our readers, on what is happening in the theatres of Eastern Europe
and the Soviet Union. We hope you will continue to share your theatre-
going experiences and conversations with directors, actors and critics.
Even very brief reports of two or three pages are most welcome.
Daniel Gerould and Alma Law
5
EVENTS
THEATRE FESTIVALS
Throughout Spain this season there will be a remarkable num-
ber of productions of plays from Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union.
In Madrid, the Anjana will be presenting Milan Kundera's Jacques and
his Master; the Aquelarre will present Mrozek's Out at Sea as the
Ollantay presents his Tango. Also in Madrid, the Artea Teatro Estudio
has Gombrowicz's lvonna, Princess of Burgundia, and the Camara de
Madrid will present The Promise by Alexi Arbuzov.
In Andalusia, the Atalaya in Seville is offering Vladimir
Mayakovsky's Vladimir Mayakovsky, A Tragedy; while the Centro
Andaluz de Teatro presents Gombrowicz's Operetta, and the Taller de
Teatro de mijas in Melaga will stage The Mother by Stanishlw Ignacy
Witkiewicz.
Witkiewicz's The Madman and the Nun will be part of a double
bill with R6i:ewicz's White Marriage at the Teato Estable de Navarrz.
Finally, in Cataluna province the Teatro Estable de llieda will
also be presenting Kundera'sJacques and his Master, and the Carasio in
Extremadura will offer Mrorek's House on the Border.
CURRENT AND UPCOMING PRODUCTIONS
The John Houseman Studio Theatre in New York is presenting
a pair of one-acts collectively titled "By and For Havel" that opened
March 8. The plays are Vaclav Havel's Audience in a production that
was staged in Prague in January and Catastrophe by Samuel Beckett,
which was dedicated to Havel and inspired by his imprisonment. The
production is directed by Vasek Simek (note article in this issue).
PBS has announced plans to broadcast a documentary built
around the premiere of Audience in Prague. Also, PBS will be televis-
ing a production of Havel's Largo Desolato. See your local newspaper
for broadcast date.
The Circle in the Square will be presenting Mikhail Bulgakov's
Zoya's Apartment, directed by Boris A. Morozov, resident director of
the Maly Theatre in Moscow with previews beginning April 24 for a
6
May 2 opening.
Brecht's Caucasian Chalk Circle directed by Slobodan
Unkovski opens May 11 at the American Repertory Theatre in Cam-
bridge, Massachusetts. Also at ART, Andrei Serban will be directing
The King Stag by Carlo Gozzi in a translation by Albert Bermel. It will
run from May 15 to June 10.
From April16-May 6 the Vakhtangov Theatre Company will be
presenting Mikhail Shatrov's docu-drama The Peace of Brest-Litovsk,
directed by Robert Sturua, at the Civic Center for Performing Arts in
Chicago.
The State Youth Theatre of Lithuania will be presenting The
Square, a vivid tale of a love affair that is stronger than the jackboots of
a repressive society, and Chingiz Aitmatov'sA Day Lasting Longer Than
A Century, both directed by Eimuntas Nekrosius at the International
Theatre Festival of Chicago. Performances are scheduled from June 28
to July 1.
Also at the International Theatre Festival of Chicago will be
the Katona J6zsef Theatre from Hungary, making its U. S. debut with
Nikolai Gogol's farce, The Government Inspector. The performances
are scheduled from June 18-26 at the Blackstone Theatre.
As part of the Goodwill Games, the "Sovremennik" Theatre will
be performing two plays, Chekov's The Three Sisters (July 3-22) and The
Steep Route by Aleksandr Getman, based on Eugenia Ginsburg's Into
The Whirlwind (July 25-August 5). Both productions are directed by
Galina Volchek and will be performed at the Intiman Theatre in Seattle
as part of the Goodwill Arts Festival.
NOTES OF PAST PRODUCTIONS
Presented from January 7 to February 8 at the City Center
Theatre in New York City was the Moscow Lenin Komsomol Theatre's
rock musical Junon and Avos: The Hope composed by Aleksei Ryb-
nikov with libretto by Andrei Voznesensky. The production was
directed by Mark Zakharov and choreographed by Vladimir Vasilyev of
the Bolshoi Ballet.
Rough Crossing, by Tom Stoppard, freely adapted from a play
by Ferenc Molnar, with music by Andre Previn and directed by Steve
Stettler, was presented at the New Theatre of Brooklyn during February
7
and March.
Romanian director, Andrei Belgrader, directed Shakespeare's
Troilus and Cressida at the Yale Repertory Theatre; it ran from Febru-
ary 20 to March 17.
The Dallas Theater Center presented Temptation by Vaclav
Havel from February 6 to March 4. They also presented Monsieur de
Moliere by Mikhail Bulgakov directed by Ken Bryant, performed from
February 27 to March 25.
The People's Playhouse in New York presented Gombrowicz's
Princess Ivonna, directed by Carolyn Kowalski during March and April.
The Slavic Heritage Council of America presented a Slavic Fes-
tival consisting of singing and dancing from Byelorussia, Bul-
garia,Croatia, Serbia, Czechoslovakia, Poland, Yugoslavia and the
Ukraine on February 3 at Lincoln Center in New York.
The Magic Theatre in San Francisco presented Jacques and his
Master by Milan Kundera, directed by Harvey Seifter, from February 7
to March 25.
A Light From the East, a workshop of poetry by Taras Shev-
chenko and Pavlo Tychyna, selections from Ukrainian director Les
Kurbas' diary and memoirs of his actors, was presented by La Mama
ETC and Yara Arts Group at the La Mama Workshop in New York
from March 9-11. The production was directed and translated by Vir-
lana Tkacz.
Recent developments in Czechoslovakia were celebrated at the
Symphony Space in New York on March 18 with "Prague Spring 1990,"
an evening of reflections by writers and diplomats, with Czechoslovak
music and theatre. A scene from Havel's Audience was performed.
Speakers included Rita Klimova, Czechoslovakia's new Ambassador to
the United States, and Edward Albee.
The Columbia Players in New York City presented "Fragments
of Eastern Europe" composed of four one-acts: Evreinov's The Theatre
of the Soul, Gatczynski's The Little Theatre of the Green Goose,
Ionesco's The Bald Soprano and Mrozek's At Sea. Performances were
March 29 through April1.
The Rustaveli Company from Soviet Georgia made its
American debut with a highly theatricalized production of King Lear.
The production, in Georgian with English translation, had five perform-
8
ances April 2 through 8 at the Brooklyn Academy of Music's Majestic
Theatre.
The CSC Repertory presented a new adaptation of Mikhail
Bulgakov's Heart of a Dog by Deloss Brown from February 27 to April
8. The production was directed by Robert Lanchester.
FILM
The Museum of Modern Art Department of Film offered a
series of films entitled "Unknown Soviet Cinema" from January 26-30,
1990. The nine films presented were: The Jew on the Land (Evrei na
zemle) (1926) directed by Abram Room and written by Vladimir
Mayakovsky and Viktor Shklovsky; Granitsa (Frontier) (1936) written
and directed by Mikhail Dubsun; Pacific (1931), written and directed by
Mikhail Tsekanovsky using Honegger's piece "Pacific 231"; the surviving
five minute fragment of Sergei Eisenstein's 1945 film Ivan Groznyi III
(Ivan the Terrible, part III); Do svidanya, malchiki (Goodbye, Boys),
(1966) directed by Mikhail Kalik; Organchik (The Little Organ) (1934)
directed by Nikolai Khodataev; Znakomoye Litso (A Familiar Face)
(1929), directed by Nikolai Shpikovskyi; also from 1929, Spring (Vesnoi),
written, photographed and directed by Mikhail Kaufman, and Dva-
Buldi-Dva (The Two Buldis) directed by Lev Kuleshov and written by
Osip Brik.
Also at the Museum of Modern Art as part of the New Direc-
tors/New Films series from March 16-31 was Abai Karpikov's Little
Fish in Love (1989) and Sergei Selyanov and Nikolai Makarov's Saint's
Day (1988) from the Soviet Union; from Hungary, My 20th Century,
directed by Ildik6 Enyedi.
Playing in mainstream theatres in New York City are To"ents
of Spring written and directed by Jerzy Skolimowski and based on the
novella by Ivan Turgenev, and Time of the Gypsies, a Serbo-Croatian
language film directed by Emir Kusturica. Lonely Woman Seeks Com-
panion from Russia, directed by Vyacheslav Krishtofovich is also in
limited release. It features Irina Kupchenko who received a best actress
award from the Montreal Film Festival.
9
CONFERENCES, LECfURES AND ORGANIZATIONS
The University of Ottawa Department of Modern Languages
and Literatures is sponsoring a symposium entitled, "Slavic Drama: The
Question of Innovation" from May 1-4, 1991. Papers for the symposium
should be submitted for consideration by July 1, 1990. Contributors are
asked to conform to the MLA style sheet. The proceedings of the
symposium will be published. For information write to Professor
Andrew Donskov, Department of Modern Languages and Literatures,
University of Ottawa, 550 Cumberland, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada, KlN
6N5 (613) 564-6529.
New York University will hold an Eastern Comparative Litera-
ture Conference on May 5. The topic will be, "Culture 'As If: Litera-
ture and Politics in Central Europe."
As part of the United States Institute of Theatre Technology-
Ohio Section Spring Conference at Baldwin-Wallace College on April
21, there was a session entitled "Theatre in the Soviet Union." The
guest speakers were Eugene Lysik, former Chief Designer at the Grand
Opera and Ballet Theatre in Minsk, Vyacheslav Efimov, Technical
Director of the Moscow Art Theatre, and Sergei Gnedovsky, architec-
ture analyst and contributor to "Soviet Theatre Architecture."
