Looking back at the World Shakespeare Festival: Part Two

Yesterday, I considered broadly the way in which the World Shakespeare Festival mirrored current trends in theatre, both at home and abroad. Today’s question is a little more complex, as we consider the universality of Shakespeare’s work and whether or not the WSF has really demonstrated anything which we didn’t know before.

What have we learned from the Year of Shakespeare productions about the performative qualities of Shakespeare’s plays?

This is a difficult one; we’ve always known that Shakespeare’s plays hold a specific power in performance, and that his work maintains relevance in contemporary settings. This leads us to consider the universality of Shakespeare, not just temporily but also spatially. Seeing directors set plays in the current day demonstrates that the canon certainly has a universality within British culture, but what the Globe to Globe season showed was that his work crosses cultural boundaries too.

Perhaps the best way to loosely define “classic” is this: a work of art which, though set in a certain time, maintains relevance across generations and national boundaries. This is the reason the World Shakespeare Festival exists; though the original dissemination of his work was due to the rise of the British Empire, they now live on due to the fact they have gained a global cultural currency.

Each production performed at the Globe demonstrated a reappropriation of Shakespeare’s work by each company. The South Sudan Theatre Company showed Cymbeline to be a celebration for a new era, and was impossible not to read in the context of the country’s new-found independence. The production used music and dance as a way of breaking up scenes and punctuating key moments, much like the Globe’s in-house shows, though still firmly revolved around the central narrative. By extension then, this proved what we already know; that, though Shakespeare’s language, poetry and characters are all gorgeous creations, it is his stories which inspire and enthuse the world over.

This throws up a small problem, however. Seeing as the majority of Shakespeare’s plays are based on source materials and aren’t original works (though they include plot twists and new characters which were invented for the purposes of each play), we have to question whether it is Shakespeare’s works which are being performed or simply the stories, many of which are merely folklore with a bit of poetry.

So what, then, are the inherently performative aspects of Shakespeare’s works? Why, for example, are the Henry VI plays attributed to the Bard and not to Hall or Holinshead, especially when performed in translation? The best answer is a mixture of the three points mentioned above; language, poetry and character. The first two of these are difficult in translation, but a good translator will take the rhythms and rules of Shakespeare’s verse and transpose them into similar poetic patterns within their own linguistic traditions. The Palestinian Arabic used by Ashtar Theatre in Richard II, for example, used an archaic form of the language, which the actors described as (and I paraphrase) “just as difficult to get your head around as Shakespeare”.

More than that, however, characters remain constant across boundaries; though their motives and nuances change for each production, their super-objective will be the same no matter where they perform, and their fate will remain unchanged. Again, I repeat what I said yesterday, and I apologise for failing to put this in a more erudite way, but each production throughout the Globe to Globe season felt like Shakespeare. We left each in much the same way as we’d leave an Anglophonic production, considering its link to the past, its relevance to now, the choices the characters had to make and with a spinning head after trying to understand the language.

In what ways have these productions succeeded or failed in creating a shared frame of reference for spectators?

Only those who saw every World Shakespeare Festival production (and I imagine that group is very small indeed, if not nonexistent) are able to share a solid reference point withanyone else who saw at least one production. Nonetheless, a conversation has grown out of the event, and even those with only one ticket under their belt have been able to join in the debate in some way.

The Globe to Globe season, as perhaps the most public part of the World Shakespeare Festival, has meant a large-scale discussion about translation and international Shakespeare. British audiences have seen that we are not the only nation who can do Shakespeare well and that other languages shed new light on the plays. In this instance, the ongoing debate is not one which focusses on the plays individually but the nature of the festival as a whole; someone who saw Belarus Free Theatre’s King Lear can discuss how Shakespeare differs in translation with someone who saw Romeo and Juliet in Baghdad, each providing different examples of the merits of setting the plays in different nations. The same is true of someone who saw Julius Caesar at the RSC and someone else who saw Julius Caesar at the Globe, though the discussion shifts slightly then to one which focusses more heavily on the play.

