Thursday, November 26, 2015
Evocations of the Day (An Essayless Blog)
2015.11.26 Resisting Notes
2015.11.25 Minghella and Žižek (The Terrifying Miracle)
2015.11.25 An Object as Emotional Sketch (Ana's Skipping Rope)
2015.11.18 Silly Stories, and Impulse in the Voice (Oink Oink, I Almost Got Lost)
2015.11.19 CR, Karate, Tai Chi, and Stage Presence
Sunday, September 19, 2010
"Actresses as Working Women" by Tracy C. Davis
(Routledge, Oxon, 1991)
One of the great unknown nineteenth-century novels is a book called The Golovliov Family by Mikhail Saltykov-Schedrin. Among its many virtues is a sympathetic portrayal of the lives of two actresses: they are the twin grand-daughters of the absolutely despicable main character of the novel, Vladimir Mikhailovich Golovliov, and despite being shunned by the family for their profession and living in misery because of this, they wind up being the only ones capable of loving their grandfather after his life finally falls apart. (1) There are, in fact, many actresses in Russian literature and theatre – Arkadina being a latecomer in a long tradition – and in my opinion, they are among the most interesting characters in the Russian canon. Because most of these writers were dedicated realists, their take on the women was often, precisely, “actresses as working women”. (2) Alexander Ostrovsky, Russia’s greatest playwright, has at least four plays where actresses are the main characters, and which develop the impossible conflicts they are thrown into by a context that judges them harshly but relies on them emotionally: where they are vehicles for satirizing a world full of vices, with these actresses being, well, quite normal.
Tracy Davis’ book reminded me of Ostrovsky and Saltykov-Schedrin precisely because her meticulous description of a complex situation succeeds, without a word of admiration, to provoke admiration and compassion from the reader for these young women who, before a scarcity of options, choose the dangerous business of the theatre. Good historical writing is, in my opinion, like good play- or novel-writing: the reader should clearly see the complexity and even the inevitability of conflicts that at first glance seem bizarre, foreign and even maddeningly avoidable. Many of these situations would make wonderful settings for plays, because we would immediately connect to the actresses of the time, and retelling the stories might tell us much about how little has changed in our times. Her five key observations – the acting profession as an alternative to drudgery for poor women, female solidarity leading to social reforms to aid poor women and the poor in general (3), sexual harassment on the workplace masked by false philanthropy, the fetishization of the actress through staging that evoked common pornographic tropes, and the sexualization of actresses through a kind of geographical entrapment, still plague the theatre today. And situations like philanthropic blackmail or social hypocrisy are common scenarios in numerous other contexts. (4)
The story of the critic Clement Scott is a typical example of Davis’ keen analysis of the fundamental conflicts of the period. Here is an experienced professional who wants to protect young women from ruining their lives in the theatre by publicly telling the truth about what will probably happen to them, and who winds up vilified for his honesty and his sincere attempt to do a public good. There is nothing more dangerous for an embattled minority than to have its faults publicized, especially when these faults involve the debasement and violence conducted on an even smaller and more helpless minority. It is a fascinating conflict because those who protest the most loudly truly think that they are protecting the women whose good name they want to defend: one of those situations where it is hard to imagine what course of action could possibly be taken to break the endless cycle. Philanthropic attitudes, such as those expressed by the defenders of the actresses’ good name, believe in the system, and therefore perpetuate a system that is inherently prejudiced and violent. (5)
From a certain perspective, Davis’ treatment of the Clement Scott incident illustrates how she proceeds in this wonderful book, where each chapter criticizes, deconstructs, then builds upon the preceding ones. In order to understand the Scott scandal fully and see how impossibly difficult reform was in the theatre, it is necessary to have carefully studied the first two chapters of the book. We see, in chapter one, that some women choose the theatre as a viable option away from situations of indentured slavery, such as teaching or being a prostitute; and we know that from a certain point of view, women in the theatre are treated more democratically than in any other profession – Davis paints a traditional picture of the improving situation of the Victorian actress. But then in chapter two, she submits the statistics to a critical analysis, and shows that the situation was often so difficult for the actresses that some theatres had to organize welfare for them and their children, and this of course was done by the women themselves. Then in chapter three, Davis shows the constant sexual harassment the actresses must submit to in order to survive: it becomes clear that most of the young women who try to “escape” into the theatre wind up in a situation as miserable as the working-class life they wanted to avoid. So when she finally describes Scott’s well-meaning denunciation of the situation of women in the theatre, the vitriolic reaction of the theatre directors and managers (mostly male) is perfectly clear: speaking relatively, they have the moral high ground, because they know they do “more” for women than any other profession – but the reality is their treatment of their female colleagues is in some sense more terrible than in other professions. And there is nothing more ideological than violence disguised as generosity, especially when the surrounding violence is more openly aggressive.