The Romanian government has offered Andrei Serban, (in the
United States since 1969) the directorship of either the National
Theatre or the Romanian State Opera House in Bucharest.
prepared by Edward Dee
10
ADDRESS BY ANIKO AND KATALIN VAJDA
PLAYWRIGHT AND DIRECTOR
DECEMBER 31, 1989
translated by Zsuzsa Berger
Read in Hungarian and Romanian theatres and broadcast on televi-
sion in both countries.
Dear Romanian Fellow Actors:
We should like to greet you warmly on this frrst free New
Year's Eve, which is not merely the beginning of a new year, but also
the beginning of a new period in all of our lives: the beginning of a
period that, we hope, will bring freedom for us all, including freedom of
the arts.
At such a historical moment, theatre plays an especially impor-
tant role, since drama, through the power of the human voice, is one of
the greatest unifying forces that can create a community out of a diverse
audience every night.
During the last few weeks we have witnessed a sad and cruel
"live" performance. What it has brought together is not a theatre
audience but our two nations. It is sad that only the great dramas of his-
tory can bring nations together. But we hope that we will not be united
only in hardship, and that the often abused words about Hungarian-
Romanian friendship will be given real meaning.
Our task is to preserve this unity by means of the arts. Let us
swear that we actors shall never allow inner or outer forces to suppress
art. Let art fmally be as free as thought! Let us be the guarantors of
friendship between our nations! Let us end the divisive machinations of
many years for the sake of art that knows no borders of country or lan-
guage, that is universal and eternal, and that we faithfully serve.
This is our mission: to translate the thoughts of Shake-speare,
Moliere, Caragiale and Orkeny. Fellow actors, I speak to you,
Romanians and Translyvanian-Hungarians, in one language--in the lan-
guage of the theatre! What is our common language after all? The
rising curtain, the call by the stage manager, a prop that we've kept, a
faded set, the empty stage, a read-through, a smoke-filled green room, a
dressing table covered with make-up, a forgotten cue, the indescribable
atmosphere of rehearsal, a friendly dresser, the ever-grumpy doorman,
the stage door, the feverish excitement before the premiere, the
applause, the success, t ~ flop, the ever-present stage fright before step-
ping out in front of the audience.
1990 marks the beginning of a new, difficult, but beautiful and
challenging performance. I wish you the strength, stamina, peace and
11
faith that are needed. The stage manager is calling. Places! All the
actors on stage for the beginning of the performance! Curtains up!
12
INTERVIEW WITH KATALIN VAJDA,
ARTISTIC DIRECTOR OF THE
JA'ftKSZIN THEATRE, BUDAPEST
Zsuzsa Berger
The J atekszin was founded in 1981 to serve as a chamber
theatre for Hungarian drama. Gabor Berenyi, the director and Katalin
Vajda, the artistic director, enjoy greater freedom than at other theatres
in Budapest. The Jatekszin is currently the only theatre where the
actors are hired for individual productions, since the theatre does not
have a permanent company. Creating a new ensemble for each produc-
tion allows actors from different theatres to work together. Since its
inception, the Jatekszin has attracted critical attention for its fresh,
innovative approach to both old and new Hungarian plays. Several pro-
ductions have been running for more than a year, and some of them
have also been broadcast on television.
Katalin Vajda's most recent play, which she calls a parody of
the last century of Hungarian drama, The Way We Play, was staged with
great success at the time of the interview. Our conversation was over-
shadowed by the recent Romanian revolution, which inspired Katalin
Vajda and her sister Anik6 Vajda to write an address to both Hungarian
and Romanian actors as an encouragement for peaceful reconciliation
between the two nations. The speech was read in both Romanian and
Hungarian Theatres and was also broadcast on television on New
Year's Eve in both countries.
Berger: An exceptionally close relationship between the stage and its
audience has always been characteristic of the Hungarian theatre. Dur-
ing the last thirty years for political reasons this relationship became
even more intense. Topics forbidden elsewhere could be discussed by
allusion on the stage, and the audience was more than eager to take part
in the game. Now, all of a sudden as the result of political liberalization,
the mass media can deal directly with the daily, breathtaking events.
How does this new freedom influence the role of the theatre in Hungary
and what steps are the theatres taking to adapt to these changes and
hold their audiences?
Vajda: The reaction of the Hungarian theatre at present recalls the
situation I found myself in as one of the writers of the monthly radio
political cabaret. A year ago, after Karoly Gr6sz became the First Sec-
retary of the Party, we were all at a loss when it came to choosing a
topic for the next cabaret. We realized that since the nature of good
cabaret is to reflect the current situation, our job had in a real sense
13
Hippolit, the Butler
Jatekszin Theatre, Budapest
14
been taken from us by all the new magazines and newspapers that were
attracting attention. We simply could not compete; the papers became
more exciting than any cabaret could possibly be.
Now I sense the same kind of impasse in the theatre. Two extremes
exist side by side. One is a continuation of the Kadar system (Janos
Kadar was the First Secretary of the Party from 1956 to 1988). Accord-
ing to its advocates, theatre should react to current events, concentrat-
ing on the emergence of the new Hungary. The second approach is to
satisfy the audience's need for comedy and entertainment. The theatres
that have chosen to follow the first course--the "political" path--are now
failing, one after the other. While I personally feel sorry for the artists
involved, I believe that this kind of theatre is doomed to failure. I do
not question the artistic value of some of the productions during the
Kadar years, but I always found it artistically self-destructive to have the
success and popularity of the best theatres depend upon the daring
political applicability of their productions. It works against art.
Berger: The best artists worked in those theatres, but were ~ u g h t up in
a vicious circle as they had to provide audiences with what the public
wanted to see.
Vajda: Yes, at the time it was bound to happen, and it was also bound to
fail. Without a doubt those theatres did produce the outstanding pro-
ductions and had the best artists, but they put the other theatres at a dis-
advantage.
In the present situation, our theatres are without direction. Nobody
really knows what to do. While current productions in the "political"
tradition may fail, the advocates of a theatre of entertainment are also
in a difficult situation. During the past few years, the level of entertain-
ment has become debased. Artists of the highest caliber no longer work
in the field. The socialist ideal of a collective theatre destroyed the star
system that is at the basis of the entertainment industry.
A few years must pass before theatres will know what they should
present and how they should play it. I think the political changes now
taking place will help the theatres realize that above all they should pro-
duce art. Regardless of the genre of the play, what matters is that the
production have artistic value.
Berger: As the only theatre in Budapest that functions without a
permanent company, does the Jatekszin have a special position?
Vajda: There are advantages and disadvantages to our position. Art-
istically, I see only the advantages, since we have the privilege of choos-
ing and working with the best actors. But, of course, these actors are
the most in demand in their own theatres, which makes coordinating
borrowing them from different companies very complex.
15
I think that soon all the theatres will function this way, because there
will not be enough money to support the large companies. It is also dif-
ficult for a big company to keep so many actors fully employed.
Freelancing for actors is a fairly new phenomenon that started about
two years ago. By now some of the best actors freelance.
Berger: The new system of subsidies for theatres has not yet been fmal-
ized. What would you consider to be an ideal situation?
Vajda: A new "normative" subsidy system is being discussed, where sup-
port would be based on the number of spectators. That will kill the
small theatres first, and will do away with the big theatres next, since
they have to support a larger company.
I believe that the government should fmance the arts, but to what
extent is a delicate question. Up until now the socialist government fully
subsidized the arts and therefore was in a position to determine what
should be put on stage.
Without some kind of support system, the theatre will die. Either
the government should provide some support, or we should return to
the system of patronage, where a theatre lover would sponsor the arts.
That, of course, presupposes a certain amount of private wealth which
we do not yet have.
Nobody knows what will happen, except that we shall probably have
a more democratic government. This is a long term project: it will take
at least ten or fifteen years until a financial base can be built. Until
then, the fate of the theatre is very insecure. Theatres will close, and
there will be many unemployed actors. It sounds r u e ~ because we are
not used to it, but it is natural. I believe that the most talented actors
will always fmd work.
Berger: How does the J atekszfu operate fmancially?
Vajda: The government gives us a fixed amount. If we play to full
houses, the extra income from the tickets belongs to the theatre. Also,
recently we have been able to advertise other in our flyers, and this
brings in additional income. While our actors are expensive, we are a
small company and so it all balances out.
Berger: In your repertory there is a mixture o pre-war light comedies
and new "experimental" plays. How do you decide what to produce?
Vajda: Because we have a limited number of paying spectators, and
must hire expensive actors, we try to put on plays that will attract an
16
audience. Because of current economic difficulties, our potential
audience is more hesitant to spend its money. The successes finance
our more experimental work, such as Istvan EOrsi's play, Jo/an and the
Men, which we staged for the intelligentsia and expected to run for only
twenty to thirty performances.
Berger: You try to satisfy both functions?
Vajda: Yes, although I do not consider entertainment and satisfying
intellectual needs to be two different functions. An ideal theatre should
satisfy both at the same time. I think it's a bad habit left over from the
socialist era to see the two functions as incompatible. Since 1945, we
have always had to separate "serious" politically conscious or politically
applicable art from other theatre. I think that in the process we lost a
healthy sense of what art is. If entertainment can exist at a high artistic
level as in the case of Chaplin, we can no longer talk about "pure
entertainment."
Berger: How has the position of the Hungarian playwright changed?
Vajda: There are some young writers who are associated with the few
"elite" theatres. Those playwrights who were in their prime ten or
twenty years ago, such as Csurka, Szakonyi, Gorgey, Fejes, Karinthy,
expressed their political concerns on a fairly primary level. By now, they
are no longer creative and have for the most part stopped writing. The
new generation of playwrights is really in trouble. They write one first-
rate play, like Spir6's Chickenhead or Kornis's Hal/e/uja, and then they
are unable to break new ground. Often they give us journalism rather
than art.
