February 22, 2010

LeCompte and Co.

North Atlantic, Wooster Group at REDCAT, February 10–21, 2010
by Guy Zimmerman

Many things went through my mind walking away from REDCAT after seeing the Wooster Group’s North Atlantic, but one of them was surely hats off to the company’s artistic director, Elizabeth LeCompte. First created by LeCompte and company in 1982, North Atlantic holds up remarkably well. The writer, James Strahs, pulled from texts by Thornton Wilder, Arthur Miller, Eugene O’Neill and Gertrude Stein, and the company, anchored by Francis McDormand, Kate Valk, Ari Fliakos and Scott Shepherd, hit their marks with style and precision. Set on an aircraft carrier moored off the coast of Holland, the piece juxtaposes tough-talking military exchanges with kinky sexual banter, presenting life during the Cold War as a fever dream full of violence and desire. Devoid of the multi-layered video projections that play a major role in later Wooster Group productions, North Atlantic features the fast noir rhythms and the Grotowski-esque physicality that define the company’s approach to performance. Evidently LeCompte remains as sharp as a tack.

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North Atlantic was created shortly after LeCompte took the reins from founder Richard Schechner and changed the company’s name from the Performance Group to the Wooster Group. Schechner had been one of America’s earliest and most energetic proponents of the visionary Polish director Jerzy Grotowski’s laboratory aesthetic. This past summer I saw Schechner at the Grotowski Festival in Wroclaw, Poland, where the elite of the global avant-garde gathered to pay tribute to the legendary Pole. Schechner spoke to our group about Grotowski’s impact on American theater, the rigor and seriousness he demanded from performers in every aspect of their craft. The Wooster Group’s highly physicalized performance style and their intensive working methods are among the most visible examples in America of Grotowski’s belief in theater as transformative ritual grounded in fully embodied presence in action. Beyond any rigid doctrine, the stamp of Grotowski is the absolute conviction that theater is linked in crucial ways to our collective sanity and, as such, merits the highest level of commitment.

At the same time I got the sense that Schectner’s earthiness and urbanity helped to limit the transcendent aspirations of Grotowski, pushing things in the direction of a kind of neo-Brechtian irony and spectacle. Or perhaps LeCompte is the source of those qualities in the Wooster Group’s basic affect. Either way, part of the reason the Group has found favor with the American art world is that they don’t mess all that much with depth. If American theater is a vast inland sea, wide and shallow, the Wooster Group is one of the bigger crocs, sunning themselves on their mossy log just North of Canal. Their productions are best thought of as comedies that don’t really have time for a sense of humor. It’s interesting to compare with the Polish company Theater Zar, which is Grotowski-inspired work at its most achingly transcendent. Unlike Zar, the Wooster Group does not traffic in reverence; leave the tragic dimension to the Eastern Europeans and pass the smutty jokes.

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Rigor without transcendence manifests as kinetic energy, which is LeCompte’s forte as a director. Energy is where the agenda of art links up most easily with the American mindset, and this helps to explain why a counter-cultural enterprise like the Wooster Group has managed to slip past the informal censors that guard American sensibilities from challenge. One searches in vain, in a Wooster Group production, for the subversive silence in which self-recognition can bubble up. And yet one reason North Atlantic holds up so well is that America has matched the shallowness the piece is intent on satirizing. North Atlantic feels much darker now than it would have in the early 1980s. The addition of a Moslem call to prayer way in the background and some references to water boarding are all LeCompte needs to remind us of Abu Graib and Blackwater – of how far we have fallen. North Atlantic does not lack edge, it just aims its edge at tissue where the nerve endings long ago died.

For me the most successful Wooster Group piece was Hamlet, which came to REDCAT in 2007. The piece showed LeCompte’s command of a full high-tech barrage working to support her performers, and the brilliance of her meta-theatrical staging. And yet despite all the distancing and irony, the grandeur of Shakespeare’s mythic text came through loud and clear. To me, and as a playwright I am fully biased here, theater remains at root a literary activity. It’s when rigor in performance meets an original text with true depth that the full transformative display of the art form arises. This is why the highest points in the history of world theater tend to center around a significant playwright rather than a director. Think of fifth century Athens, Elizabethan England, the European era of Ibsen, or to a lesser degree the post War Europe defined by Brecht and Beckett; the playwright-centered convergence seems to occur when a culture begins to run a kind of maximum energy, an energy that translates into a willingness to collectively engage with the radical freedom of the present moment. We do not seem to be currently living in such a time, but perhaps the best way to move in the right direction is to pretend that we are.

That said, it’s impossible to overstate the challenge of maintaining an American new work theater company over the last thirty years the way LeCompte has done, much less a company that has consistently produced such excellent and original work. Theater is pre-eminently an emergent art form, each performance resting on a huge web of complex social and artistic interactions. From the banality of board meetings to the Shakespearean treachery of inter-company politics to the ecstatic energy of performance, an artistic director like LeCompte has to engage with the full spectrum of human experience and remain operative. We are lucky to have artists as strong as LeCompte and her Woosters, and we should treasure every performance.