(1) Saltykov-Schedrin, Mikhail. Gospodá Golovliovy. Khudozhestvennaya Literatura, Moskva, 1980.
(2) Chekhov is a curious exception to this rule.
(3) Ostrovsky was also famous for his reforms to the theatre, and for his attempts to professionalize acting companies and to secure decent salaries for their members. See V. Y. Lakshin, Alexander Nikolayevich Ostrovsky. Iskusstvo, Moscú, 1982.
(4) For a fascinating analysis of the humiliating philanthropy and social hypocrisy of the white elites to African American artists during the Harlem Renaissance, see Chapter 3 of Nathan Irvin Huggins’ book, Harlem Renaissance (Oxford University Press, New York, 1971).
(5) This collusive and violent “image-consciousness” is an important point of Huggins’ Harlem Renaissance, where the spokespeople for the image are community leaders trying to “live up to” white standards, even while the white community, as in Davis’ London, was looking for something else altogether in the Harlem arts scene.
One of the great unknown nineteenth-century novels is a book called The Golovliov Family by Mikhail Saltykov-Schedrin. Among its many virtues is a sympathetic portrayal of the lives of two actresses: they are the twin grand-daughters of the absolutely despicable main character of the novel, Vladimir Mikhailovich Golovliov, and despite being shunned by the family for their profession and living in misery because of this, they wind up being the only ones capable of loving their grandfather after his life finally falls apart. (1) There are, in fact, many actresses in Russian literature and theatre – Arkadina being a latecomer in a long tradition – and in my opinion, they are among the most interesting characters in the Russian canon. Because most of these writers were dedicated realists, their take on the women was often, precisely, “actresses as working women”. (2) Alexander Ostrovsky, Russia’s greatest playwright, has at least four plays where actresses are the main characters, and which develop the impossible conflicts they are thrown into by a context that judges them harshly but relies on them emotionally: where they are vehicles for satirizing a world full of vices, with these actresses being, well, quite normal.
Tracy Davis’ book reminded me of Ostrovsky and Saltykov-Schedrin precisely because her meticulous description of a complex situation succeeds, without a word of admiration, to provoke admiration and compassion from the reader for these young women who, before a scarcity of options, choose the dangerous business of the theatre. Good historical writing is, in my opinion, like good play- or novel-writing: the reader should clearly see the complexity and even the inevitability of conflicts that at first glance seem bizarre, foreign and even maddeningly avoidable. Many of these situations would make wonderful settings for plays, because we would immediately connect to the actresses of the time, and retelling the stories might tell us much about how little has changed in our times. Her five key observations – the acting profession as an alternative to drudgery for poor women, female solidarity leading to social reforms to aid poor women and the poor in general (3), sexual harassment on the workplace masked by false philanthropy, the fetishization of the actress through staging that evoked common pornographic tropes, and the sexualization of actresses through a kind of geographical entrapment, still plague the theatre today. And situations like philanthropic blackmail or social hypocrisy are common scenarios in numerous other contexts. (4)
The story of the critic Clement Scott is a typical example of Davis’ keen analysis of the fundamental conflicts of the period. Here is an experienced professional who wants to protect young women from ruining their lives in the theatre by publicly telling the truth about what will probably happen to them, and who winds up vilified for his honesty and his sincere attempt to do a public good. There is nothing more dangerous for an embattled minority than to have its faults publicized, especially when these faults involve the debasement and violence conducted on an even smaller and more helpless minority. It is a fascinating conflict because those who protest the most loudly truly think that they are protecting the women whose good name they want to defend: one of those situations where it is hard to imagine what course of action could possibly be taken to break the endless cycle. Philanthropic attitudes, such as those expressed by the defenders of the actresses’ good name, believe in the system, and therefore perpetuate a system that is inherently prejudiced and violent. (5)