Berger: On what did you base your theatre parody, The Way We Play,
and what inspired you to write it?
Vajda: My sister and I wanted to trace the development of Hungarian
drama over the last century. We started with Madach's The Tragedy of
Man and used plays by Molnar, M6ricz and Orkeny and ended with
Spir6's Chickenhead. The entire action is set in a house in today's Pest,
where Lucifer arrives to discover what has happened over the last hun-
dred years. The scenes are comic, but their style, both in the acting and
the writing, reflects the time and the style of the writers themselves. In
a sense we wanted to show the development of our language from the
rich, poetic iambics of Madach to the highly debased, impoverished
cursing in Chickenhead. Language reflects our mentality and reacts to
it. The play works on several levels. Those who are not familiar with
the writers in question still get a good laugh at the expense of several of
the contemporary characters and enjoy the comedy on a primary level.
17
18
Those who know the writers have an added enjoyment, since they can
relate to the stylistic changes reflected in the words. Usually their
laughter is bitter in that it raises the question of where we are going.
For me each of these reactions is valid. What matters is that every-
body get something out of the production. I believe that good theatre
creates a true community out of a heterogeneous audience. By the way,
at the end of the play Lucifer looks around and concludes that man has
become worse than the devil, and he goes back to hell.
Berger: How did you become involved in the Romanian Revolution?
Vajda: I just could not help being outraged by the fact that in our day
and age such a mindless dictatorship could exist. On the second day of
the Revolution we took the actors' salaries along with the money we col-
lected from the audience, bought food and took it to different
Romanian theatres. I also remembered the uplifting feeling I experi-
enced as the interpreter for a Hungarian-Romanian orchestra. Even
during the harshest years when it came to music, it no longer mattered
what the player's nationality was--they became swept up in each other's
music. In the Romanian address, Anik6 and I wanted to remind the art-
ists that they have the power to overcome the hostility between
Hungarians and Romanians.
19
IMPRESSIONS OF THEATRE
IN A CHANGING POLITICAL CLIMATE:
WARSAW, EAST BERLIN AND BUDAPEST
IN JANUARY 1990
Felicia Hardison Londre
During my sixteen-day visit to Eastern Europe in January 1990,
1
it was still too early for recent events in Poland, the German Demo-
cratic Republic, and Hungary to be widely reflected on the stage in
those countries, but there was much talk among theatre people about
the potential effects of those political changes on the theatre itself. The
prevailing attitude was one of general uncertainty about the future and
specific apprehension about current economic difficulties that are sure
to mean reduced government subsidies for theatres and higher ticket
prices for consumers who can barely afford to feed their families.
The week I was in Poland, the new Ministry of Culture
announced A, B and C lists of theatres. Reportedly, theatres on the A
list will continue to receive their full subsidies. Those seven or eight
theatres, chosen strictly for the quality of their productions, include the
Stary Theatre in Cracow, a theatre in Gdansk, and the five or six leading
theatres in Warsaw (among them, the Studio, Ateneum, Polski and
Wsp6f'czesny). The B list will receive reduced subsidies, and the
theatres and the C list are invited to apply for support. There is some
speculation that all theatres will eventually be forced to operate on a
commercial basis. It is interesting that the Nowy Theatre in Poznan
theatre, formerly directed by the new Minister of Culture, Izabella
CywiD.ska, did not make the A list. Cywiflska has been careful to include
representatives from the full political spectrum in her ministry, including
some of the old guard; thus the directorshiy of the theatre section went
to a Communist, the affable Andrzej Zi;binski.
Although there is a concerted effort to reduce bureaucratic red
tape, play texts and theatrical productions are still subject to approval by
a central office. In practice, Poland never suffered censorship as serious
as that in the U.S.S.R. The main restriction was to prohibit showing
Soviets in a bad light. Perhaps the most telling example of the new free-
dom from that restriction occurred in a production that had entered the
repertoire only a month before: Tadeusz Konwicki's Mala Apokalipsa
(A Minor Apocalypse) at the Ateneum. Set in the period of martial law,
the action follows a novelist through the day on which he deCides to
immolate himself in front of the Communist Party headquarters as a
protest. At one point, two actors made up and costumed as grotesque
caricatures of Brezhnev and Andropov entered upstage to a blast of
music and recorded applause. The audience laughed uproariously.
The obsession with World War II that has characterized much
20
of modern Polish drama persists. There is a fascination with the Jewish
experience, as exemplified by two of the six productions I saw. Sfuchaj,
Izraelu! (Listen Israel!) by Jerzy S. Sito at Cracow's Stary Theatre covers
much the same subject as Joshua Sobol's far superior Ghetto. While the
production became quite monotonous in the second act after the novelty
of the staging had been exhausted, it affected its Polish audience
profoundly. Much more moving to me was the unpretentiously staged
Burzliwe zycie Lejzorka (The Stonny Life of Lejzorka) by Ilya Ehren burg
in the Ateneum's Scena 61. This episodic tale was communicated with
perfect clarity through the emotion of the folk melodi.es that inter-
spersed the action, as well as through the expressive acting of a nine-
member cast headed by Artur Bareis in the title role. Of all the eight-
een productions I saw on my trip, this is the one I would most like to see
toured to the United States.
Waldemar general director of the Studio Art Cen-
ter in Warsaw's Palace of Culture and Science, quipped that the theatre
had progressed from one kind of restriction (government censorship) to
another (inadequate funding). Asked if he thought that Polish theatre
might lose its vitality without a political adversary to tackle supratex-
tually, acknowledged that both artists and audiences had
been greatly stimulated by the challenge of conveying political ideas by
means of the scenery, a musical score or an actor's gestures. "The
theatre is metaphor," he said. "Recognizing that and building upon it
makes the theatre more alive."
Irony probably outweighed metaphor in the politically pointed
production, Sweet Fifties (the English title was used), a musical com-
mentary on the Stalinist period in Poland in the early 1950s. It was
devised by the young performers of the Rampa company at the Teatr na
Targowku, under the direction of Andrzej Strzelecki.
The Rampa originated in the 1984 graduation production of Zle
Zachowanie (Bad Behavior) based on Fats Waller's Ain't Misbehavin' at
the Warsaw Drama School. Recognized as the theatrical event of the
year and awarded several prizes, it launched the group on four years of
touring in Europe. In 1988 they settled into their present facility "on the
wrong side of the tracks" and began producing a series of musicals.
In Sweet Fifties, the cast of twenty-two performers evoked
through song a period they were too young to have known except
through parental reports and old movies. The large open stage was
bare except for enormous block letters about one and a half times
human height, which spelled out FIFTIES. In the course of the show,
these letters were moved into dozens of different configurations to
create walls, labyrinths, cubicles, platforms, sepulchers, jungle gyms,
and, ultimately, a hopeless jumble. Although the music was
undistinguished, the lyrics must have carried a great deal of emotional
weight, judging by the audience's response.
The long finale to Sweet Fifties begins with the sudden collapse
21
of a huge section of the upstage wall. Through the gap streamed bril-
liant light and a great tide of pale blue-green balloons that filled the
entire center stage. After a sequence in which the performers' portraits
were set like tombstones among the balloons, the action segued into a
1950s fashion show in garish colors. Following all the glamorous
models came a man wearing a red scarf like a Russian babushka, as the
commentator observed that "some fashions never change--if that's the
sort of thing you want." Finally, a young woman in Polish folk costume
spoke a long, moving letter to her parents. Although she elicited
sporadic laughter, the ultimate import of her text was pessimistic about
the future. A final medley of songs included "America," which was
clearly a love-song to a symbol of hope.
If a single recurring theme could be discerned in East Berlin
theatre, it is anti-militarism. This was reflected as much in the selection
of German classics on that theme as in the conceptual approach to
them. In Lessing's Minna von Bamhelm, directed by Siegfried Hochst
at the Maxim Gorki Theater, Major von Tellheim was portrayed as
having lost an arm. Carl Zuckmayer's satire on Prussian reverence for
the military uniform, Der Hauptmann von Kopenick (The Captain from
Kopenick), directed by Christoph Bruck at the Berliner Ensemble,
ridiculed the military. The intrinsic anti-militarism in the text of
Goethe's Egmont at the Deutsches Theater was underscored by the use
of martial music and by the ominous appearance of the soldiers who
arrest Egmont. Hermann Sudermann's Der Sturmgeselle Sokrates (The
Stonn Companion Socrates), exquisitely produced at the Kammerspiele,
approaches the subject comedically. In the dentist's office setting, the
framed portraits of soldiers were draped in red, black and gold bunting;
the act curtain bore the words of a patriotic song: "Pulver ist
schwarz,/Blut is rot,/Golden flackert die Flamme!" (Powder is black,
blood is red, golden flickers the flame!)
Although the performances in East Berlin generally appeared
to be sold out, audiences seemed unresponsive by our standards.
Laughter was rare, even when the comedy was wonderful. Peter Claus-
sen theorized that such restraint stems not from lack of interest, but
from excessive politeness; audiences simply do not wish to interrupt the
flow of the performance. An analogy might be made with the events of
last November, which some have called a "revolution after working
hours."
Of East Germany's eighty or so professional theatres, fourteen
are located in Berlin, and these boast the highest attendance, while
provincial theatres typically play to only about sixty-five percent capa-
city. It can be argued, however, that the most interesting theatre has
been offered in the second-class theatres of towns like Weimar and
Dresden, which are entrusted to young, imaginative directors fresh out
of school. Over the years, those directors have learned to accommodate
their art to the prevailing politics in order to work their way up to the
22
first-class theatres. In East Germany, therefore, unlike other Eastern
European countries, artists have not been in the forefront of recent
events. They have tended toward conservatism because they enjoyed
such privileges as the ability to travel abroad and to obtain hard cur-
rency. This has caused deep resentment, even outright hostility, among
workers toward artists and intellectuals.
