posted by Elizabeth Brodersen, A.C.T. Publications Editor and a research dramaturg on The Tosca Project
Listen to an excerpt from Carey Perloff and Elizabeth Brodersen’s interview with Tosca Cafe owner Jeannette Etheredge, who describes her decision to buy the bar and honor its rich historical legacy. (5.6 mb)
Listen to an excerpt from Valerie Hart’s interview with Vesuvio Cafe co-owner Janet Clyde, who describes her early memories of Tosca Cafe. (2.2 mb)
On any theatrical production, it is typically the dramaturg’s job to collect research that will help the playwright, director, and performers create, shape, and authentically realize the story that will unfold onstage. Developed organically in a series of improvisatory workshops, based on real people in a real place over a 90-year period, and conceived without a conventional script, The Tosca Project presented a particularly complex challenge. What kind of information would be most helpful to the process? Where could we find it? How could we make it accessible to the cast and creators?
In addition to collecting documentary and visual research into the cultural and social history of 20th-century San Francisco—most of which ended up push-pinned to the rehearsal room walls to help keep the performers immersed in the world of the piece—we decided to go straight to the source. A team of interviewers—including dramaturgy intern Valerie Hart, dramaturg and A.C.T. Artistic Program Consultant Beatrice Basso, cocreator A.C.T. Artistic Director Carey Perloff, and myself—sallied forth into North Beach to interview an eclectic cast of local characters to give us firsthand testimony about the bar, the neighborhood, and their extravagant past. Bar owners, tenders, and regulars—from the octogenarian daughters of one of Tosca Cafe’s original founders to “Specs,” feisty owner of 12 Adler Museum Café—shared with us their memories of North Beach, in general, and Tosca, in particular. Meanwhile, Jeannette Etheredge, the current owner of Tosca Cafe and keeper of its legacy, told us profoundly moving stories about her mother, Armenian refugee Armen Baliantz, their mutual love of ballet and ballet dancers, and her experiences in and around the bar.
The audio recordings of these (hours and hours of) oral history then became part of the development process, as the creators and performers listened to them again and again, working out the nuances of movement and character, step by step, story by story. At one point, the audio even became part of the performance piece, played as voiceovers during a workshop presentation in 2007. As the storytelling evolved from the literally personal to the archetypally universal, however, the recordings fell away, but the essence of the stories and the rhythms of the storytellers’ voices remained in the performers’ psyches and bodies. What you now see onstage is the embodiment of almost a century of San Francisco history, caught on tape and released from the memory of the people who lived it.
posted by Kyle Schaefer, cast member of The Tosca Project
Kyle Schaefer, who graduated from the A.C.T. Master of Fine Arts Program in May, writes about his experience performing on the A.C.T. mainstage and the joy of working with the artists of varied backgrounds who make up the ensemble of The Tosca Project.
The Tosca Project is my first job as a professional actor out of school. It feels oddly like home, however, and I think I’ve been realizing how prepared I am for the nuts and bolts of this profession. In many ways it has felt like any other production I’ve been involved with: get together in the room, rehearse, take breaks, rehearse again, argue a point, take direction, joke around, work hard, get frustrated, have fun. I’m certainly familiar with life at 30 Grant and the American Conservatory Theater.
However, there are also many firsts for me in this new world of postgraduation life. I don’t take it lightly that I am employed directly out of school on a world premiere at A.C.T. with seasoned actors, dancers, clowns, directors, and designers from all around the world. This has been a once-in-a-lifetime experience. And I fit right in.
I don’t feel like an actor, or a dancer, or a clown. I feel like a collaborator. As a jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none, I have had to dig down into every corner of my artistic toolbox to help tell a story being discovered in the room. We are constantly reminded that the piece is bigger than the sum of its parts; and there are many parts! But with such a talented and diverse group of people, it is easy to trust the ebb and flow of the process. This trust and ease has been the surprising factor for me. I knew that I graduated as a skilled actor, but was unsure whether my experience would add up to being more than just a “green” actor with a lot to learn.