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July 8, 2009

Applauding in Poland

Grotowski Festival 2009, Wroclaw, Poland
By Guy Zimmermanlogo

At a performance of Gospels of Childhood by the Zar Theater Company in Poland you are spared the indignity of applause. As the piece ends the performers fling open windows and exit, the sounds of the city filtering in, joining with the space. You feel the collective awareness that has formed in the room drift out into open air. The lights rise. After a time people stand as if on cue and begin to walk back into their lives.

Gospels of Childhood was part of this year’s Grotowski Festival in the city of Wroclaw, as was a second Zar piece called Cesarean Section. Essays on Suicide. The two pieces were billed as a diptych, but a third piece, a work-in-progress that I saw, but whose name I do not know, will soon complete the final triptych. The Festival also featured work by the world’s leading practitioners of theater as a fine art, including Peter Brook, Tadashi Suzuki, Pina Bausch, Krystian Lupa, Eugenio Barba, Anatolij Wasiljew and Richard Shectner among others. Theatre Zar, a local favorite, more than held its own in this exalted coewangelie-plakat_5mpany.

If theater has one foot in the church and one in the circus, Zar leans heavily on the foot beside the altar. In Gospels of Childhood, performed in Polish, they almost lost me thirty minutes in with so much singing and staging I couldn’t get my bearings…and then won me back entirely with a coup-de-theatre that took place in the blackest darkness I’ve experienced since summer camp when we switched flashlights off in a cave. In that perfect darkness someone was digging in earth. We heard footfalls and erratic breathing…other indecipherable sounds and a weave of voices singing. When the lights rose up again the room was different. Something had shifted in the space and in our collective awareness too. In some uncanny fashion I felt I knew what Lazarus experienced lying in his grave – something coming to life deep inside. Gospels of Childhood is that kind of theater.

Largely musical and song-based, Gospels of Childhood keeps faith with the company’s stated intention to “create theater out of the spirit of music.” From 1999 to 2003 Zar traveled throughout the Caucuses researching sacred polyphonic songs with roots in the distant past. Texts from the Gnostic gospels of Mary Magdalene, Phillip and Thomas are interwoven with fragments from Dostoyevsky and Simone Weil. If I were fluent in Polish I would describe how these texts resonated with the beautiful singing, but since I don’t speak a word all I can say is it didn’t really matter.cesarskie-ciecie

The second piece, Cesarean Section, like the middle panel of most triptychs, is bigger and bolder, full of life and movement. The phrase “we always want to kill ourselves, but we never want to die” might describe the emotional terrain here. One of Cesarean Section’s more effective staging tropes involves barefoot dancers and a stage strewn with broken glass. There is an abundance of ancient sacred songs, though fewer than in Gospels of Childhood. Cesarean Section is movement-theater in a somewhat familiar Grotowski-inspired mode but performed with such fearless abandon the jaw drops. Humor here and there like dollops of blood. Halfway through, the ghost of Antonin Artaud shuffles in and sits next to the ghost of Grotowski in the back row, toothlessly grinning.

Before sharing the last piece of the triptych with us the director, Jaroslaw Fret, underscored that it is a work-in-progress. In the theater space a large, translucent sail is tied above the floor. During the piece the performers raise and lower it, and it takes light in various elegant ways while the performers sing. You can imagine how they might flesh this piece out with more staging, but it felt complete, producing again the glow beneath the chest bones, the sense of a definite transformation taking place, a subtle inner refinement. Again there is silence at the end, the sense of your life drifting back onto you like the descent of that sail as it settled over the performers, who now lay motionless on stage.

The next day we see Peter Brook himself in a crowded hall at the Lalek Puppet Theater. Speaking extemporaneously he weaves a complex thought in the air, pausing after each sentence for his earnest Polish translator to catch up. “We all know this is the century of religion,” he states, slyly planting in our temporal lobes this somewhat ominous notion. I think at once of the Zar triptych: rituals for a religion that will never fully be born, and therefore will always retain a generative mystery. If that’s what Brook means by religion, you can sign me up.

Later that night, across the city square, we watch Brook’s Fragments, five short plays by Samuel Beckett. Here we enter the circus tent, and experience the transformative potential of the profane rather than the sacred. Rough for Theatre I, Rockabye, Act Without Words II, Neither, and Come and Go… Up on stage is Marcello Magni, one of the founding members of London’s Theater de Complicite, along with Hayley Carmichael and Khalifa Natour. This is the work of two masters – Beckett and Brook – who understand the power of simplicity. In Act Without Words II Magni repeatedly brings the house down with a simple scowl.

Here, with the utmost economy of means, Beckett is able to fully capture what the Buddhists call dukkha. Famously hard to translate, dukkha identifies the basic shittiness of everyday experience, the sense of continuous low-grade frustration. The feeling is rooted, perhaps, in how confused we are by our basic groundlessness in this world and in our lives; the difficulties we have fully inhabiting our own being in any stable way. Watching these plays, I find myself wondering if this concept of dukkha is not the essence both of Beckett and of clowning in general. Hard as it may be to define, we are all intimate with what Magni and the others are manifesting up there on stage. And so, once again reconciled to indignity, we applaud at the curtain, rising to our feet.

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