Among intellectuals, the most respected East German
playwrights are those who boast the most productions in the West, and
Heiner Muller is the leader of the pack. Some playwrights even try to
write specifically for the West European market. Playwrights who are
affiliated with a particular company--Heiner Muller with the Deutsches
Theater, Volker Braun with the Berliner Ensemble or Ulrich Plenzdorf
with the Maxim Gorki Theater--draw their monthly salary from that
theatre whether the theatre produces their new plays or not, and they
are allowed to keep all of their earnings from foreign royalty payments.
Recent American plays are little known in East Germany,
primarily because audiences have demanded plays that reflected the
realities of their own life. Of course, Tennessee Williams and Arthur
Miller have long been produced in the GDR, as everywhere in Eastern
Europe, because their plays are "socially correct." But there has been
only one (unremarkable) production of a Sam Shepard play, and David
Mamet is entirely unknown. (It might be noted in passing that Neil
Simon's The Last of the Red-Hot Lovers was playing at the Volksbtihne
the week I was in Berlin.) Wolfgang Schuch, head of the drama section
of Henschelverlag, believes that a market is opening up for American
plays with broad themes, and he was eager for names of playwrights of
the post-Shepard/Mamet generation.
On the whole, the productions in East Berlin were the most
dazzling in their artistry and technical polish. Sudermann's Der Stunn-
geselle Sokrates was so lucidly communicated nonverbally that one felt
afterwards as if one had understood the language. Its beautifully
nuanced realistic ensemble acting, its subtly stylized and evocative ele-
ments of design, and the deft touches giving evidence of a strong direc-
torial vision all corroborated the general opinion that the Deutsches
Theater (along with its studio, the Kammerspiele) is the leading com-
pany of East Berlin. It was directed by Thomas Langhoff with sets
designed by Pieter Hein and costumes by Ursula Wolf.
In a completely different vein, the Maxim Gorki Theater's post-
modern production of Plenzdorrs Ein Tag Ianger als ein Leben (A Day
as Long as a Lifetime) was a symphony of compelling images, its striking
sets designed by Dieter Berge with highly stylized costumes by Marie-
Luise Strandt. Hans-Jtirgen Nikulka, set designer for Egmont, also
merits special mention for the brilliant theatrical metaphors he carried
through the play's multiple settings. The ticket prices for such theatrical
richesse ranged from the equivalent of five cents to five dollars. In a
time of economic crisis, it is easy to understand the fears we heard
23
expressed that some theatres may be force to close. More optimisti-
cally, some saw the fmancial crunch as the impetus for a healthy restruc-
turing that could lead to the adoption of Western tactics such as seeking
corporate support for the theatre.
The same story was heard again in Budapest: theatres have
traditionally received sixty to seventy percent of their income from
government subsidies, with no more than forty percent coming from the
box office. As Hungary shifts to a privatized economy, ticket prices
must increase and audiences will be more particular about what they
choose to see. During the years of Communist Party rule, Hungarians
attended the theatre with the idea of gleaning some political com-
mentary that they could not get in the newspapers or on the radio. They
wanted plays about Hungarian life with all its problems. But a shift in
audience demand has already become evident; the trend is now toward
light comedy and operetta. Indeed, the Budapest theatre guide for the
week I was there listed two Bernard Slade plays, two Noel Coward, two
Barillet and Gredy, George Axelrod's Goodbye, Charlie!, Woody Allen's
Play It Again, Sam, Kesselring's Arsenic and Old Lace, and Neil Simon's
The Odd Couple, as well as a number of musicals, including Me and My
Girl.
There is also a strong "alternative" or unofficial theatre in
Hungary. These studio productions or readings of new plays are not
listed in the published sources, but announced to aficionados largely by
word of mouth. Because there are so many unemployed theatre artists,
these will surely be the basis for some private theatres in the future. At
the moment, however, things are generally in a state of suspended
animation until the March 1990 elections. In contrast to the Warsaw
and East Berlin theatre, Soviet plays are conspicuously absent from
Budapest repertoires. The only plays translated from the Russian to be
found in the weekly guide were Evgeny Shvarts's The Snow Queen and
Chekhov's Three Sisters.
The Vigszinhaz's recently opened production of Brecht's
Threepenny Opera is a generally poor production, undermined mainly by
a heavy-handed and elaborately-realized scenic concept that seemed
awkwardly forced upon the text. The two-story revolving unit included--
as Mack the Knife's hideaway--the main floor and balcony of a movie
theatre, complete with a dozen or so rows of theatre seats. The show's
director, Peter Gothar, is a film director, who had ventured for the first
time into stage directing. Despite the production's flaws, its interpreta-
tion served as an interesting index to Hungarian concerns. It
emphasized the conflict between generations, as Mackie, Polly, Lucy
and the gang were all rebellious teen-agers. Mack, charismatically
portrayed by Attila Kaszas, wore a pastel unstructured jacket and
sported a single diamond earring. In the end, just as Mack was about to
hang, instead of a Mounted Messenger, an American envoy from
Washington, D. C. arrived. The "Star-Spangled Banner" accompanied
24
his entrance down a long curving staircase. The actor read the message
from Washington in phonetically-learned English, then waved to the
crowd and added: "God bless you all, and God bless your great
country." The audience responded with a mix of laughter and applause.
During the final anthem, Peachum passed out a white blindman's cane
to each of the fifty or so cast members who then tapped their way out
through the audience as the stage lights dimmed. The set revolved to
the movie theatre; the light beamed toward the audience from the pro-
jection booth in that setting added an unmistakable religious overtone.
Productions in Budapest include an element of bawdiness that
is not seen in Warsaw or East Berlin. The costumes in the brothel
scene of Threepenny Opera might well be considered indecent by the
standards of American commercial theatre. In a hilarious production of
Plautus' Braggart Soldier at the Radnoti Miklos Szinpad, an interpolated
sexual encounter between Palaestrio and Milphidippa becomes
downright raunchy. Bela Bartok's ballet The Miraculous Mandarin is an
energetic--in fact, enormously athletic--and gripping study in sex and
violence. Certainly, sexual tensions ran high between Johanne Luise
Heiberg and Hans Christian Andersen in Per Olav Enquist's From the
Life of the Earthwonn at the Pesti Szinhaz.
Two Budapest productions were truly outstanding: the Nem-
zeti Szinhaz's Caucasian Chalk Circle, directed by Imre Csiszar,
designed by Tamas Vayer, and composed by Istvan Martha; and Gyorgy
Spiro's Csirkefej (Chickenhead), directed by Gabor Zsambeki at the
Katona Jozsef Szinhaz. The Nemzeti's dramaturg, Erzsebet Bereczky,
and playrnaster Eszter Tatar, worried that The Caucasian Chalk Circle
might tax its audience's endurance with its two and a half hours running
time. But rarely in my theatregoing experience have two and a half
hours passed so quickly. A few highlights of the brilliantly conceived
staging include Grusha's crossing of the rope bridge (a genuine
acrobatic feat), her marriage to the Peasant in a tiny cottage tightly
packed with at least two dozen wedding guests, Azdak's fall from power
in a steady downpour of rain that covered the entire depth of the stage,
and the celebration dance that turned into a stomping dance of death at
the end. Chickenhead, a sordid, naturalistic look at today's alienated
youth, was beautifully acted by its cast of twelve to achieve a seamless
blend of humor and dramatic intensity, with a sudden eruption of revolt-
ing violence, after which the father's apathy carries a powerful emo-
tional impact.
Clearly, I was impressed by the quality of the theatre I saw in
all three countries. At the same time, I saw just cause for serious con-
cern on the part of theatre people everywhere about what may happen
to those theatres in the difficult time ahead.
25
NOTE
1
My trip was arranged by the International Theatre Institute-
U.SA. Center under a grant from The Trust for Mutual Understanding.
It was designed to pave the way for future cultural exchanges as well as
any other links that might be established between theatre artists of those
countries and professional theatres in the United States.
26
CINDERS IN THE U.S.S.R..
Janusz Gtowacki
translated by
Jadwiga Kosicka
A little over eight years ago--on December 4, 1981 to be exact--
! took a plane from Warsaw to London to attend the opening night of
my play Cinders at the Royal Court Theatre. Nine days later General
Jaruzelski imposed martial law. At that point I decided to stay abroad;
instead of returning to Poland, I went to New York. In making that
choice, I was aware that the future might bring quite unforeseen devel-
opments in my career. But what never occurred to me was a) that in
December, 1989 my play Cinders (about a girls' reformatory--a meta-
phor for totalitarianism--where the teen-age inmates stage Cinderella in
the prison theatre) would open almost simultaneously in sixteen
theatres throughout the Soviet Union; b) that I'd be invited to the
U.S.S.R. as a member of the official delegation at the Festival of Con-
temporary Polish Plays; c) that I'd actually be able to make the trip and
receive a standing ovation in Moscow and Leningrad for the attack on
political repression contained in my play.
As luck would have it, my stay in the Soviet Union coincided
with the spectacular events unfolding almost every day: the Baltic
Republics, Azerbaijan, and--most fascinating of all--the Party Congress
proceedings which were transmitted live on TV for the first time. It was
on TV that I saw and heard Andrei Sakharov's final speech calling for
the abolition of the Party's monopoly on power. Two days later I was
standing in an interminable line of people waiting patiently to pay their
last respects to Sakharov. Snow was falling and the temperature had
dropped to minus twenty-four degrees centigrade. All around me were
hordes of exhausted people, shivering in the cold and whispering that
Sakharov had probably been poisoned, or telling how a few days ago
some lucky friends had actually been able to buy a bar of soap or a pair
of shoes, complaining that perestroika was much too slow and voicing
doubts that anything would ever change. After several hours, I gave up
and left the line. Winter, which until the present has proved deadly for
Russia's enemies, now may prove to be the moment of crisis for Russia
itself.