Of course I still have a lot to learn, but I will be able to hold my own through the early stage of building my career. So, this is why I have been training at a conservatory affiliated with a professional company! Instead of graduating as a cookie-cutter actor doing “everything I’m supposed to,” I have been allowed by my A.C.T. training to grow into an all-around artist. I am acting and dancing with some new faces, but also with people who have been my classmates, teachers, and directors and actors in projects I’ve directed. In short, this company is a community of artistic peers and creators breathing life into our love letter to San Francisco.
I’ve been somewhat self-involved and thoughtful about my personal life recently: What happens when I move? Will I get an agent? Where will I live? How am I going to make ends meet? Will I be artistically fulfilled? How awesome will it be to have a social life? How will I be able to sustain it?
But with Tosca, I just show up and get to work with an amazing group of people on a project with a lot of question marks. My training, my own life filled with question marks, and this eclectic group of bright and passionate individuals form the ideal environment in which to jump into the unknown. Much like my character at the top of the piece, I am myself embarking on a whole new life filled with surprises. The main difference is: I don’t have a mustache.
Kyle Schaefer in The Tosca Project (l to r): as the young Italian Bartender who founds Tosca Cafe in 1919 upon his arrival in San Francisco; as a sailor returning from World War II in the 1940s, with Sara Hogrefe; as a disco-dancing boy in the 1970s, with Pascal Molat. Photos by Kevin Berne.
posted by Brian Jansen, A.C.T. Master of Fine Arts Program class of 2011
I found this picture and wanted to share it with the A.C.T. community. It is trustee Dianne Hoge and her husband Ron with three Master of Fine Arts Program students—myself (on the right), Sara Hogrefe ’10, and Matt Bradley ’12. Clearly, we are having a ball.
Diane is one of the members of the Board of Trustees who act as a “Trustee Host” for M.F.A. Program students. What does this mean? Well, every student-trustee host relationship is different, but the general idea is that board members take a particular student or group of students under their wing. They are a familiar face at opening nights and the annual gala events; they attend our shows, cheer on our progress, and help with networking and general support during our three years here.
Dianne and Ron are incredibly gracious hosts. We get invited over to their house a few times a semester for drinks and dinner. Often they invite other artists or young people for networking, and the Hoges’ place can be something of an artist’s “salon.” We have passionate discussions about theater, A.C.T., what’s on the mainstage, and student productions. We trade ideas and stories and perspectives—and leave feeling recharged.
The Hoges have been hosting students five years in a row, so now I’m part of something of a “Trustee Host family” with Sara, Matt, and graduates James Bigelow ’09 and Jeff Irwin ’08.
The Trustee Host Program brings together two sides of the A.C.T. community that wouldn’t normally interact—the generous benefactors, who make much of the work we do possible, and us students in the trenches of training. For M.F.A. students, it’s an exhilarating addition to the experience at A.C.T., and provides something of a “home away from home.”
posted by Katie May, A.C.T. Publications & Literary Intern
Katie writes about her experience doing dramaturgical research for the Round and Round the Garden edition of A.C.T.’s performance guide series, Words on Plays. And her correspondence with Simon Murgatroyd, personal archivist to playwright Alan Ayckbourn, which grew out of that research.
Dramaturgical work on a play is an interesting process. It begins (of course) with reading the play, but it’s a different kind of reading from reading for pleasure or critical evaluation, a deeper reading informed by the question: What information would deepen the audience’s experience of this playwright’s work? After the reading comes the research. Which begins, like most research nowadays, with a Google search and quick trip to Wikipedia, but quickly extends to trips to the library and explorations of the archives of obscure literary journals in a quest to bring our audience precisely what can’t be found with a Google search and a quick trip to Wikipedia. It was in the initial stage of research into Round and Round the Garden that I discovered the official Alan Ayckbourn website: www.alanayckbourn.net.
Now it’s not unusual for a playwright to have a website, but this is a treasure trove—an overwhelming wealth of information so specific that the researcher in me got a little a teary-eyed and I was forced to take a few breaths to regain my composure. Not only does the Ayckbourn website contain the usual short biography, playwright’s résumé, and list of produced work, but it also offers an in-depth history of the writing of the plays, histories of their development and production, frequently asked questions about the playwright and his work, and (be still my heart) a list of interviews conducted by Ayckbourn, indexed by publication year and by the subject of the interview—as well as many more resources and links far too numerous to be listed here.
