The Adventure of Faustus Bidgood

The poster for the 2006 production of “The Adventure of Faustus Bidgood” - adapted by Barry Freeman, Gillian Levene, and (Gatherings Co-Investigator) Mark Turner.

Notes on the Production
Mark Turner

In 2006 I adapted a film called The Adventure of Faustus Bidgood for the stage with Barry Freeman, Gillian Levene and Graham Wolfe. The adaptation was part of my doctoral research on filmmaking in Newfoundland and Labrador at CDTPS. I wasn’t looking to answer specific research questions with the adaptation. Rather, I saw it as opportunity to practically think about how film was being made in the province in the early days of domestic production. Films were being made in Newfoundland and Labrador since at least 1910, but sustained domestic production did not begin until the 1950s and the first domestic narrative film appearing in the 1970s. A lot of that narrative work was done be people who had established careers as theatre artists and it seemed to be that the best way to try to understand their work was to reverse engineer it in a sense. Faustus was the logical choice because of its scale.


The cast. Image supplied by Mark Turner.

When I first encountered the film, there weren’t a lot of contextualizing materials—artifacts, records, etc.—available. There were some articles on the film published around its release in 1986. During the 1990s it received a little bit of academic attention, but mostly in the form of unpublished work. And in the aughts, author Lisa Moore interviewed screenwriter and star, Andy Jones, in Brick. But most of what I knew about the film came from local legend. My first order of business was to transcribe the film. I shared that transcription with Andy, which led to some more discussion and eventual discovery of other primary documents created during its production. Really, though, the script was the primary document for the project and, I was happy to hear, also helped Andy, his brother Mike (director) and NSCAD University professor Darrell Varga in a project to restore the film. The other material was useful, of course, but the script does so much. It is an archive unto itself. Working with others to adapt that script allowed me to see exactly how much was in there.



The experience of working with different communities was probably the most important part of the project. This, of course, is probably nothing new to anyone who has working in collective creation or devised theatre, but doing this work outside of Newfoundland and Labrador with a majority Ontario cast and crew allowed me to see with greater precision how the film was made. I don’t think I would have learned as much if I had done this project in Newfoundland and Labrador as the cultural production context remains similar. Also, at a more fundamental level, explaining the humour helped me to understand what it is actually doing and who it is doing it for. 

The Man That Got Away (A Special Appearance)

A performance by Martin Julien
Produced by Toronto’s Buddies in Bad Times Theatre (December 10-18 2022)

The trailer for Martin Julien's 2022 production, "The Man That Got Away" (produced by Buddies in Bad Times Theatre).

How do we reinhabit the stories that make us who we are? How do those who’ve left us continue to inhabit us? In an intimate performance weaving together music, confessionals, and personal archives, Martin Julien unmaps, through space and time, his queer upbringing as the child of a lesbian mother and gay father in mid-20th-century Toronto. 

Exploding the cabaret form, The Man That Got Away grapples with the layers of our performed identities and the plurality of ways that we ‘come out.’ Family secrets, shared histories, and the musical theatre canon come together in this gesture towards a space of liberation, memory, desire, and truth.

An interview with Martin Julien and Ben Page about the creation of the project (Buddies in Bad Times).

Death Clowns in Guantánamo Bay

Written by Matt Jones and Natalia Esling

READ THE ‘DEATH CLOWNS’ PROGRAMME

Overview

The clown is so close to death that only a knife-edge separates him from it, and sometimes he goes over the border, but he always returns again. -- Richard Payne

Death Clowns in Guantánamo Bay was a devised theatre production created by Matt Jones, Natalia Esling, Myrto Koumarianos, and Allison Leadley and staged at the Centre for Drama, Theatre and Performance Studies in 2013. The play intended to explore the conditions of detention at the US military base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. However, we were immediately faced with obstacles to knowing what went on there. Our own physical distance from the camp, military censorship, the inexpressibility of trauma, the unreliability of translation, and the challenge of understanding experience across cultural difference combined to make the task feel insurmountable. However, we were not entirely disconnected from the camp. As artists working in the Canadian state, we were connected through myriad networks of political alliances to the decisions that made this situation possible. Because of this, we felt impelled to “know.”