Given the situation the country is in, it is astonishing that
anyone in the Soviet Union still goes to the theatre, and yet that is
exactly what happens. At least for the Polish plays I saw,the
auditoriums were packed.
Besides Russian productions of contemporary Polish plays, the
Festival included a guest appearance by one of Poland's leading com-
panies at the Taganka Theatre, whose former director Yuri Lyubimov
27
28
had just returned from abroad. Cracow's Teatr Stary presented Andrzej
Wajda's famous production of Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment and
Jerzy Jarocki's staging of Sfawomir Mrozek's Portrait (a dissection of the
Stalinist years). Mroiek is at present the most widely performed Polish
playwright in the Soviet Union. His Tango, Emigres and short one-acts
are in the repertory of many theatres. Ireneusz Iredyiiski's Farewell,
Judas is currently being staged in four or five different productions, and
one or two of Tadeusz R6zewicz's plays are also being shown.
As for my play Cinders, I saw it twice in Moscow at the Pushkin
Theatre and once in Leningrad at the Lenin Komsomol Theatre. I
wrote the play as a Kafkaesque comedy, intended to be ridiculous as
well as frightening, whereas both the Soviet stagings--especially the
Moscow production--were decidedly tragic in tone. I think that the
sentimental tradition in Russian theatre has something to do with it, but
that's not the whole story. Thanks to glasnost and perestroika, it's
finally possible to show prisons on stage in Soviet theatres and put
innocent people in them. But apparently it's still too early to laugh at
them.
In the Leningrad production, which by the way is much more
interesting than the Moscow one and at times quite wonderful, there is
an iron grating that separates the stage from the audience, but it also
unites them. The presence of a grating on stage continues to have con-
siderable force in the Soviet Union.
During the production the girls try to pull down the grating, all
the while singing a touching song about their desperate and unreasoning
love for the U.S.A. and their dreams of escaping there. Everyone was
moved to tears. Except me. I didn't write the song; it was especially
written for the production by a well-known Soviet poet. But I don' t
have to dream about escaping to America; I did escape. And I even
wrote a play about the experience--Hunting Cockroaches. It tells the
story of a pair of young Polish emigres during one of their many sleep-
less nights in their run-down, cockroach infested apartment on Manhat-
tan's Lower East Side. Hunting Cockroaches is now in the process of
being translated into Russian and will soon be staged, and I wonder how
it will be understood by Soviet audiences.
These and other thoughts crossed my mind as I sat in my
elegant hotel in Leningrad. From the window of my room I could see
the Neva River and the cruiser Aurora permanently anchored there.
TheAurora, which seventy-five years ago opened the grand Bolshevik
show now about to close, is today only a rusted prop.
29
Peter Weiss' How Mr. Mockinpott Was Cured of His Suffering
Narodny Youth Theatre "BUM," Kuznetsk, 1987
30
THE GANG OF CRAZY YOUTH
Alma Law
They call themselves BUM (Banda umalishennoi molodezhi)--
The Gang of Crazy Youth. Based in Kuznetsk, an industrial and mining
center in Southeast Siberia, this narodny (or people's) youth theatre was
founded about ten years ago by Aleksandr Kalashnikov. Now thirty-
two, Kalashnikov is one of that new breed of young Soviet "theatre
enthusiasts" who is trying to revive the best traditions of folk theatre in
Russia. After graduation from the Institute of Culture in Kubyshev
where he studied direction, Kalashnikov moved to Moscow to gain expe-
rience by working for a time under Boris Golubovsky at the Gogol
Theatre. Ten years ago he moved to Kuznetsk where he began the
arduous task of putting together the group that would ultimately
become the Gang of Crazy Youth.
Their very ftrst production, We Have a Fair in Kuznetsk, was an
agit-prop production like those from the early 1920s against drunken-
ness, theft, and poor workmanship. As with all of their productions, the
collective wrote the scenario themselves, basing it on material from the
legal department at the Kuznetsk Shoe Factory and the local police.
Although the people named in the production had long since been
punished, as one critic noted, "When they saw themselves on the stage
as part of a grotesque farce they understood what real shame was." Not
only did it provoke a scandal, but it also turned out to be a bloody affair,
when after the first performance some of the actors were beaten up by
outraged audience members.
Over the past five years, Kalashnikov's Gang has evolved into a
traveling troupe, much like the balagan of eighteenth and nineteenth
century Russia which gave performances at fairs and street celebrations.
The balagan has antecedents in the much earlier folk tradition of the
skomorokhi, or wandering minstrels, and many of the new traveling
groups have adopted that name.
At frrst the Gang performed only in the vicinity of Kuznetsk.
But after acquiring a couple of horses, they began traveling much
greater distances in the summer in an attempt to reach more remote
regions where many of the inhabitants have never before seen a live per-
formance, much less a performance in a regular theatre. Today,
Kalashnikov's Gang is likely to turn up almost anywhere in any weather,
using skis and sleds in wintertime, and in summer, resorting to rafts in
order to reach settlements accessible only by riverboat. The rafts not
only serve as transportation, but their stage as well, using long ropes to
secure them to the shore. At each stop, whether by raft, wagon, or skis,
the performers then dash about stopping passersby and knocking on
doors, inviting everyone to come and see
31
32
their performance. As befits a traveling theatre, props are at a mini-
mum, the group's main expressive means being the performers eccentric
costumes and their energetic clownery. Their stage is a tarp spread on
the ground, trees and shrubbery become their backdrop, and the wagons
serve as dressing rooms.
Perhaps the most surprising thing about this folk theatre, is the
make-up of its repertory, which includes everything from Vasily Shuk-
shin's delightful tale, Before the Cock Crows Thrice or "How Ivan-the-
fool went to the ends of the earth to acquire intelligence" (staged as a
folk balagan), to Peter Weiss' How Mr. Mockinpott Was Cured of His
Suffering (done in the style of commedia dell'arte). Also included in the
repertory are Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451; Aleksandr Volodin's Little
Lizard, a parable about how war arises between peoples, and various
works by other Russian writers including Samuel Marshak and Vladimir
Tendryakov.
No matter that many in the audience have never heard of these
writers, and that, especially in remote settlements, inhabitants may not
understand the complex language of the productions. Kalashnikov
believes--and audiences have proven him correct--that this kind of
theatre transcends all barriers. He still recalls with satisfaction how a
group of Tartars giggled in delight at the antics in Mockinpott. They
may not have savored the nuances that a Moscow audience might catch,
but there is no question in Kalashnikov's mind that the performance had
made a hit with the Tartars.
Not satisfied with the success of his present performing group,
Kalashnikov now envisions founding a "Theatre-city," a kind of outdoor
performance center. Each year the civilization of this city would change
so that one year it would become a "fairy tale city," the next a "fantasy
city," a "city of fools," or a city of craftsmen." In winter, the group would
move indoors to become a regular "balagan theatre." Kalashnikov has
already found a sponsor for his grandiose project--the Kuznetsk Shoe
Factory--and has managed to wrest control of a former sporting goods
store in a building in the center of Kuznetsk that is scheduled to be torn
down. Here, Kalashnikov hopes to establish a permanent location
which in addition to offices and rehearsal space will also include a
chamber theatre seating 100. If only they can win permission, Kalash-
nikov says, they are willing to obtain all the materials and do all the
work themselves.
33

Vasilii Shukshin's Before the Cock Crows Thrice
Narodny Youth Theatre "BUM," Kuznetsk, 1987
A GLIMPSE INTO THE LIFE AND WORK OF
ALEKSANDR GALIN: AN INTERVIEW
Rebecca Rovit
with
Helen Buzyna, interpreter
Aleksandr Galin belongs to the "new wave" of Soviet
pla}rwrights who began writing in the 1970s. Not only has Galin's popu-
larity in the Soviet Union increased, but his plays have been produced
all over Europe and recently in the United States as well. His plays,
imbued with a sense of tragi-comedy, focus on average people and their
spiritual and material problems. American audiences are perhaps most
familiar with his play, Stars in the Morning Sky about the temporary
removal of Moscow prostitutes during the 1980 Olympic games. It was
performed in New York by Leningrad's Maly Dramatic Theatre under
the direction of Lev Dodin during the 1988 International Festival of the
Arts. In December 1988, the Los Angeles Repertory Company per-
formed the English-language premiere of the same play. Galin's semi-
autobiographical play of college life in the early '70s, The Roof, was
recently performed in English at Florida State University. I had the
opportunity to meet Galin in March while he was in residence at FSU as
a Hoffman Eminent Scholar. In the following interview Galin talks
about his development as a playwright and his views on theatre under
glasnost.
Rovit: How did you begin your career in the theatre?
Galin: I began by working in the puppet theatre because for a long time
I couldn't get into the theatre institute. I wanted to become a director
or an actor, but I guess they figured I wasn't talented.
1
Every time I
wasn't accepted in a production, I'd go home to Kursk. I had to work
somewhere. Because from a very early age I worked. I started working
in the puppet theatre because they needed male voices. Real men didn't
go into the puppet theatre. Only crazy people like me who have dreams
about working in the theatre. I didn't want to be an actor in the puppet
theatre at all, but I still remember this time with great warmth.
Rovit: What kind of puppet theatre was it?
Galin: A theatre for children. I played animals--the wolf, a goat. It was
just for a few years. But I met many people who had unfortunate
destinies, people who for various reasons couldn't work where they
wanted to, or even live where they wanted. I was a very young fellow
then, and I learned a lot from these people.
35
Rovit: Do you think that your experiences in the puppet theatre have in
some way affected your career as a writer?