The discovery of a website (even a well-researched and thorough one) does not mean my job is done, however—far from it. The discovery of this website was like finding a cross between a road atlas and detailed treasure map, complete with multiple Xs to mark the spots, as well as highways, signposts, and points of interest along the way. Using this website as a jumping-off point, I was set to map out my journey, from the location of newspaper articles published back in the late 1960s to the titles of the books that needed to be at the top of my library reading list.
However, good research is also conducted with a degree of skepticism. Any article or essay is only as strong as the accuracy of its source material, which is an issue that begged the question: Is this website hosted by an Alan Ayckbourn superfan spending long hours in his basement lair, or a respected authority with a researcher’s ability to collect facts while retaining a degree of objectivity? My answer came in the form of Simon Murgatroyd, Ayckbourn’s personal archivist and website administrator (a full-time paid position), who is, in fact, a little bit of both—two parts completely qualified researcher and recognized Ayckbourn expert, and one part dedicated superfan. How do I know this? I e-mailed him. A lot.
Murgatroyd’s fascination with Ayckbourn began in 1995 when he was hired as a journalist for the Evening News in Scarborough. He became the lead theater critic at the paper and began reviewing the premieres of Ayckbourn’s plays at Scarborough’s Stephen Joseph Theatre, Ayckbourn’s artistic home for more than 30 years. In 1999, Murgatroyd left the paper to study for an M.A. in theater and contemporary practice, specializing in the fantasy influences in Ayckbourn’s plays, and created the website as direct response to his experiences studying for his M.A. “I quickly realized the subject of my dissertation was ill served by books, academic material and resources,” writes Murgatroyod, “I began creating the website as it became obvious a single resource—accurate and well researched—on Alan and his plays would be of benefit to other students and researchers.”
In 2004, Murgatroyd took over the position of archvivist for the Stephen Joseph Theatre, and when Ayckbourn stepped down from his post as artistic director in 2009, Murgatroyd’s position was altered to that of Ayckbourn’s personal archivist and website administrator. He lectures on the playwright’s work, continues to write and publish articles, and has published a book, Sight Unseen, which explores Ayckbourn’s unpublished and undeveloped works.
All of this information (available on the website) firmly established Murgatroyd as much more than a mere basement-dwelling superfan. This alone would have been cause for much rejoicing on my part, except that Murgatroyd’s email address is also available on the website, along with an invitation to contact him with any Ayckbourn-related questions. For the second time in one day I was forced to take a few deep breaths and calm my trembling fingers, already itching to attack my keyboard in a frenzy of Round and Round the Garden–related questions. But I didn’t want to embarrass myself or annoy Mr. Murgatroyd with questions the answers of which could be easily found in other sources, so I began my research and started small with a nice introductory email inquiring about the reprint rights to some of his materials and a quick question about the pronunciation of Ayckbourn’s name. Is it “ack-born” (“ack” rhymes with “pack”) or “ache-born” (as in “headache”)? I received an answer to both of my queries in exactly four and one half minutes: Yes, we could reprint the requested materials, and it’s “ache-born.” (rhymes with headache). Thus began my correspondence with one of the many unsung behind-the-scenes heroes of the artistic world.
True to the prompt enthusiasm of his first response, Murgatroyd proved himself an eager, accurate, and indispensable guide. Possessor of a wealth of quirky Ayckbourn-related facts, he often included extra bits of interesting information and photos that made both the researcher and the theater geek in me glow with that rare, warm satisfaction of being in the know. For example, Norman, the main character in the trilogy The Norman Conquests (of which Round and Round the Garden is the third and most structurally complete part), does not appear until 45 minutes into the first play, Table Manners because Christopher Godwin, the actor whom Ayckbourn had cast in the role, was unavailable for the first two weeks of rehearsal, and the script was altered to accommodate his schedule.