Inspired by the “memory-plays” of Tadeusz Kantor, we developed a technique called “Death Clowning” that did not aim to represent the truth about the camp, but rather to show how we felt looking into the camp from outside. We created a dreamscape from a collage of sounds, images, and objects drawn from our research into the camp and our own personal reactions to what we had discovered. The play attempted to stage the unknown—to evoke the problems of not knowing and the challenges of representing a place so heavily veiled by secrecy. We were concerned with the methods of representing inaccessible memories, the impact of our personal relationships to the material, and the readability in performance of what Julie Salverson describes as “the impossible bravery and willingness of the clown as an attitude of foolish witness.”

 The clown, taking on human-like qualities, embodies the tenuous link between our own memories and the inaccessible memories of the detainees, enacting Mary Bryden’s conception of clowns as “embodiments not of reassurance and laughter but of tensions and insecurities.” With its exaggerated features, the clown makes a mockery of representation and opens the possibility for theatrical explorations that are open-ended, and that emphasize not so much the literal truth of political events but the way they come to haunt us.

To create the play, a group of 40 graduate students were organized into a cell structure around the Artistic Director Matt Jones and director Ashley Williamson. In addition to a Central Committee, we formed an Ubermarionnette Cell (comprising the actors), a Dramaturgy Cell that wrote the script, a Readymades Cell that designed and built torture machines, and a Hacker Cell that designed an app that allowed the audience to interact with the set and the torture machines before the show began. A Clown Minstrel Cell played original clown music before and during the play

Ruse of the Medusa

Written by T. Nikki Cesare Schotzko

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JHI PROGRAM FOR THE ARTS

OPENING UP THE SPACE: FESTIVAL OF MUSIC AND THEATRE

PARADOXICAL BY NATURE

FRIDAY NOVEMBER 7TH, 2014 AT 7:30PM

WALTER HALL, 80 QUEENS PARK CRES

FREE ADMISSION

FEATURING THE WORKS OF:

JOHN CAGE

MOZART

MAURICIO KAGEL

AND ERIK SATIE’S ONLY PLAY THE RUSE OF MEDUSA

Centre for Drama, Theatre and Performance Studies Dramaturgical Team and Performers:

Matt Jones as the BARON

Brittany Stewart as the VOICE OF THE PIECE

Sarah Robbins and Sarah Marchand as POLYCARPE

Jessica Thorpe as JONAS the MONKEY

Steven Conway as ASTOLFO

Simone Brodie as FRIZZY

Cecilia Lee on PIANO

And Stephanie Zidel, Tina Sterling, Sebastian Samur, Christine Mazumdar and T. Nikki Cesare Schotzko as the dramaturgical team.

REFLECTIONS 

Reflections on Le piège de Méduse (The Ruse of Medusa), Erik Satie, 1913

D’aspect très sérieux, si je ris, c'est sans le faire exprès. Je m’en excuse toujours et avec affabilité.

—Erik Satie, “La Journée du Musicien”

I consider laughter better than tears.

—John Cage, I’ve Got a Secret

French composer and pianist Erik Satie’s sole theatre piece, a one-act comédie lyrique, Le piège de Méduse, written in 1913, had its first significant premiere in 1948 at Black Mountain College in North Carolina. Featuring the eponymous Baron Medusa, played then by Buckminster Fuller, the play involves an arranged marriage between the Baron’s daughter Frisette (played by Elaine de Kooning) and a young suitor Astolpho (William Shrauger), the Baron’s wryly insubordinate servant Polycarpe (Isaac Rosenfeld, a Jewish American writer), and a mechanical monkey—danced at Black Mountain College by Merce Cunningham as John Cage performed Satie’s piano score, all on a set by Willem de Kooning. Helen Livingston and Arthur Penn (The Miracle Worker, dir. 1962; Bonny and Clyde, dir. 1967) directed. It is not difficult to imagine the delightful pandemonium that must have ensued.