I do worry a little, however, that this marks “the other” as the focus of what is being discussed and shoving all foreign language Shakespeares into the same bag without necessarily understanding their differences. Rather than talk about productions in English, French, Albanian, Arabic, Maori etc, we talk about productions in English and productions In A Different Language.

One of the strengths of the WSF – that it contained such a variety of plays, companies and styles – is also, then, its downfall. By choosing not to curate around a particular theme or idea other than “Internationalism”, the Festival lacked any identifiable theme which could be picked up in conversation. Most of the conversations I’ve had about the season have focussed around the nature and ethics of the Festival as a whole rather than specific productions.

 

I understand neither of these questions have really been answered here, but these are my initial thoughts on the issues. Once again, without having seen every show it is impossible to discuss with any comprehensiveness any overriding themes or narratives, so that instead we ask bigger, more oblique questions. This is neither a Good Thing nor a Bad Thing, but it’s a shame that individual productions at the Festival don’t get so much attention due to being lost in the noise of the complete entity.

“Capsule” by Talking Birds

at Warwick Arts Centre, Thursday 20th October 2011

Written for www.StageWon.co.uk

It’s always extremely difficult to review a show whose success hinges on a single twist. It’s important a feeling for the show is conveyed, yet the surprise can’t be spoiled for future audiences. “Capsule” is one such show; halfway through, the tables turn and the meaning of the performance becomes clear.

We enter a small capsule, are welcomed by a friendly sailor and are taken on a journey. Through a small window, we see everything from space to the depths of the ocean, acted out by performers and clever props. It feels like a simulation ride, as the room is rocked and sounds are pumped through speakers. It’s a consideration of the beauty of theatre; simple sounds and images can transport us to wherever we desire.

Please don’t read this paragraph if you have tickets for or are planning on seeing the show. As we leave the capsule, we are met by Nick Gibsen, the creator, and told that the performance we’ve just watched was created by the previous group. Now it’s our turn, and we can have fun too. It could all go wrong and if we wished we could refuse to play, but remarkably, we find ourselves trying hard to make this show just as good as the last.

“Capsule” isn’t the most spectacular or enlightening shows, and it isn’t altogether completely original, but the beauty lies in its simplicity. It’s a charming piece of performance, and Talking Birds, the company behind the production, really do know how to let their audience have a bit of fun.

“The Author” by Tim Crouch

at Warwick Arts Centre, Tuesday 19th October 2010

Very often hype can be bad for a play. A certain production is given so much press attention and has so many words written about it that on eventual viewing it may seem to lack the certain flair which has been discussed so frequently. In Tim Crouch’s The Author, however, the hype has seemed to add something extra to the production, although whether this reflects well on Crouch’s play seems to be a matter for contention.

Notoriously, the play considers the role of audience interaction, making each half of the audience face the other. There is no stage, and the actors sit among us, describing how they became involved with Crouch’s fictitious play ‘The Abuser’ and meditating on their experience. The content becomes more and more intense, tackling more controversial subjects and asking us to question the relationship between audience and actor.

Throughout we are invited to get involved with the debate, constantly being asked the questions “Can you see alright?” and “Shall I go on?” Spectators rarely answer, and even when they do it is only one word grunts. The few responses which are elicited from the crowd draw little or no response from the actors. Here is where the problem lies; what would happen if we were to answer back? Has this happened at all during the run? Where does this lead the play? The very fact that the play poses this many questions seems to suggest, however, that it is some respects successful.

The subject matter is of course shocking. The Author follows a tradition of shocking plays which includes Saved and Blasted. However, it doesn’t seem to be this which propels the intensity in the play. Rather, it is the hype surrounding this production which keeps us guessing as to what will happen and manages to convince us that what is happening could be real. The constant allusions to the Royal Court, however, are incredibly frustrating. In a conventional theatre, we can imagine being transported elsewhere, but when the actors keep referring to “this space” as the Royal Court when we are 85 miles away we do feel on occasion a strong desire to punch them.