From a certain perspective, Davis’ treatment of the Clement Scott incident illustrates how she proceeds in this wonderful book, where each chapter criticizes, deconstructs, then builds upon the preceding ones. In order to understand the Scott scandal fully and see how impossibly difficult reform was in the theatre, it is necessary to have carefully studied the first two chapters of the book. We see, in chapter one, that some women choose the theatre as a viable option away from situations of indentured slavery, such as teaching or being a prostitute; and we know that from a certain point of view, women in the theatre are treated more democratically than in any other profession – Davis paints a traditional picture of the improving situation of the Victorian actress. But then in chapter two, she submits the statistics to a critical analysis, and shows that the situation was often so difficult for the actresses that some theatres had to organize welfare for them and their children, and this of course was done by the women themselves. Then in chapter three, Davis shows the constant sexual harassment the actresses must submit to in order to survive: it becomes clear that most of the young women who try to “escape” into the theatre wind up in a situation as miserable as the working-class life they wanted to avoid. So when she finally describes Scott’s well-meaning denunciation of the situation of women in the theatre, the vitriolic reaction of the theatre directors and managers (mostly male) is perfectly clear: speaking relatively, they have the moral high ground, because they know they do “more” for women than any other profession – but the reality is their treatment of their female colleagues is in some sense more terrible than in other professions. And there is nothing more ideological than violence disguised as generosity, especially when the surrounding violence is more openly aggressive.
(1) Saltykov-Schedrin, Mikhail. Gospodá Golovliovy. Khudozhestvennaya Literatura, Moskva, 1980.
(2) Chekhov is a curious exception to this rule.
(3) Ostrovsky was also famous for his reforms to the theatre, and for his attempts to professionalize acting companies and to secure decent salaries for their members. See V. Y. Lakshin, Alexander Nikolayevich Ostrovsky. Iskusstvo, Moscú, 1982.
(4) For a fascinating analysis of the humiliating philanthropy and social hypocrisy of the white elites to African American artists during the Harlem Renaissance, see Chapter 3 of Nathan Irvin Huggins’ book, Harlem Renaissance (Oxford University Press, New York, 1971).
(5) This collusive and violent “image-consciousness” is an important point of Huggins’ Harlem Renaissance, where the spokespeople for the image are community leaders trying to “live up to” white standards, even while the white community, as in Davis’ London, was looking for something else altogether in the Harlem arts scene.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Amiri Baraka (Everett LeRoy Jones) and the Great Irish Writers
For years I have maintained that often, in the history of theatre and literature, the best and most representative writers of a country are often outsiders or minorities. Pushkin had African roots, Gogol and Bulgakov were Ukrainian, Pasternak was Litvak, etc.
This is one reason why it seems natural to me, though not always to others, my association of three lines of research, apparently distinct, but in fact with a great deal in common: Black American writers, post-colonial writers and Irish writers. What a surprise, then, to find my intuition confirmed by a radical Black-American communist and namesake (at least until he changed his name), Amiri Baraka. The article (from Home, a collection of essays published in the sixties), is called "Black Writing" and often refers to Joyce's The Dubliners. In the last paragraphs, Baraka writes:
"The vantage point is classically perfect - outside and inside - at the same time. Think of the great Irish writers - Wilde, Yeats, Shaw, Synge, Joyce, O'Casey and Beckett - and their clear and powerful understanding (social as well as aesthetic) of where they were and how best they could function inside and outside the imaginary English society, even going so far as teaching the mainstreamers their own language, and revitalizing in the doing." (p. 140)
Some commentators (Watts, 2001) say that Baraka's position oversimplifies the question, that there can be no comparison between a colonized people like Ireland, and an enslaved people who were forced to abandon all connection to their past. But this argument implies that culture is eminently geographical, and that the African cultural practices did not persist for centuries in the Americas; in Colombia and Cuba, however, Yoruba and Ibo are still spoken in some places, and if the search for a romantic Celtic past has driven the Irish writers, there is no question that a search for a romantic African past, for all its caleidoscopic enormity, has also driven Black American writers. What is also certain is that colonialism and the slave trade were of a piece, in terms of mentality, and that colonialism and post-colonialism are hardly limited to our era. I would like to ask Aesop, Greek poet and Roman slave, his opinion on this matter.