Our collaboratively imagined staged reading took inspiration from the minimal archival material remaining from the Black Mountain performance as well as notes documenting Satie’s own thoughts on the piece. “This is a pure fantasy….unreal. A joke,” he wrote. “There is no point in trying to interpret it in any other way.” He further identified the Baron as “a kind of portrait… my self-portrait, even… in full length.” As pianist Olof Höjer suggests in the program notes to the 1999 Prophone Records collection of Satie’s complete piano music, it may be that the Baron is less the protagonist of Ruse than is his mechanical monkey, who “seems to be an extension of Medusa’s psyche […] As soon as Medusa is lost in thought or manifests a desire to withdraw himself from the events, the monkey begins to dance.”

Taking mild liberty with Satie’s (idiosyncratic) direction, we brought nerdlesque performer Loretta Jean in as the monkey, while also doubling Polycarpe’s character with—appropriately so—two excessively charming and yet not just a little bit wicked Sarahs: the brilliant and talented Sarah Robbins and Sarah Marchand. We further added a ‘voice of the play,’ in the dry, slightly disapproving reading of stage and narrative notes by the dynamic Brittany Stewart—dressed in my own purple graduation gown, inadvertently purloined from NYU circa 2008. Simone Brodie and Steven Conway brought much silliness but also a sincere affection for each other to Frisette and Astolpho’s strange partnering; and Cecilia Lee provided great patience and wit through her piano accompaniment. Our, truly, absurd(ist)ly large dramaturgical team, including Christine Mazumdar, Sebastian Samur, and Tina Sterling, inevitably made life very difficult for our stalwart stage manager Stephanie Zidel, and yet, Stephanie persisted. There was no one else, in my mind, who could possibly have played theBaron than the estimable Matt Jones. As the mechanical monkey is to the Baron, so too is the Baron to Matt. Or Matt to the monkey?

Though The Ruse of Medusa is Satie’s only work of theatre—and it is significant both in being an early example of surrealist drama and a harbinger of dada, and in articulating the first instance of the prepared piano, as Satie inserted pieces of paper amongst the strings “in order to obtain a mechanical effect” (as Höjer notes)—it is certainly not his only theatrical work. Perhaps most well known beyond contemporary music and avant-garde sound circles for Parade, Satie’s “one-act circus ballet for Diaghilev,” as Nick Shave has described it, which also involved a collaboration with Picasso (costumes), Massine (choreography), and Cocteau (promotion), Satie also coined the concept of musique d’amenblement, or furniture music—music meant not to be listened to but rather to become part of the experience of social domesticity, not unlike Brian Eno’s Music for Airports (1978) or Theodor Adorno’s pontificatings on background music. “Music belongs; it may have been shooed of the street, but not to the distant reaches of formalized art,” Adorno writes in “Music in the Background” (1934). “Rather, it keeps the customers company—the tired ones with their stimulating drink, the busy ones at their negotiations, even the newspaper readers; even the flirts, if there are still any.” Yet there is also a certain perversity to those compositions demanding a different sort of theatricality (even, perhaps, a performativity) in their performance: Vexations for instance, comprising the same half-page melody instructed to be repeated 840 times. Though Satie composed this piece in 1893, it wasn’t premiered until (again) John Cage organized its 18 hour and 40 minute premiere, in 1963. It was this latter characteristic of Satie’s compositional disposition that we drew on the most in our conceptualization of his fictional counterparts: a little bit naughty, very tongue-in-cheek, short and yet (at times) seemingly interminable, but always (always) resulting in more laughter than tears.

The Frog Prince

Written by Heather Fitzsimmons-Frey

“The Frog Prince” programme, Toronto 2014.

During the 19th century, juvenile “at-home” theatricals were very popular among middle- and upper-class English speakers. In England, Canada, other British colonies and in the United States, young people frequently “got up” plays in their own homes for the pleasure of family and friends. In fact, there was a significant industry supporting making these plays: families could buy scripts, newspapers and magazines printed costume and set design advice, and it was possible to buy props and rent costumes from a variety of stores. Of course, many young people also wrote their own scripts, built and painted sets (or modified furniture), and made their own costumes and props.