Another fascinating fact came with a photo I requested from Murgatroyd to illustrate the concept of theater-in-the-round. The Stephen Joseph Theatre began as the Library Theatre in Scarborough, a tiny room on the first floor of the town library with a playing space that measured a mere 14 by 18 feet. Murgatroyd points out: “You can see the two doors which were the only entrances to the Library’s Concert Room; this is why every Alan Ayckbourn play until 1976 only has two stage entrances. After 1976, they have at least three, when the company moved to a new venue.”
It’s bits of information like this that often remind me why I came to love theater in the first place. They illustrate how the art of theater, perhaps more than any other artistic endeavor, often arises out of the practicalities of production and collaboration among artists and spaces and audiences. And also why I enjoy dramaturgy that tracks and uncovers the genesis of such collaborations, paying tribute to the behind-the-scenes people, like Simon Murgatroyd, like myself, like a huge majority of people working in professional theater . . . people quietly going about their business behind the scenes—building sets, programming lights, maintaining websites—all to foster a deeper connection among the audience, the work, the plays, the theaters, and the playwright that they love.
Someday I sincerely hope to visit the town of Scarborough. Though I have become a fan of his plays, it won’t be Sir Alan Ayckbourn with whom I hope to meet up with for tea.
posted by Manoel Felciano, cast member of Round and Round the Garden
Associate Artist Manoel Felciano plays Norman in A.C.T.’s production of Round and Round the Garden. He writes about his unique inspiration for Alan Ayckbourn’s endearingly lusty librarian.
Character inspiration can come from the unlikeliest of sources. As rehearsals began for Round and Round the Garden, I was struck by how much my character, Norman, is compared to a dog in Ayckbourn’s text. He is lovingly described, with his “aimless sort of beard,” as “an Old English sheepdog . . . all woolly and doubled ended.”
Norman’s long-suffering wife, Ruth, who knows him best, describes him as follows: “It’s a bit like owning an oversized unmanageable dog, being married to Norman. He’s not very well house-trained, he needs continual exercising—mental and physical—and it’s sensible to lock him up if you have visitors. Otherwise he mauls them. But I’d hate to be rid of him.”
Of his philandering ways, Ruth wryly remarks: “He only jumps at people who encourage him. It’s a general rule, if you don’t want him licking your face, don’t offer him little tidbits.”
Now, lucky for me, shortly before rehearsals began I adopted an old fuzzball of a dog named Beethoven (who, incidentally, was also known for his unruly hair). Suddenly I had the perfect role model. Beethoven’s fluffy fur slowly began appearing all over my house in the same way Norman’s eager, passionate, excitable presence leaves its mark on everyone and everything in the play.
Beethoven is always happy to see me, tail wagging, deep soulful eyes looking up at me. What I’ve learned is that he exhibits the exact same behavior to anybody (my doorman, people he meets on the street) who might provide some chicken, a biscuit, or even a pat on the head. I don’t begrudge him this, because I realize that, similarly, Norman loves whichever woman is in front of him deeply, truthfully, and completely. He truly lives “in the moment,” unencumbered by such pesky things as past, history, future, and repercussions. His desire and ability to make women happy overwhelms all else.
At the end of the day, Norman, like Beethoven, just wants to play, consume (make love or eat), and sleep. He cannot resist temptation in any of those areas, no matter the risk. Beethoven will charge heedlessly off a ledge in pursuit of a tasty little bite. Similarly, Norman can’t pull himself away from playfully toying with the unknowing Reg and Tom, his allies and rivals in the play, or seducing their respective paramours, even though such behavior invariably leads to trouble.
Much as the golden retriever in Pixar’s Up confesses, “I was hiding under your porch because I love you. Can I stay?” Norman confesses that he is, if nothing else, “full of love!” adding, “Anyone I love is automatically beautiful.” It seems like a childish and naive way to look at the world, and perhaps it is, but then why do Beethoven and Norman both manage so unabashedly to pull at our heartstrings? More power to them!
posted by Courtney Thomas, A.C.T. Master of Fine Arts Program class of 2012
The A.C.T. Master of Fine Arts Program class of 2012 makes its public performance debut in Sam Shepard’sA Lie of the Mind. Courtney Thomas writes about preparing to take on this challenging play with her seven classmates at the end of her first year as an M.F.A. Program student.