In any case, the point here isn't so much the formal social setting, as Baraka's comment on the "imaginary English society" - implying, if I understand him well, that the colonizing "cultures" are not cultures at all, but political clubs, or at the very least, cultures of power practices. Rome was one of the first trans-national organizations, and if Latin was later vitalized it was by indigenous cultural re-conquest. Baraka's whole point, as radical as it may seem to some, is that where there is a powerful institution, there can be no art - and that siding with the powers that be often is the fastest way to kill art. Baraka's argument, in fact, is more Hegelian than Marxist: it is the sublimation of the conflict between master and slave, where, as Hegel famously writes, the master suddenly becomes (shall we say culturally?) dependent on the slave, and the slave, master of his own work, art, and eventually, freedom.
This is one reason why it seems natural to me, though not always to others, my association of three lines of research, apparently distinct, but in fact with a great deal in common: Black American writers, post-colonial writers and Irish writers. What a surprise, then, to find my intuition confirmed by a radical Black-American communist and namesake (at least until he changed his name), Amiri Baraka. The article (from Home, a collection of essays published in the sixties), is called "Black Writing" and often refers to Joyce's The Dubliners. In the last paragraphs, Baraka writes:
"The vantage point is classically perfect - outside and inside - at the same time. Think of the great Irish writers - Wilde, Yeats, Shaw, Synge, Joyce, O'Casey and Beckett - and their clear and powerful understanding (social as well as aesthetic) of where they were and how best they could function inside and outside the imaginary English society, even going so far as teaching the mainstreamers their own language, and revitalizing in the doing." (p. 140)
Some commentators (Watts, 2001) say that Baraka's position oversimplifies the question, that there can be no comparison between a colonized people like Ireland, and an enslaved people who were forced to abandon all connection to their past. But this argument implies that culture is eminently geographical, and that the African cultural practices did not persist for centuries in the Americas; in Colombia and Cuba, however, Yoruba and Ibo are still spoken in some places, and if the search for a romantic Celtic past has driven the Irish writers, there is no question that a search for a romantic African past, for all its caleidoscopic enormity, has also driven Black American writers. What is also certain is that colonialism and the slave trade were of a piece, in terms of mentality, and that colonialism and post-colonialism are hardly limited to our era. I would like to ask Aesop, Greek poet and Roman slave, his opinion on this matter.
In any case, the point here isn't so much the formal social setting, as Baraka's comment on the "imaginary English society" - implying, if I understand him well, that the colonizing "cultures" are not cultures at all, but political clubs, or at the very least, cultures of power practices. Rome was one of the first trans-national organizations, and if Latin was later vitalized it was by indigenous cultural re-conquest. Baraka's whole point, as radical as it may seem to some, is that where there is a powerful institution, there can be no art - and that siding with the powers that be often is the fastest way to kill art. Baraka's argument, in fact, is more Hegelian than Marxist: it is the sublimation of the conflict between master and slave, where, as Hegel famously writes, the master suddenly becomes (shall we say culturally?) dependent on the slave, and the slave, master of his own work, art, and eventually, freedom.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Play and Action
A frustrating difficulty of certain talented actors is that they capture the play tactics of a scene quickly, and begin to play them. But they do it with such mastery - and so automatically - that they forget their stage partner. And since there is no action without a stage partner, the play tactics kill the action.
We have all witnessed it: we see a well-played performance, and we enjoy it very much at first, but bit by bit we begin to get bored. This is because the actors are playing, but they aren't pursuing a concrete action.
There is no doubt that doña Helia, in Today's a Holiday, wants to greet her cousin, wants to talk to him, to accompany him on this holiday, etc. All of that is great fun, and the scene is written that way: those are the play tactics of the character. But if the actress who performs doña Helia doesn't discover what the character wants, and doesn' try to pursue that action, then the play tactis will suddenly become false and the scene will stop working.
Helia wants to cheer Silverio up, wants to accompany him, for sure, but what she really wants id to find out what is going on between him and Pilar; she wants to find out what's gotten into Silverio. If she pursues this action actively, then the rest will suddenly, come alive, and will acquire a certain agreeable ambiguity, much more interesting for the audience. And this is impossible without connecting with the stage partner.
Play tactics aren't actions. Action gives life to play.