Galin: I can't say. I became more fond of the theatre as a result of these
experiences. In fact, my first play, The Wall, was about the theatre. But
my creative influences didn't really have anything to do with my experi-
ence in the puppet theatre. During this time I was watching Fellini
films: Amarcord, La Dolce Vita. I was reading many books. These
were the '60s, after the 20th Party Congress--the frrst wave of demo-
cratic feelings. This was when the frrst books were published that had
been previously banned. I read Bulgakov and he influenced me greatly.
And Platonov ...
Rovit: That was my next question. Of all the writers closest to you,
which ones have been the most important? Bulgakov?
Galin: Yes, and also the nineteenth-century Russian writers--
Dostoevsky, Gogol. Gogol was my frrst love. The Inspector General is a
favorite of mine. Dead Souls is my Bible.
Rovit: You've mentioned Russian writers. Were you also influenced by
European or American models?
Galin: Yes, Williams and Miller, and maybe later, Albee. I'm also very
fond of classical plays and playwrights like Moliere. In the Soviet
theatre I saw major productions of Moliere including one directed by
Anatoly Efros. I also say Yuri Lyubimov's Hamlet at the Taganka with
David Borovsky as scenographer. I remember all the mises-en-scene
and they influenced me in my work.
Rovit: How would you characterize the development of your career as a
writer?
Galin: That's a very difficult question. It's hard to look at myself from
the outside. This may have to do with the success that I have at this
point. Many of my plays are being staged now. Some of them are ones
that I wrote many years ago which weren't allowed until recently2. But
the success doesn't mean that I've become a better writer. I just fin-
ished a new play. It's called The Group, and it was very difficult for me
to write. I became very nervous. I don't want to mystify you, but I had
the feeling the events of the play were taking place far away. I wrote the
first act, and for about a year, I couldn't write the second act. Success
was interfering. During that year (1988) I was in many different
countries. I kept leaving my desk and my work--my people; there were
several characters. I left them there; I kept changing them. But when I
36
knew I had to come here to Florida, I told myself that if I didn't com-
plete this play in one month, then I just wouldn't write it. I forced
myself to write and in four days I fmished it.
Rovit: What is the play about?
Galin: Several women meet in Venice during Carnival. Three of them
live in the Soviet Union and three of them in the U.S., but they're all
Russian. And in this neutral territory, they try to determine who they
are and what Russia is. We have a lot of people coming to the Soviet
Union from abroad. I think Americans would be amused to fmd out
how Americans react to life in the Soviet Union. You see, there are
deeper relationships that we're talking about here. I believe theatre is
an international event. When I saw [Peter Brook's] The Mahabarata, I
recognized the Universality of its themes. It's a celebration of theatre.
People from all over the world can come together and grasp one idea.
Only the genius of Brook could create this. I don't know if I have the
strength and energy to do something like this, but I do have the desire.
Rovit: Where would you like to see an international project of this kind
take place?
Galin: This play should be shown where there are Russians living.
Maybe in Munich, maybe in Rome, maybe in New York, or maybe in
Moscow.
Rovit: Would it be fair to say that your work divides into two phases, a
Leningrad phase including such plays as Retro and Janna, and a later
Muscovite phase with plays about people dislocated within the new
Soviet world--Stars in the Morning Sky, 17ze Librarian, The Group?
Galin: No. I wrote and now write regardless of themes and places. My
work often depends on a production and also very much on my life.
You can divide my life and work into two periods, yes, but these are
"Before Gorbachev'' and "After." I wouldn't be honest if I didn't say that
Gorbachev has made a great difference in my life--personally. But I
can't say yet whether his rise to power has influenced my writing. When
I wrote before Gorbachev, I had to understand everything that hap-
pened in society before him.
Rovit: But do you feel a greater artistic freedom under Gorbachev?
Galin: I have to say that I do. I'd like to do a play like The Group with
American and Soviet actors together. Before Gorbachev it was totally
unthinkable. Of course that's going to influence my writing because it
offers me possibilities. The most prominent directors are coming to
37
Moscow from all over the world and I see and meet them there. This
influences me without a doubt. 3
Rovit: Many of your plays have already been produced internationally
and to great acclaim. To what degree do you see theatre as universal--
to what degree is it language and culture-bound?
Galin: Theatre is a universal tongue. It doesn't speak in English, Rus-
sian or German. It speaks the creative-artistic language of feelings. I'm
a writer and I write words, but I'm deeply convinced that even though
we express ourselves in different languages we still have the same feel-
ings. We have a similar situation in front of God, before people, and
before ourselves.
Rovit: When The Roof premieres here at F.S.U. in a few weeks, will the
American audience need to know anything about the conditions of the
Soviet Union to better understand the play?
Galin: I don't know. Judging from the different meetings I've had with
Americans, I can say that they only know the Soviet Union through
television. It might be difficult for them to see my characters as people
who love and suffer, doubt and think. My goal is for the audience to
understand my characters and suffer along with them. It is through
laughing and crying that the audience can understand the play. Of
course, when I wrote this play I had no idea that it would be produced in
the United States.
Rovit: You mention that our students are very much a part of a TV cui-
ture. How can theatre thrive in such a culture?
Galin: Theatre should offer people something else. Theatre is a live
art; it's something that happens at the moment. TV, in spite of its tech-
nological sophistication, often can't get across the simplest points. No
matter how much money you put into TV, a live human being can't
touch the other person on screen. Their eyes never meet. But, on the
other hand, TV is an incredible cultural entity of its own. People in our
country can also benefit from this. I refuse to work in television because
I like theatre.
Rovit: Do you have a particular philosophy about performance train-
ing?
Galin: I love and understand psychological theatre. I think the actor
trained in psychological theatre, if well-educated, can do anything. With
enough energy and understanding, he can even do a musical. But if he
hasn't studied any human psychology, he won't be able to create charac-
38
ters who resemble real people. Today's actor with his extensive profes-
sionalism must have a very high level of cultural training, because the
greatest enemy of theatre is commercialism.
Rovit: Have you noticed any striking differences in your work with
Soviet and American actors?
Galin: Yes, American theatre students show a great deal of discipline in
working closely with directors. They attain a certain level of profes-
sionalism through the knowledge that they have a chance to perform. In
general, I've worked very little with students; but I fmd it enjoyable.
They're not actors just yet.
4
They don't have quite the dedication that
actors have; they don't have quite the accountability. Their futures will
all be different. I think there will be very few productions like this one of
The Roof. This is a special opportunity for me to work on my own play
with students. While I was at Disney World, I met some actors--
excellent actors--who perform for children and have a worthwhile
career. But that's not theatre.
Rovit: That's commercialism?
Galin: Yes. But the actors studying here at the university are studying
theatre. This impresses me greatly.
Rovit: And this is different from what you see at the Moscow Art
Theatre School Studio, for example?
Galin: Yes. In the U.S. the student pays for his education with his own
money and family funds. We have very good students in the Soviet
Union. They're very dedicated to their work as actors. But I think our
students could gain even more if they had to pay for their education too.
The Soviet government pays for everything. The students get stipends
and scholarships. Here I see a student from The Roof making her own
costume. At home, our actors expect someone else to make the
costumes. I must say, though, that we do have excellent professors in
our acting schools.
Rovit: Do you often get the chance to direct?
Galin: Only once, although people often ask me to direct. Right now
Soviet directors stage my plays better than I do: Kama Ginkas, Genrikh
Chernyakhovsky, Oleg Tabakov, Lev Dodin. Working and communicat-
ing with them is very valuable to me. Maybe I will put on a play by
Lyudmila Petrushevskaya.
5
She's my favorite contemporary playwright.
If she were to write a role for me to act, then I'd like to put on the play
and act in it. But that's just a dream.
39
Rovit: When you write a play, how do you see the role of the audience?
What do you want to happen to the reader or viewer of your plays?
Galin: I want him to believe the actors as they present themselves. He
should feel something. I don't need anything from the viewer--only his
laughter and his tears. Nothing else.
Rovit: You want to bring the audience in emotionally.
Galin: Yes, like Chekhov.
Rovit: How do the theatre repertories differ across the Soviet Union?
Will a theatre in Leningrad stage the same play as a major city in Latvia
for example?
Galin: There are not many differences: Moliere, Shakespeare, Chekov,
Bulgakov, Galin--all these authors are performed. But they might be
translated into the language of the Republic.
6
Rovit: We don't hear much about the theatre in the non-Russian
Republics.
Galin: Eimuntas a Lithuanian, is in my mind an excellent
director. One of the best in the world. Then, there's the Georgian
Robert Sturua. In every Republic, from Armenia to Byelorussia and the
Ukraine there are excellent directors who work all over the Soviet
Union.
Rovit: What kind of influence do non-Russian directors such as Nek-
rosius and Sturua have on the Russian theatre?
Galin: That's a very interesting question. There's a great deal of
influence from one theatre to another. In fact, many plays directed by
and Sturua influence directors both within the Republics and
elsewhere. Russian theatre has benefited from the Georgian tradition
of theatricality and the intellectual tradition of the Baltic States.
Rovit: We hear in the media about the struggle for greater independ-
ence by the Republics. Is this struggle being brought into the theatres,
onstage?
Galin: Yes, it's a big problem. We shouldn't have people killing one
another just because they're of different national backgrounds. I think
that theatre should be used to bring people together rather than frag-
menting them. You have to talk about brotherhood. In this respect, I
40
love the United States because here there are people of many nation-
alities. The whole history of the U.S. is the story of immigrants. In the
production of The Roof here, the actors are all Americans, but their
backgrounds are quite diverse.
Rovit: Isn't it idealistic to say that the theatre can actually unite groups
of people?
Galin: Theatre can't really solve all these problems, especially eco-
nomic problems. But the theatre can do a lot. I admit, so far it hasn't
done very much in bringing the nationalities together.
Rovit: Do you see yourself doing more work in the U.S.?
Galin: Without a doubt. I fmd it interesting to work with Americans.
Rovit: Mr. Galin, I'd like to thank you for taking the time to speak with
me today.