Funny: I could have sworn I was the bravest and most outspoken fighter. That is, until I was introduced to Beth, the character I play in Sam Shepard’s A Lie of the Mind. That is what this journey has been about for me: finding my voice. Beth is not shy about saying what she wants, when she wants it, and, most importantly, why. So there is no room for me to be shy either, right? But it’s hard. I am rounding out my first year at A.C.T., where I have thrust myself into more uncomfortable situations than one could fathom with seven new people in my life. It was easy to get shy, and that shyness started to bleed into some of my work onstage.
Beth is teaching me a lesson or two about that. In her opinion, there is no time to waste. Even though she has a language disorder due to severe head trauma, she is still trying with all her might to talk. And not just to talk, but clawing and scratching her way to being understood by everyone around her. Similar to a very young child just learning to talk before he/she learns what is appropriate and polite. Or a kitten or a dog on the prowl refusing to let anything get in its way. All three of these exist in Beth. And just like each of them, Beth possesses this incredible ability to love so completely at the drop of a dime. That takes courage and a survivor’s spirit. Which is what makes her so amazingly challenging to play, because she takes the same qualities in me to a whole other level. There’s no backing down, no defeat—just this “bottomless well of great unmet need.” (Shout out to our director, the lovely Shana Cooper!) I’m learning to experience that ferocious, unapologetic need coming through my voice and body in order to give her a fighting chance at survival. It’s give and take with Beth and me, and letting all of me fully come through is my end of the bargain.
Playing this creature (and I call her that because “girl” or “woman” just wouldn’t cover all of her) is the perfect end to my first year. I’ve learned so much useful technique, and it is time to trust that all of it is there in me.
posted by Nick Childress, cast member of The Caucasian Chalk Circle
Nick Childress is a member of the A.C.T. Master of Fine Arts Program class of 2010 and a member of the cast of John Doyle’s production of The Caucasian Chalk Circle. Nick writes about his experience rehearsing Brecht's play for the A.C.T. mainstage.
When I found out that I was cast in The Caucasian Chalk Circle, I immediately shot up to cloud nine and spent weeks up there. Then one day a fellow cast member told me, “You’re going to have a lot of fun.” Now I am blessed to be a member of the M.F.A. Program, which I am very proud of. But I am also coming to the end of three years of having every ounce of work I have done be watched and commented on by a whole lotta faculty members, staff, and peers. So, needless to say, “Fun” is not often a word in my daily vocabulary when it comes to the rehearsal process.
“What? That cannot be right,” I thought to myself. I know what fun is. I mean, I’m 25. TRUST ME, I know how to have FUN. And my idea of Fun isn’t exactly what I equate with the pressure of developing stories in a medium where everyone has an opinion. Now don’t get me wrong, this is an enjoyable profession. But it’s also a job, and people don’t have “Fun” at work. Right? That just doesn’t happen . . . And then I went into rehearsal with John Doyle, Domenique Lozano, the rest of the Chalk Circle creative team, our fantastic stage management team, and this AMAZING CAST and realized that I’ve been incredibly wrong.
What’s interesting is that I have not had this much “Fun” since I was a little kid hopping around the living room in a pillow case dancing to the Monkees. What’s also interesting is that the work I see being done on a daily basis is not only really good, but it’s inspiring for the sheer fact that there is so much creative joy in the room. John Doyle is like a walking artistic bomb shelter: he keeps all of the pressure and danger out of the room, while keeping the good vibes along with the joys of creativity in the room. And the process is efficient, effective, and productive with minimal stress.
Story and the show aside, The Caucasian Chalk Circle experience has taught me that there isn’t anything wrong with having true Fun in the workplace at all. In fact, it makes going to work a breath of fresh air, and it is something I am glad I learned so young and hope I will never forget.
Local director Mark Jackson is creating an ensemble-devised piece with students from the A.C.T. Master of Fine Arts Program class of 2010. He writes about his experiences during the workshop that took place in January as part of our First Look program.