We have all witnessed it: we see a well-played performance, and we enjoy it very much at first, but bit by bit we begin to get bored. This is because the actors are playing, but they aren't pursuing a concrete action.
There is no doubt that doña Helia, in Today's a Holiday, wants to greet her cousin, wants to talk to him, to accompany him on this holiday, etc. All of that is great fun, and the scene is written that way: those are the play tactics of the character. But if the actress who performs doña Helia doesn't discover what the character wants, and doesn' try to pursue that action, then the play tactis will suddenly become false and the scene will stop working.
Helia wants to cheer Silverio up, wants to accompany him, for sure, but what she really wants id to find out what is going on between him and Pilar; she wants to find out what's gotten into Silverio. If she pursues this action actively, then the rest will suddenly, come alive, and will acquire a certain agreeable ambiguity, much more interesting for the audience. And this is impossible without connecting with the stage partner.
Play tactics aren't actions. Action gives life to play.
Monday, February 8, 2010
A Definition of Virtue
Here is a very moving excerpt from Phenomenology of Spirit by Hegel, and a sentiment which I share with regards to the difficulties involved in truly loving your enemy:
"Virtue is not merely like the combatant who, in the conflict, is only concerned with keeping his sword bright, but it has even started the fight in order to preserve the weapons. And not only can it not use its own weapons, it must also preserve intact those of the enemy and protect them against its own attack, for all are noble parts of the good, on behalf of which it went into battle." (Hegel, 232)
"Virtue is not merely like the combatant who, in the conflict, is only concerned with keeping his sword bright, but it has even started the fight in order to preserve the weapons. And not only can it not use its own weapons, it must also preserve intact those of the enemy and protect them against its own attack, for all are noble parts of the good, on behalf of which it went into battle." (Hegel, 232)
Friday, January 1, 2010
Career Highlights
The following are the more successful productions that Dixon has staged as a director in recent years.
The Fugitives by Alejo Carpentier. Theatre dance production. Residency Prize, Ministry of Culture, 2008-09. Premiere: February 19, 2009
Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett. Anhelo del Salmon Theatre, Bogota. Premiere: August 19, 2008, Guarne, Antioquia.
Poverty is no Crime by Alexander Ostrovsky. Four Worlds Research Group, Theatre Department, Universidad del Valle. Premiere: Cali-Teatro, June 15, 2008. In conjunction with the Visual Arts and Music Departments.
Dancing at Lughnasa by Brian Friel. Theatre Department, Universidad del Valle. Premiere: Teatro la Máscara, Cali, February 14, 2008
Beef, no Chicken by Derek Walcott. Co-directed by Manuel Viveros. Theatre Department of the Universidad del Valle, Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists, Ministry of Culture, Buenaventura Branch of the Universidad del Valle. Premiere: Univalle Theatre Hall, Cali, February 26, 2006
As Artistic Director
The Piano Lesson by August Wilson. Research Group Teatro Cuatro Mundos/Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists. Premiere: Comfandi Theatre, Buenaventura, July 11, 2009.
The Fugitives by Alejo Carpentier. Theatre dance production. Residency Prize, Ministry of Culture, 2008-09. Premiere: February 19, 2009
Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett. Anhelo del Salmon Theatre, Bogota. Premiere: August 19, 2008, Guarne, Antioquia.
Poverty is no Crime by Alexander Ostrovsky. Four Worlds Research Group, Theatre Department, Universidad del Valle. Premiere: Cali-Teatro, June 15, 2008. In conjunction with the Visual Arts and Music Departments.
Dancing at Lughnasa by Brian Friel. Theatre Department, Universidad del Valle. Premiere: Teatro la Máscara, Cali, February 14, 2008
Beef, no Chicken by Derek Walcott. Co-directed by Manuel Viveros. Theatre Department of the Universidad del Valle, Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists, Ministry of Culture, Buenaventura Branch of the Universidad del Valle. Premiere: Univalle Theatre Hall, Cali, February 26, 2006
As Artistic Director
The Piano Lesson by August Wilson. Research Group Teatro Cuatro Mundos/Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists. Premiere: Comfandi Theatre, Buenaventura, July 11, 2009.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
The Piano Lesson by August Wilson
The Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists
and the Four Worlds Theatre Research Group present:
THE PIANO LESSON
by August Wilson
Direction: Manuel Francisco Viveros
Adaptation: Everett Dixon, Manuel Viveros, Diego Burgos and the Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists
La Lección de Piano (de la selva) in the XII Festival Iberoamericano de Teatro de Bogotá
Marling Rentería and Jhonny Castillo as Berenice and Limón (Photo by Everett Dixon)
Brief History of the Workshop
The Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists is the result of an initiative of the Theatre Arts Department of the Cauca Valley University in Cali and the Arts Section of the Ministry of Culture, with the support of the University’s Pacific Coast Branch in Buenaventura.
