genius. love it
>> Clay Stromberger
<cstromberger(a)mail.utexas.edu> 5/23/2010 10:08 AM
>>
Y'all --
I think the tavern idea is an interesting one and it makes me think
both of the Boar’s Head scenes in 1 Henry IV but also the Dirty Duck
in Stratford.
I had a little image last night that may have been influenced by the
Marx Brothers (we just watched “Monkey Business” here at home), and
perhaps also by the margarita at Matt's El Rancho (not quite wine under
the trees with an old friend, but not bad) -- so I’ll toss it out
there for what it’s worth. It's sort of a fusion of many of the great
ideas and impulses that I've been reading....
The Barn stage is empty, quiet. (This is the tavern, but the audience
doesn’t know that yet.... perhaps there are a few clues here and
there, a tavern sign?) Someone enters up above, pensive, heavy in
thought. This person makes his or her way down the stairs, looking out
over the audience. She or he stands center stage. Looks around. A
sigh. “Now.... I am alone.” He or she takes a big breath to break
into a soliloquy, when... KA-BOOM, the Players (as in Hamlet?) come
bursting and streaming in from all directions at once, all talking
loudly (a mixture of lines from all the plays they’ve just performed),
an explosion of sound and life and energy, taking off various parts of
costumes, laughing uproariously, some of them singing, sharing a bottle
of something, and they, cartoon-like (think Bugs Bunny or again Marx
Brothers) stream past the stunned “Hamlet” and even perhaps sweep
him along (lifting him straight up from his elbows six inches or so) and
deposit him on a bench a pop a mug of something in his hand and slap him
or her on the back. “What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play
extempore!?” someone yells (the Player Falstaff?), and someone across
the room yells back, “Content, and the argument shall be...” and
everyone joins in, “thy running away!” The Player of Falstaff
groans back, “Ah, no more of that... an thou lovest me!” It is a
ritual of sorts. Everyone begins to settle into various parts of the
tavern (benches and perhaps a small table appear, Francis in his apron,
the Hostess...). They all have their favorite spots, their
post-performance duties, their own ways of unwinding after a full day of
playing. A few are taking off makeup, perhaps prying off fake beards,
as the roar settles into a murmur and bustle. Perhaps a few look over
the texts for the next day’s play, new lines. (They are Players, but
not "professional actors" -- I know that is a contradiction perhaps....
)
As everyone finds their seat or corner the center of the stage is open
for a moment. It’s a kind of empty space that beckons. Invites.
Some of the characters begin to look up from their drinks or animated
conversations and notice. Someone has a little vision, a starting
impulse for some kind of beginning, and stands slowly and then moves
into that space; the others notice, sensing that something is going on.
Perhaps a second player puts down her drink and grabs something from the
straw trunk of props (carted in for sorting during the evening’s
drinking). The first player says a word – it changes everything –
and a scene begins. These players have performed so many of Will’s
plays, they know so many of them by heart, even the roles they never
played. So they have a go at something. (I don’t have a vision yet
of the first scene here – but will think on it....) And others join
in. And at some point, that first lively scene has reached its natural
peak – no one intends to do an entire play, but they also are open to
any possibility – play is in the air, and no one is sure what’ll be
tossed into the ring next. So suddenly a second scene begins up in the
balcony – not to rudely interrupt the first scene, but perhaps to
comment on it, or take what it has begun and comment on it in
an unusual
way... and slowly the players begin looking around for things they can
grab and turn into props, and they begin grabbing the tavern crew and
pushing them into the scenes, and they too know the lines, they’ve
seen the plays, heard the players practice lines during the day there on
lunch break... and as many of you have described very evocatively,
scenes ebb and flow, some perhaps even alternate upstairs/downstairs;
and one man and woman in this time plays many parts.
That’s as far as I’ve gotten. At some point, everyone senses
it’s time to say goodnight. Someone begins a song – perhaps the
end of LLL. Everyone joins in. It’s a bit melancholy, so someone
hollers out a line of something more rowdy, a last flickering of the
flame, and they jump into that. It’s late. They begin to play one-
or two-line moments of scenes that have to do with parting – saying
goodbye – and step off into the night, singly or in pairs, each going
home. The last person there is Francis, in his apron, closing up. He
looks around, broom in hand (I know, dangerously close to Carol Burnett
territory here! – but you can also think of old Firs left behind in
“Cherry Orchard”), and says – “Now... I am alone...” –
and goes off grabbing the last few mugs and dishrags.
Perhaps it's a playing out of the reunion experience in a compressed
form -- preparation, excited and eager arrival, play everywhere, and
then a somewhat heartbroken goodbye, but sustained by the hope for the
next gathering.
cs
cClayton Stromberger
Outreach Coordinator
UT Shakespeare at Winedale
College of Liberal Arts, University of Texas at Austin
www.shakespeare-winedale.org
cell: 512-228-1055/ office: 512-471-4726