NOTES
1
Galin also implied that his being Jewish might have contributed to his
failure to be accepted.
2Galin's first play, The Wall, although written in 1972, was not given
public performance until 1988. The Roof was also suppressed for nine
years.
3
See the interview conducted last January with Galin in Theater Heute,
June 1989: 19. Galin suggests that The Group should be performed on
an international scale using Russian artists from the West as well as
from the East. By March (during my interview) Galin decided to
expand his plan to include artists from other countries as well. Galin
implies in the interview with Theater Heute that the women of The
Group meet in Venice at an international conference in honor of the
Women's Movement.
4
Galin refers to the student actors he worked with on the production of
The Roof at Florida State University.
5Lyudmila Petrushevskaya is a leading playwright in the Soviet Union
whose plays are currently being translated into English. Her one-act
41
Cinzano: Italian Vennouth Without Intennission was recently performed
by the Moscow Art Theatre Studio "Chelovek" at the Actors Theatre in
Louisville, Kentucky as part of the Classics in Context festival. See
Theater (Fall1989): 52-64 for Elsie Thorn's translation of the play.
6There is a debate going on among artists and intellectuals of non-
Russian republics to produce their own authors in their national lan-
guages. See Galin's interview with Peter von Becker, Theater Heute
June 1989: 20.
42
English-language Bibliography on Galin
Brodskaya, Galina. "The Theatre of Aleksandr Galin." Soviet Theatre,
Vol. 4 (1983): pp. 14-18.
Galin, Aleksandr. Janna. In Soviet Theatre. Trans. Bruce Hamilton.
Vol. 3 (1986): pp.16-31 .
. Retro. In Soviet Theatre. Trans. Robert Daglish. Vol. 4 (1983): p.
- 62+ .
. Stars in the Morning Sky. In Stars in the Morning Sky: New Soviet
- Plays. Ed. and Trans. Michael Glenny. London: Nick Hern, 1989.
pp. 65-122 .
. Interview by Viktor Novatsky. In Culture and Life. Vol. 1 (1987): p.
-35 .
. Interview by Peter von Becker and Barbara Lehrmann. In Theater
- Heute. (June 1989): p. 19-23.
Krutinskaya, Sofia. "The Wall." Culture and Life Vol. 7 (1987): p. 27.
Myagkova, Irina. "Stars and Extras: Birds of Passage and Toastmaster by
Aleksandr Galin at the Mayakovsky and the Moscow Art Theatre."
Soviet Theatre Vol4. (1987): pp. 12-15.
Galin's plays, The Librarian (translated in 1989) and The Roof
(translated in 1989), although translated, have not yet been published.
The Wall, translated in 1988, is available from Theatre Research Associ-
ates, C/0 M. Smith, Stonegate Apts., Bldg. 1, Apt B8, Peekskill, NY
10566.
43
"BY AND FOR HAVEL"
A REVIEW
Edward Dee
It was only last year that there. was an insert in the program of
the New York Shakespeare Festival's production of Vaclav Havel's
Temptation (see review SEEP vol. 9, no. 1 pp. 49-51) requesting mem-
bers of the audience to write to the Czechoslovak government demand-
ing the release of Havel from prison. This must certainly have added a
dramatic undercurrent to the production. But things have changed so
rapidly in Czechoslovakia that whereas last year any Havel play would
certainly have been tinged with tragedy, this year a production of one of
Havel's plays must be tinged with triumph. So it is at the John
Houseman Studio Theatre's evening of one-acts, "By and for Havel."
The piece "By Havel" is his play Audience; the play "For Havel"
is a controversial production of Samuel Beckett's Catastrophe, which has
been dedicated to Havel during his frrst imprisonment. The produc-
tion at the Houseman, directed by Czech emigre Vasek C. Simek
changes the ending of Catastrophe from a defeated protagonist being
displayed before a crowd to the playing of the Czechoslovakian national
anthem allowing the protagonist to unfurl himself to full height, vic-
torious. In a letter to the New York Times (March 23,1990 A34),
Samuel Beckett's publisher and lawyer in the United States, Martin
Garbus and Barney Rosset, say that Beckett would have been "appalled"
by the changes and demanded that the original ending be restored or
that the author's name be withdrawn. "Catastrophe had special meaning
for Beckett and Mr. Havel which makes the distortion more egregious."
Audience was frrst presented last fall at the Actor's Studio; and
in January 1990, the play was performed in Prague as part or a four-
performance premiere (two in English and two in Czech with local
actor). It was the first time that Havel had seen his play performed.
The Prague production was filmed for broadcast by PBS.
Havel's two-character play tells the story of an encounter
between Vanek, a playwright forced out of the theatre who has gone to
work in a brewery (as Havel did) and the brewmaster, the local repre-
sentative of authority. The brewmaster apparently went to some trouble
to hire Vanek; now he needs a favor from him but he cannot bring him-
self to ask it until he has consumed an enormous quantity of beer.
Every week, the secret police ask the brewmaster for something
incriminating about Vanek, but the latter has kept such a spotless
record that there is nothing more to say. So in a solution that makes
perfect sense in this crazy totalitarian society, the brewmaster wants
Vanek to write up the report on himself, since after all, Vanek must
know better than anyone else what the secret police want.
To make this more palatable to Vanek, the brewmaster offers
44
to move him from drudge labor in the cellars to a soft job running the
warehouse. Vanek is tempted, but cannot bring himself to violate his
principles. At this point, the play takes a more serious turn as the brew-
master goes into a drunken tirade on Vanek's principles, pointing out
that Vanek can keep his principles because they pay. In a nice moment,
the brewmaster says that "They" are asking about Vanek, with the
emphasized "They'' referring to the secret police. But with his hands he
gestures toward the audience, making us aware that the reason the
secret police ask about Vanek is that the greater "They'' of the world are
still asking about him. The secret police are afraid of Vanek--why else
bother to check up on him--but "They" are not afraid of the brewmaster.
The world cares about what happens to Vanek, but the brewmaster
knows that if the secret police "crush him like a bug" no one will notice.
The brewmaster believes that Vanek, being a world-famous dissident,
has a certain amount of protection. This point is driven home by the
inclusion of the Beckett play. The play was written to remind the world
of Havel's imprisonment, but how many other political prisoners have
disappeared without anyone noticing?
The brewmaster eventually falls into a drunken sleep, and
Vanek nobly leaves the stage echoing one of the brewmaster's lines,
"Don't let it get you down." The play seems perfectly symmetrical at this
point, framed at the opening and closing with the brewmaster asleep.
And in lesser hands, the play would end here. But Havel undercuts this
sappy, Romantic ending with a short scene set at some indeterminate
time in the future, with Vanek now as slovenly as the brewmaster and
drinking beer even faster, thus reminding us the reason the totalitarian
state tries to break Vanek by this means is because it works.
One of the themes in this production is, as the brewmaster says,
"the paradoxes of life." The major paradox is, of course, having Vanek
inform on himself to the secret police. But the entire production is
laden with paradoxes. The brewmaster tells Vanek to trust no one, and
then proceeds to trust Vanek about the secret police. Across the set
(designed by E. F. Morrill) are signs proclaiming "Work is Truth." But
in the world inhabited by Vanek and the brewmaster work is a lie. At
the beginning and end of the first scene the brewmaster is asleep, and
throughout the play, whenever Vanek tries to get back to work, the
brewmaster stops him and offers him another beer. He attempts to
bribe Vanek by offering him a warehouse job, the greatest advantage of
which, is that there is no work to do. Vanek's work ethic is completely
eroded by the end of the play. Another irony on the set is a poster of
Stalin pointing toward "the shining future," but the poster is sideways so
that it points toward the toilet.
The most surprising paradox is that the brewmaster is jealous
of Vanek. He envies the life of the playwright and of the theatre, know-
ing that his own life will never be the stuff of plays. He has even cut the
face of his favorite actress from a newspaper photo and pasted it over a
45
Playboy centerfold. The brewmaster is overwhelmed when he discovers
that Vanek is her friend, and throughout the rest of the play he tries to
persuade Vanek to invite he to the brewery. Even after Vanek destroys
these illusions by pointing out how precarious the life of a playwright is
fmancially and that the brewmaster's favorite actress is over forty, the
brewmaster still envies him because of the position he believes Vanek
to be in. As the brewmaster sees it, being so oppressed, Vanek has no
more practical concerns and doesn't have to deal with the real world;
while the brewmaster has to deal with the world of secret police and
shattered dreams. He tells Vanek he lives in the manure that Vanek's
principles grow out of. Of course, the brewmaster is wrong, since at the
end of the play Vanek is no longer the noble dissident facing down the
secret police, but is instead, a sodden "brewery bum," just like the brew-
master.
The main theme of the production is waste. The totalitarian
society cannot seem to use anything to its potential. Vanek's wasting
away from the frrst scene to the last is the most obvious, but the brew-
master is also wasting away, albeit a bit more slowly. The brewmaster
mentions repeatedly that Vanek should have been there five years ago
when life at the brewery was exciting. Nothing gets done in the society
of the brewery and by extension in Czechoslovakia as well. The brew-
master consumes countless bottles of beer during the course of the per-
formance, and has to go relieve himself on numerous occasions. The
beer is wasted. Vanek, who is being plied with beer, also wastes the
beer in fine low comedy style by pouring it into the garbage can. Next
to the brewmaster is a case to hold empty beer bottles for recycling, but
instead he smashes the bottles into the garbage can.
Nothing is made more worthless than time itself. Havel con-
tinually uses repetition during the play, not only for its humorous effect,
but also as a means of pointing up the tedium of existence in the
brewery. There is not one line in the short final scene that has not been
said previously. Vanek asks the same questions again and again. Ges-
tures by the brewmaster are repeated over and over: filling and empty-
ing the beer steins, which have never been washed, continually pulling
out and putting back his lunch.