I’ve just completed a week of work with the third-year students of the Master of Fine Arts Program at A.C.T. I’d worked with them for two days back in December to get to know them and identify a subject for the piece we are to devise together in April. Unsurprisingly for a group of young actors on the verge of graduating from an M.F.A. program, conflicting thoughts about transition, change, and fame were foremost on their minds. This triad will comprise the subject of our piece.
Picking up the process again in January, we explored our subject further through a combination of activities. We played games emphasizing rhythm in movement and language and analyzed the dramaturgy of our experiences with the games. What are the rules of the game? How do we play them well? How do we play them poorly? A performance is like any sport. The rules don’t change from game to game. But some games are exciting, and some not. Why?
We brought in objects that served as metaphors for our subject. One of the actors held up a wool cap and said, “This is change. It’s reversible. I wanted this change because a woman wanted it.” He then held up a guitar pick and said, “This is fame. It’s easy to lose. I have to buy more fame because I keep losing it.” Another actor held up an empty notebook and said, “This is transition. It makes me feel a little wary. It has many pages to be filled.” We noted the connections between the metaphorical objects and their subject that felt most magical and surprising to us. Perhaps these objects will become props in our eventual piece.
I handed them a long list of seemingly unrelated narrative ingredients and gave them 30 minutes to compose two short pieces. One group told the story of a reporter hiding in a graveyard to snap pictures of a presidential candidate whom he knew was coming to visit the graves of two women he’d supposedly killed. The reporter hoped this story would revive his failing career. But when he witnessed the politician dancing tenderly with the ghost of one of the dead women, his compassion was aroused and he opted not to expose the man. The other group told the story of a theater diva who refused to go on because a certain critic had not yet arrived. When her mousy stage manager insisted the show go on, the diva committed suicide. The director coaxed the now very nervous stage manager into the diva’s shoes, and when she stepped out onstage she blossomed into confidence. These characters and situations are seeds for our eventual piece.
I asked the actors to ask three other people four questions: (1) What was a major transition in your life, from what to what? (2) What was a major change in your life? (3) Who is a famous person you admire, and why? (4) Who is a famous person you do not admire, and why? The answers revealed motifs. Transition often involved travel. The difference between the journey of transition and the destination of change was difficult for many people to discern. Obama was often admired. Paris Hilton was often not admired. Interviewees most relished the opportunity to talk about people they do not admire. We combined the experiences and views of these interviewees with the characters we’d developed in order to give the latter more texture.
In these and other ways, we’re digging up a mound of ideas while sorting through our own thoughts and feelings about our subject. In April we’ll devise a short theater piece from the bits of gold that shine out to us from the pile we’ve amassed.
Devising a piece is the most physically, intellectually, and emotionally demanding way to work, I think, because it asks so much of everyone. As performers we must also be playwrights, directors, designers, critics, and audience. The accidents that surprise us in our work are often the most exciting things, and so we must be open to embracing these “mistakes.” It takes bravery and daring to put oneself out there like that. But isn’t that at least one reason why we make theater? To encourage bravery and daring in the world? To say, “Look. I step out onstage. And I don’t die. Even when I fail. We can do this. Life is possible.”
A.C.T. Associate Artist Domenique Lozano is creating a brand-new translation of Bertolt Brecht’s The Caucasian Chalk Circle with special permission from the Brecht estate. She writes about the process of facing this daunting task.
The experience of translating this beautiful play has been wonderful overall, but I sure am glad I didn’t know what I was getting into. By that I mean, I began the process by just taking one step at a time. I would do this one thing, and then the next, and I didn’t really think about the pressure of getting the script done. I didn’t dwell on the deadline, or the expectation of creating something that would have enough meat on it to feed the cast, stimulate the director, and keep the audience engaged. I would just think, “Well today, I’ve got to sort out the Simon/Grusche scenes.” No one at A.C.T. ever pressured me; there was only support from Carey, Michael, and from John Doyle. As if I’d done this before, as if they had absolute faith in me. So I never really sat in that place of doubting whether I could do this. I sort of wrote in a cocoon of bliss and support. Now that I’m on the other side of it, I think, I probably should have been more freaked out about the whole thing—after all, there is a fair amount of pressure and expectation riding on this—but I remain grateful that I was oblivious to it! As for the writing, there is a solitariness to it that I enjoy very much. At times dense and dry, other times it’s flowing and you’re sailing through it. This is German of the people, not in verse, not fancy in any way. It is a direct pulse, right into the heart of things. People say what they mean for the most part. Subtext is not Brecht’s forte in this piece.