The emphasis on examining social and creative working conditions meant several things in practice. We chose to perform the piece in a room in a Victorian house on the University of Toronto campus, operated by the Centre for Drama, Theatre, and Performance Studies: the Helen Gardiner Phelan Theatre front room. We also opted for a compressed rehearsal schedule, with only 23 hours of rehearsal time, which probably mimicked the amount of time available to a family getting together over the holidays. It meant that rather than trying to replicate Victorian special effects, or using real fur in our costumes, we did what many 19th century young people probably did: we raided closets, and modified what we could find. Similarly, rather than trying to adopt a 19th century acting style, which would have been vernacular for young people at that time, we primarily used a realism style (the dominant style in our community today), with some gestural acting as emphasis. Perhaps most significant was my choice to manage the project the way that 19th century women were encouraged to be amateur theatrical managers. While men were encouraged to have vision and run rehearsals like a military drill, women managers were to place the emphasis on a congenial, social occasion, to de-emphasize their own role and significance, and to defer to male judgment. This proved to be the most significant lens to think through in the project. A further analysis of the implications of this decision on the methodology and process is found in Journal of Childhood Studies, 2019.

From Sarah Robbins

During my master’s year at the Centre for Drama, Theatre, & Performance Studies at the University of Toronto in the fall of 2014, I was cast by Fitzsimmons Frey in her experimental research project into the performance conditions of Victorian At-Home Theatricals. Based on the graduate students who were assigned by the department to be in Fitzsimmons Frey’s project (five cis-gendered white women with backgrounds in performance), she selected Clara Ryland’s “The Frog Prince” as the performance text for the project. 

At our first meeting, Fitzsimmons Frey informed the cast about the dramaturgical approach of the piece, specifically that the rehearsal process would follow the social roles and customs of the Victorian era. This meant that we were to expect that our director may occasionally defer to male judgement, in accordance with the politics of the historical period. Additionally, at this first meeting, each of us were given the opportunity to select our role, and make our case as to why we thought we would be a good fit for the part. At a later date, we were each given the opportunity to select our own costumes from the department’s wardrobe stores, with the ultimate decision made by our director, Fitzsimmons Frey.  
 
During the rehearsal process, Fitzsimmons Frey’s colleague Justin Blum would often drop in to give his input on the shape and direction of the piece. This caused some frustration for the performers, as his input often conflicted with the blocking notation or other notes we had already been given by Fitzsimmons Frey, and sometimes in direct contradiction with the direction just voiced by the director. It meant that the piece did not find its final shape until what would typically be referred to as the “dress rehearsal” stage. Important dramaturgical elements, such as the “Froggy Went-a-Courtin'” song (created by Fitzsimmons Frey’s children), and the period-inspired dance piece that concluded the performance, were not learned until the later stages of rehearsal. 

Additionally, the piano accompanist, Art Babayants, also did not join the rehearsal process until the final stages. In rehearsal with Babayants, the five cast members were made to feel amateur and immature when not sufficiently working alongside his musical accompaniment. It is possible that Babayants had made the choice to relate to the performers as if we were children, although this was not clear at the time. Fitzsimmons Frey would defer most direction to Babayants in these rehearsals, as he would be the one playing the piano during the performance. 

During the rehearsal process, myself and the other four actors became frustrated that our female director offered passive instruction while the male director dominated the leadership in the room. However, neither myself nor the other performers spoke up about this power dynamic during the rehearsal process. During the post-mortem, a very valuable discussion emerged surrounding both the nature of Victorian gender roles and their persisting implications. The opportunity to debrief and discuss the project following the performance brought the performers to make valuable observations about themselves in spaces of performance.  

2017 PERFORMANCE

In 2017, I decided to use performance-based historiography again, to re-visit “The Frog Prince” in order to ask different questions. This time, I was most interested in looking more carefully at the opportunities for dance embedded in the script, learning more about the script’s humour, and in particular, working with children who were the same age as the children for whom the script was originally written. Clara Ryland wrote the script for children aged nine to twelve, and also wrote a “fairy prologue” that could accommodate a flexible number of younger children.