The performing space in the basement of the Houseman
theatre is a difficult one to act in, and the set, a dingy foreman's office
was crammed into one corner of the room with the audience on two
sides. The play is essentially static so that the placement of the brew-
master's desk becomes vital. While placing it on a diagonal was quite
effective when the brewmaster chases Vanek around the room with a
keg of beer, for the most part the choices seem too theatrical for a pro-
duction being played realistically.
Vanek as the reticent playwright more concerned with observ-
ing than being part of the action, is here performed by Lou Brockway.
However, Havel seems more interested in the character of the brew-
46
master, and Kevin O'Connor must play a wide variety of emotions,
making him seem at times ingratiating, then threatening; comically over-
blown, then pitiful. Ultimately the brewmaster is more a pastiche of dif-
ferent character types than a single individual. In the end, we
sympathize with the brewmaster and perhaps through him with all the
people of Czechoslovakia, as we come to realize that he is just as
trapped as Vanek, and he doesn't even have any principles left to com-
fort him. In the Beckett play, Brockway performed the Havel role,
while O'Connor again played the bureaucratic role, though in
Catastrophe it is a much less subtle symbol of the totalitarian society
than in Audience.
It is difficult not to have a sense of historical double-vision
while watching Audience. Havel has written a tragi-comedy with the
protagonist fmally beaten down by the totalitarian state. We should be
left with a feeling of sadness or outrage at the waste of human souls in
that society. Instead, we are unable to summon up the correct emo-
tions, since we know that in the end Vanek (as Havel) is going to win.
The pain we see on stage is sweetened by our knowledge that his suffer-
ing was not in vain. Indeed, Havel's time among the lower members of
his society bodes well for his presidency, since he can identify with the
masses in a way no politician who has had a normal career can hope to
achieve.
What happened to me on viewing Audience, was in many ways
identical to my reaction to pre-World War II anti-Nazi plays such as
Watch on the Rhine or It Can't Happen Here: the pleasant feeling of
being able to agree with the protagonist's cause, but also a feeling of
distance because the struggle that was so important to them is over. It
appears that the only way for Audience to resonate the way Havel
intended is for the Czechoslovakian experiment in democracy to fail.
Perhaps the success of Havel the dissident will mark the end of Havel's
relevance as a dissident writer.
47
48
EDMUND KEAN IN RIGA: A REVIEW
Ron Engle
There seems to be a consensus among theatre critics in Mos-
cow that during the 1970s the artistic level of theatrical production was
higher than it is today in the era of glasnost. Speaking to audiences
through imagery, metaphor and silent action requires a more challeng-
ing and creative directorial concept than does direct revelation of ideas
that might be censored. Or so it would seem. It is exactly this problem
that the Riga Youth Theatre confronts head on in Adolf Shapiro's new
production of Edmund Kean. In fact, no sooner do the lights go down
than the manager of the company about to perform the play calls the
cast together on stage and says, "Listen, now that we can say anything
we want in the theatre ... what are we going to say?" By evening's end, it
is quite clear that what the theatre wants to say with its production is in
its own peculiar way truth in performance.
Adolf Shapiro who has served as the artistic director of the
Riga Youth Theatre since 1964, has gained a reputation as an inventive
director who blends both realistic and agit-prop techniques of staging.
For this production, Shapiro has directed the theatre's Russian-speaking
troupe (it also has a Latvian-speaking troupe) with the distinguished
Leningrad actor, Vladimir Retsepter, playing the title role.
The Youth Theatre's production combines Dumas pere's Kean;
or, Disorder and Genius with events from various Kean biographies, and
according to Shapiro, a considerable amount of improvisation.
Nevertheless, Dumas' text represents the heart of the production,
providing an appropriate vehicle for episodic diversions without inter-
rupting the flow of the action. It seems logical that Kean moves from
the realistic world of the play to the images of highly presentational
stage pictures. This style is reinforced by the scenography of Mart
Kitaev (and costumes by Valentina Roman-ovskaya), which
incorporates a number of sheet-like curtains being hung on wires
extended across the stage. It is a very simple, but effective and
utilitarian means for making the transitions from realism to improvisa-
tion. At the same time, it supports the idea of creating theatre with
nothing more than "bare boards and an actor."
Playing Kean provides a virtuoso opportunity for Retsepter, yet
there is little histrionic fortissimo in his acting. Rather, his approach is
marked by a calculated confidence that is defined and articulated as the
character of Kean develops. From his first appearance in the Danish
Embassy to his later drunken tirades, Retsepter endows Kean with a
laconic temper, broken only when he is overcome with a certain
"theatrical fever." Solomon, Kean's prompter, played by S. Yudin, com-
plements Retsepter's style in almost the same way the Fool comple
49
Edmund Kean Youth Theatre, Riga
50
ments King Lear. Through gestures and expressions, Yudin continually
comments on Kean's fate.
In Sartres version of Dumas' play, Kean is a creature who plays
great passions but does not know them and therefore his own life
becomes merely another role. In Shapiro's version, Kean questions if
one can ever know for certain what passion is, and like Sartre, he con-
fronts the larger dilemma of separating illusion from reality. This is
emphasized by the Director of the play stopping the action to remind
the actors of their responsibility to "say something meaningful for the
audience, something truthful." Circus performers under the direction of
L. I. Birman add greatly to the theatricality of Shapiro's production,
offering an element of spectacle that complements the other extreme in
the production--a Kean who can act a part but not live it. In one scene,
"Birth of an Artist," set in the circus, we even have a play within a play
within a play.
Both I. Fedorova as Elena, the Countess Koefeld, and I.
Kosheleva as Anna Damby help to contrast the way in which a person
can love either Kean's persona, or his real person. In a very genuine
fashion this duality of identity represents the truth of the performance.
Are we in love with the persona of truth or truth itself?
51
CONTRIBUTORS
ZSUZSA BERGER, a native of Budapest, writes on the Hungarian
theatre. She is a doctoral candidate in the Ph.D. program in theatre at
the Graduate School of the City University of New York.
EDWARD DEE, assistant editor of SEEP, is a doctoral candidate in the
Ph.D. program in theatre at the Graduate School of the City University
of New York.
RON ENGLE is the Chester Fritz Distinguished Professor of Theatre at
the University of North Dakota and is Founding Editor of the journal
Theatre History Studies
JANUSZ GeOWACKI, a native of Warsaw currently living in New
York, is the author of plays, stories, radio dramas and film scenarios.
Cinders was performed at the New York Shakespeare Festival's Public
Theatre, and Hunting Cockroaches at the Manhattan Theatre Club.
FELICIA HARDISON LONDRE is Curator's Professor of Theatre at
the University of Missouri at Kansas City and is the dramaturg for the
Missouri Repertory Theatre.
REBECCA ROVIT was dramaturg for the Florida State University
English-language premiere of Galin' The Roof. She received her Ph.D.
in Theatre from Florida State in August 1989 and is now a member of
the English department at the University of Kentucky, Lexington.
PHOTO CREDITS:
"Interview with Katalin Vajda"
Viktor Gabor
"The Gang of Crazy Youth"
Alma Law Archive
"Cinders in the U.S.S.R."
N. Geevsky
"Edmund Kean in Riga"
Yu. A. Ikonnikov. Courtesy Riga Youth Theatre
52
PLAYSCRIPTS IN TRANSLATION SERIES
The following is a list of publications available through the Center for
Advanced Study in Theatre Arts (CASTA):
No.1 Never Part From Your Loved Ones, by Alexander Volodin.
Translated by Alma H. Law. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign)
No.2 I, Mikhail Sergeevich Lunin, by Edvard Radzinsky. Translated by
Alma H. Law. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign)
No.3 An Altar to Himself, by Ireneusz Iredytiski. Translated by Michal
Kobialka. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign)
No.4 Conversation with the Executioner, by Kazimierz Moczarski.
Stage adaptation by Zygmunt HUbner; English version by Earl
Ostroff and Daniel Gerould. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign)
No.5 The Outsider, by Ignatii Dvoretsky. Translated by C. Peter Gos-
lett. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign)
No.6 The Ambassador, by Stawomir Mrozek. Translated by Sfawomir
Mrozek and Ralph Manheim. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign)
No.7 Four by Liudmila Petroshevskaya (Love, Come into the Kitchen,
Nets and Traps, and The Violin). Translated by Alma H. Law.
$5.00 ($6.00 foreign)
No.8 The Trap, by Tadeusz Rozewicz. Translated by Adam
Czerniawski. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign)
Soviet Plays in Translation. An Annotated Bibliography. Compiled and
Edited by Alma H. Law and C. Peter Goslett. $5.00 ($6.00 for-
eign)
Polish Plays in Translation. An annotated Bibliography. Compiled and
Edited by Daniel C. Gerould, Boleslaw Taborski, Michal
Kobialka, and Steven Hart. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign)
Polish and Soviet Theatre Posters. Introduction and Catalog by Daniel
C. Gerould and Alma H. Law. $5.00 ($6.00 foreign)
Polish and Soviet Theatre Posters Volume Two. Introduction and
Catalog by Daniel C. Gerould and Alma H. Law. $5.00 ($6.00
foreign)
53
Eastern European Drama and The American Stage. A Symposium with
Janusz Gtowacki, Vasily Aksyonov, and moderated by Daniel
C. Gerould (April30, 1984). $3.00 ($4.00 foreign)
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SUBSCRIPTION POLICY
SEEP is partially supported by CAST A and The Institute for
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ing and mailing costs, it is necessary to raise the annual subscription rate
to $10.00 a year ($15.00 foreign). Individual issues may be purchased for
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The subscription year is the.calendar year and thus a $10.00
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and departments of Slavic languages and literatures will subscribe as
well as individual professors and scholars. Subscriptions can be ordered
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