Although the positioning of the audience and actors means that we are initially led to believe that we should not know who the actors are, once the text is initially spoken by Chris Goode as the mildly annoying audience member our suspense of disbelief is shattered. You see the script does not hold the nuances of everyday speech, nor do the actors speak it with truth. Vic Llewellyn and Esther Smith as the supporting actors are both compelling, and Tim Crouch’s eyes alone draw us in, but ultimately we never forgot they are simply actors. But then perhaps this is the point.

The Author is not as controversial or as groundbreaking as many have suggested. Nevertheless, it is to an extent hypnotic and in the last thirty minutes highly intense. The very fact that over the past week it has been the subject around which many conversations have centred and from which most thoughts have originated suggests that it has been successful. Like it or not, this will be talked about for years to come.

Turning the Tables

How should dinner tables be presented in the theatre?

Whilst a banal topic, the way in which tables are used on stage is one which has come to my attention over the past couple of weeks, having seen various plays in which a table is used in important scenes of the production. This made me think; what is the best way of staging a scene around which a group of people have to sit and talk? It’s not as simple as you may think.

Let me get this straight first. I am not simply talking about office desks and coffee tables in living rooms. These are straightforward arrangements which can easily be adapted for the stage. I refer of course to dinner tables, those lumbering, space-consuming wooden objects around which people sit to eat.

In the real world we arrange ourselves on all sides of the table, whether it be rectangular or circular. This, however, is not easily achieved in the theatre, for there is one minor consideration: the audience. If actors sit around all sides, then the audience won’t see their heads. If no one is seated with their backs to the audience, then are we still able to believe the scene? Now you see the dilemma.

I refer you to three case studies. The first is from a production of The Taming of the Shrew at the Courtyard Theatre in Stratford in 2008. As you may know, there is a banquet at the end of this play, during which there is much joviality and all the loose ends tied up – how convenient! – and of course this scene requires a table. In the aforementioned production, director Conall Morrison decided to take the ‘audience over realism’ approach, which saw one side of the table full with people and the opposite side with a few stragglers at each end. I for one have never seen anyone eat a meal in this arrangement, and this thought was on my mind for the remainder of the play.

Here is my main gripe with this format in relation to this particular production: the Courtyard Theatre has a rectangular thrust with audiences on three sides, so why the table couldn’t be put lengthways in the middle I will never know. This way the scene would have been far more realistic and every member of the audience could have seen the faces of at least one side of the table.

Perhaps worse than this, however, is what I will label the ‘side-straddle’ approach, as used recently in Laura Wade’s Posh at the Royal Court. Here we see all sides of the table used, but with those with their backs to the audience sitting ‘side-straddle’ on their chairs. To sit like this during a normal meal would mean two things. One – you would not be able to have proper conversations with those next to you, and Two – you would spill your food. Not advisable.

To give the company credit, however, they coped very well under the circumstances of having to sit around a table for the duration and did vary the way in which they sat in order to keep us focussed. Nevertheless, I have seen this technique used to far worse effect in various productions, during which I have wanted to shout at the actors for not sitting properly at the table.

The final, and best, approach would be to stage the scene as naturalistically as possible, with all four sides of the table used. Whilst the arguments against this version state that the audience cannot see actors’ faces and voices are lost to the depths of the stage, the superb production of The White Guard at the National Theatre proved that with skilled actors this is simply untrue. An entire scene was performed in this way, and not once did it seem as though speech and expression were being lost. Those with their backs to us were fully audible and when they turned to speak to their companions beside them their expressions were clearly visible. Case closed.

What are your thoughts on this issue? That, of course, is if indeed it is an issue. Have you seen approaches which have been useless? Do certain formations work better in different spaces? In any case, this much is true: it is something which should not be left until the last minute before considering. If done right, an audience fully believes what is going on and is allowed to think about character and narrative. A small wrong move, however, can make an audience want to jump on stage and throw food at everyone involved.