I decided to approach the process of translating very directly. I first scanned the whole play into my computer and did a literal translation, aided by the Collins online dictionary and my mother, to whom I am so very grateful. After that, I worked through and did a first draft letting the language begin to sound like something a human would actually say, leaving the literalness of it. Then after John Doyle decided on the main casting for the roles, I went through the text again, this time allowing who was playing the roles to inform the language. Then John and I spent another weekend together, and we went through the text, thinking about who these people were even more specifically, and that shifted the language again. The whole process has been about layers revealing more layers.
The trickiest thing is translating something that is idiosyncratic, or very specifically German that has no English counterpart. It’s like trying to translate a joke in German to English—it never works. The Germans are roaring over that duck that smoked a cigar, and we Americans are going “Huh?” Some things even my mom didn’t know, so we would just make our best equivalent.
Working with John has been truly wonderful even from the first day in the room, auditioning the Master of Fine Arts Program students. There is something about him that allows people to do their best work. Something that simply and very clearly brings that forth. He is very direct, very kind, very present. He listens like no one I know. He makes me feel as if I know what I’m doing, and I’m doing it brilliantly. And that allows me to do my best work.
posted by Christina Poddubiuk, Scenic and Costume Designer for Phèdre
Christina Poddubiuk designed the set and costumes for Phèdre at the Stratford Shakespeare Festival and has reconceived the set design for the show at A.C.T. She writes about this rare opportunity to recreate the world of the play.
When as a set and costume designer you have the good fortune to work mostly in classical theater, sooner or later you’re going to get to tackle the same piece more than once. I’ve done two Hamlets, three All’s Well That Ends Wells, and four Much Ados. What almost never happens is to work on the same play in two consecutive productions, and to have the opportunity to reconceive the set design.
Phèdre was designed for the Stratford Shakespeare Festival, where it was performed in an old badminton court that is one of their four theaters, on a 60-foot thrust stage. The scenery was necessarily minimal, due to the surround of the audience. We focused on a long painted ramp, and a sculptural piece set far upstage framing the main entrance. The costumes were decidedly baroque, but the setting was nonrepresentational. The imagery was celestial—we painted the inlaid floor as if it were a reflection of the sky, and the “cloud” upstage, built on a metal armature and covered with steel mesh and a gossamer textile, recalled an elemental force that could have been sea, sky, or stone.
Moving the production to the American Conservatory Theater, we took the opportunity of restaging the play for a completely new setting to explore different possibilities. Now the actors are enveloped in a world we’ve created, instead of embraced by the audience. They enter at times through the house, much as they did in a thrust-type theatre, but they can also inhabit the depths of the world beyond the proscenium. Some of the physical elements of the design have been used in new ways: there is a metal mesh screen, and twisting steel tubing. There’s a painted floor that recreates our original “runway,” but the imagery is new. The pulsing music and the raw emotion, tautly sustained in the text, have been translated almost as body parts—as blood vessels and nerve bundles. They lend themselves to many interpretations. They provide a landscape, a force of nature, a divine intervention, or a tangled thread. My hope, at the same time, was to provide more ways, and more visually powerful ways, of bringing actors into the space. And at the time of this writing, I am very much looking forward to how our lighting designer, Jim Ingalls, will sculpt the space and define moments in the play.
American Conservatory Theater nurtures the art of live theater through dynamic productions, intensive actor training in our conservatory, and an ongoing dialogue with our audience and our community. We embrace our responsibility to conserve, renew, and reinvent the rich theatrical traditions that are our collective legacy, while exploring new artistic forms and new communities.
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