Like 19th century children who would have “got up” a play with friends and family, the children involved in the 2017 “Frog Prince” project all knew each other well. The project replicated a Victorian holiday event in that among the eight actors, there were four families represented, there were siblings, and they ranged in age from five to twelve. Some other siblings did not want to participate, so they could be expected to be in the audience, along with their parents, and some other invited friends.

We shared the piece in a studio space in the house we used before. We incorporated several different (mostly non-19th century) dance styles, including a butterfly polka, a simple skipping dance similar to a schottische, a creative dance piece, and a piece inspired by American musical theatre. To the delight of the young performers, we adapted the Frog’s woeful ballad to use the melody and structure of Adele’s “Hello,” which was extremely popular in 2017. Children found their own costumes and personal props, and did drawings when they were waiting that were incorporated into the program. As we predicted, even the children who could not read yet had very little trouble learning their lines, and the supportive culture of care that already existed among the young people and their parents was a defining feature of the project, and helped me to think differently about what it might have been like to be a part of an at-home theatrical in the 19th century.

We were not able to do our final rehearsal for “The Frog Prince” because Trump had just been elected and the Women’s March happened the same day at exactly the same time. The young people chose to march prior to the final presentation. Shouting slogans like “Girls have rights! And we’re gonna use ‘em!” the young participants aimed to put some of the early feminist ideals articulated in Ryland’s 1896 script into action.

Faker

A monologue with movement based on research into the performance of the 19th century spiritualist Maggie Fox. Produced at the Festival of Original Theatre, Glen Morris Studio Theatre, January 2001.

CREDITS:

Words by Stephen Johnson

Performance by Jennifer Johnson and Adam Lazarus

Co-directed by Johnson, Lazarus and Johnson.

THE ‘FACTS’

In 1847, in Hydesville, New York, the family of 12-year-old Margaret Fox came to prominence because their house became the locus of a "haunting." The nature of the haunting was quite particular--rapping or knocking kept the family awake, until Margaret and her younger sister Kate found the means to "communicate" with the sound. This created a sensation locally, the house--the site of the haunting--visited by many, and reported in the national press. This is typically cited as the beginning of a popular spiritualist movement in North America that continues unabated today.

The original "event" was site-specific; it was the house that was haunted. Soon after, however, Margaret and Kate were exhibiting their powers on a local concert stage. Not long after that, they were at a hotel in New York City, associated with P. T. Barnum. The site of the "haunting"--or the "presence" of the supernatural, was located around the bodies of Margaret and Kate. This was a substantial change--much more like possession and, not coincidentally, much more mobile and commercially viable.

This change altered the lives of these women beyond measure. They "toured" for the rest of their careers. They made a much-publicized (and very theatrical) public confession of fakery–and then continued to tour, this time exhibiting how they had used toe- and knee-cracking and a few basic mis-directional tricks to fool their "clients." A year after that, Margaret recanted her confession (citing “bad influence”), and once again became a believer.

As a part of her confession, Margaret talked about the early death of the love of her life, the Arctic Explorer Elisha Kane, a non-believer who had been arguing strongly against the career that she had chosen (or had been forced upon her). She said: “I hold his memory dear and would call him to me were it possible....I went...among the graves...to each grave and stood over it, and called upon the dead, alone there in the dark, to come and give me some token of their presence. All was silent....”

 

RELATIONSHIPS WITH THE “SUPERNATURAL”

Our interest in this case study arises from the shifting relationship between Margaret Fox and the presence of the “supernatural”–the supernatural as a thing that is both present and absent at the same time. Margaret’s relationships are diverse; we count four.

(1) The supernatural is site-specific, and she engages with the space-as-alive.

(2) The supernatural travels with her, surrounding her and focusing on her body/presence, as if she were personally providing the passage between this world and the next; but she still engages with the surrounding space-as-alive. These two assume belief on the part of the participants, but a self-aware interaction with the supernatural.

(3) If we assume disbelief, the “relationship” becomes one of highly-skilled control over the body (“a sort of expert ventriloquism of the feet”), as well as a highly-skilled control over the belief systems of the spectator. In this case the body is the source of the event, and under Fox’s control; the pretense remains that the surrounding space is alive with the supernatural.

(4) The final and arguably most sophisticated potential relationship is the possession of body and mind (or “channeling”), in which the body is the locus of the performance–that is, the sounds emanate from Margaret Fox–but the body is controlled by the alleged supernatural (whether real or imagined is beside the point). In this last scenario the relationship becomes intrusive and/or intimate; self-awareness diminishes, and the “site” for the presence becomes the performer and not the venue.

 

DRAMATURGICAL EXERCISES

1. The first exercise was to find the theatrical means to present these various relationships. We have used a number of brief monologues, based on the documents relating to the case of Margaret Fox, as a base to illustrate the range verbally. We cast two performers, one to play Fox and one to play–for want of a better character description–“the presence of the supernatural.” Our discussions focused on the separation of space into a “world” of light and an “otherworld” of shadow, on body language, on eye contact, on depiction of gender, on the possession of a significant prop, and on the origin of the sound of rapping–all as visual and aural means of representing the range of relationships. In the simplest terms, if the monologue implies belief, the sound emanates from the shadow (or outside of the circle, or the walls of the room inhabited by Margaret). If the monologue implies disbelief, Margaret makes the sounds herself.

Belief is far more complex than this, however. An individual mind can belong to an array of cultures and subcultures and contradictory belief systems, all at once. The documents of Margaret Fox’s life speak to such an ambivalence and confusion–witness her walks in the graveyard, her confession and then hurried recantation. What would happen if the character believed in the presence of supernatural in the space around her, and at the same time in her own self-controlled fakery? What if she vacillates between belief in her own control over the cracking of her joints, and belief in possession? We have made the attempt to represent these options on stage as well.

2. There is a strong 2500-year-old theoretical/historical relationship between the performance of the actor-as-character and the performance of spiritualists like Margaret Fox. Discussion–heated argument–focuses on the extent to which actors lose self-awareness during performance, and believe that the stage is another time and place, and that they are other characters. The alternative is that actors are in complete self-control, at all times self-aware, and are in the most artificial sense pretending. On the one hand they are, in effect, possessed, and on the other they are, in effect, skilled fakes. The debate is ancient, and as complex as any other belief system. In Plato’s “Ion,” Socrates convinces a young Homeric performer that he is completely without skill, but is merely possessed by the genius of the poet when he performs–no matter how much he may believe he is in control. Anti-theatrical writing typically rails against the actor as a skilled fake, and therefore a teacher of lying, while at the same time fearing that the actor will become the character too thoroughly, to the point where “acting” becomes “being.” Diderot allows for a range of relationships between actor and character, but clearly favours skilled control and self-awareness over “losing oneself” in performance. During the twentieth century, some (such as Stanislavsky and Michael Chekhov) have tried to reconcile these extremes, while others have advocated one extreme or the other.

At the very least there is a strong analogous relationship between the actor’s relationship with character and the stage, and the spiritualist’s relationship with the supernatural. Is the body controlled or in control? Is the actor’s mind always herself-as-another, or does the actor believe during performance, and, in effect, become possessed of character and space. For this reason, any exploration of the relationships of spiritualism on stage can also be discussed in terms of acting, and of performance more generally. We hope that this exercise speaks to that analogy.

 

For another discussion of the relationship between theatricality and spiritualism, see ‘Making It Easy to Believe: A Tourist Goes to the Psychic Fair,’ in Canadian Theatre Review CTR 103 (Summer 2000): 32-27.

Last Judgement

‘[It was]...a play whose radical reinterpretation of its subject I particularly admired.... Indeed, the setting of that play in ... an ‘imminent future,’ together with [the] decision to light it as if it were a live CNN television feed, resulted in one of the most effective revivals of a medieval play I have seen since I began work with the Poculi Ludique Societas some three decades ago..... I know that there was both popular enthusiasm and some scholarly head wagging over that pageant’s use of boom boxes, leather jackets, a martial arts Jesus, and floodlights picking out lost souls in the black of a Toronto night. But there must have been other knowing and entirely secular spectators who, with me, were glad that afterwards they did not have to walk back to their rooms alone through the darkened streets of a medieval town.’ [Joel Kaplan, ‘Afterward,’ in Early Theatre 3 (2000)]

This production by Handmade Performance was presented on 20 June 1998, at the University of Toronto, as part of a day-long performance of the complete York Cycle of medieval religious plays produced by the Poculi Ludique Societas and the Records of Early English Drama. The Cycle was in part an experiment in re-creation, examining the viability of performing all forty-seven plays in one day–as well as an experiment in the theatrical limits and potential of the pageant wagon. It was also an increasingly rare example of outdoor community theatre, drawing from a broad range of local, national and international performance groups, playing to large and enthusiastic audiences. Productions ranged from the concerted effort to re-create the original circumstances of production, to the radical re-reinterpretation that re-cast the anachronism and topicality of the original in a contemporary idiom.

 

The Last Judgement was the final play, performed at and after dark. Like all other plays, it was performed four times in quick succession, rolling the wagon between venues (or ‘stations’).

 

A special volume of the journal Early Theatre: A Journal Associated with the Records of Early English Drama, was devoted to the production of the complete York Cycle produced in 1998. See ‘Special Volume: The York Cycle Then and Now,’ in Early Theatre (Volume 3, 2000), published by McMaster University Press. Included was an article on Handmade Performance’s version of ‘The Last Judgement,’ which outlines the mandate of the group, and the specific goals of this production.

 

CREDITS:

For Handmade Performance’s ‘Last Judgement’:

Richard Trevor-Williams (God)

Andrew Croft (Jesus)

Jennifer Johnson (Bad Soul)

Vern Gonsalves (Bad Soul)

Laryssa Yanchak (Good Soul)

Kristie Painting (Good Soul)

Adam Lazarus (Angel)

Ryan Stevens (Angel)

Isaac Crosby (Devil)

Nicole Fougère (Devil)

Erika Herrnsdorf (Devil)

Luisa Fragale (Apostle and Stage Manager)

Lucy Giannini (Apostle and Co-Stage Manager)

Nicole Abel (Apostle and Co-Stage Manager)

Maurizio Dodaro and Rosa Fracassa (Costumes; Lighting technicians)

Simon Wood (Sound Designer and Composer)

Jennifer Johnson (Movement Director)

Stephen Johnson (Producer/Director)

With indispensable assistance from Dave Woodcroft and his crew of strong-arms, who rolled the wagon, hoisted the lift, and physically created Hell Mouth at four stations. It is important to note that, in the spirit of the community pageant, they did all this on their way to a friend’s stag party.

Thanks also to everyone on the PLS York Production Committee and involved with technical production was patient as well as knowledgeable. Among that group, special thanks to Kimberley M. Yates and Chester N. Scoville for a full-prepared actor-friendly text, Chris Warrilow for the working lift, Luella Massey and Linda Phillips for technical advice, and David Klausner for the open and forthright discussion of interpretation.

La Tosca

An excerpt from La Tosca, the play by Victorien Sardiou upon which Puccini's opera was based. Originally written for Sarah Bernhardt and premiered at the Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin in Paris, the play was performed during La Berhnardt's London tour of 1888.

This scene was one of four from late-Victorian melodramas that were produced from October 30-November 1, 2009, as part of the "Halloween Vaudevilles," a showcase of recreations of 19th-century performance events by doctoral students studying the theatre of that period. The originator of these scenes was Justin Blum, whose dissertation analyzed the way that the theatrical culture of London contributed to public understandings of the 1888 "Jack the Ripper" murders.

La Tosca, 31 Oct 2009

Credits:

La Tosca: Sasha Kovacs

Scarpia: Art Babayants

Translation/Adaptation: Justin A. Blum

A peer-reviewed article about the entire project in which this excerpt from La Tosca was included was published in the journal Theatre Topics.