As written in the original document when it was first presented: “This project seeks to promote arts and theatre training initiatives at an informal level in parts of the country that have been neglected in terms of artistic formation.” Its basic objective was to compensate for the lack of theatre instruction in certain parts of the country, and to strengthen the cultural identity of the Pacific Coast.
The Young Artists bring us the African Colombian identity, sharing onstage their experiences and beliefs, creating new audiences capable of criticizing the personal and social relations around them.
This project has not only met its expectations, but with time it has turned into a source of creation, investigation and knowledge in the theatre arts for the Buenaventura community.
Persevering in this process is all the more important because this group of young artists is an example of how dedication, effort and discipline can bring real betterment to the difficult social and security conditions in Buenaventura, and maintaining this kind of alternative is an example of spirit and bravery for the whole country.
THE PIANO LESSON – A FAMILY CONFLICT
The play is the story of a dispute between a brother and a sister over an old relic of the family inheritance: a legacy which represents their ancestors and connects them to their roots. Boy Willie arrives at Doaker’s house with the desire to transform the family history, and to do so, he must confront his sister Bernice, who will refuse to let go of the past.
The play talks of the moral and spiritual values of the African American culture, not just of the northern continent, but of the southern continent as well. In this way we must face the problems of adapting to western life, and the search for an identity that belongs to this continent and not to the exploitation of vestiges of an uprooted African heritage.
The piano becomes a metaphor for a poignant heritage which motivates and troubles all of the members of the family. The old relic is the only story left to them, the materialization of a painful past which still weighs down on them, a past which they don’t know what to do with anymore.
This is an adaptation of the original play, and of course our piano has its own characteristics. In our version, we have only changed names and places, but the original text is maintained almost entirely.
As far as we can tell, this is the premiere of this play in the Spanish-speaking world.
The Author
August Wilson (1945-2005) Radical and provocative playwright, born in 1945 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, whose original name was Frederick August Kittel. His father was a German immigrant who worked as a baker and almost never appeared at home, which is why his African American mother, Daisy Wilson, divorced him. The playwright would later take on his mother’s name.
Awarded the Pulitzer Prize en 1987 and 1990 for his plays Fences and The Piano Lesson, Wilson dedicated himself to recovering the stories of rebellion, dignity and happiness of the black community in the United States during the XX century, in a collection of ten theatre plays, one for each decade, eight of which were premiered on Broadway. He told the story of the arrival of the African slaves to America, the experiences of the grandchildren and great grandchildren of those slaves, and the actual situation of the many middle-class families who would prefer to forget this painful past.
The Pulitzer prize-winning playwright Tony Kushner, author of Angels in America, considers Wilson to be a “giant of the American theatre”. Kushner states that in the tradition begun by Eugene O’Neill and Arthur Miller, “he wrote dramas of social commitment, straightforward and realistic, y re-conquered for the theatre a territory which was considered lost.” However, the playwright’s conviction of the importance of connecting cultural creation with the social reality of a country also gained him enemies. There were some who called him a “separatist” who wanted to turn art into politics.
The Director
Manuel Francisco Viveros. African Colombian artist, graduate of the Theatre Arts Department of the Cauca Valle University, participant in more than five international festivals, Viveros is one of the most highly recognized African American actors of Colombia. He was a member of the former Corporación Teatro del Valle, with which he performed in various productions of the classical repertory, such as Condenado por Desconfiado by Tirso de Molina, Othello by William Shakespeare, and Uncle Vanya by Anton Chekhov. In 2004, he was named coordinator for the Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists, and has staged two productions, Beef, no Chicken by Derek Walcott (co-directed by Everett Dixon), and The Cretins by Roald Dahl. He is currently part of the directing team of the Fundación Teatro del Valle Independiente, of which he is also a founding member. In 2008, he premiered An Enemy of the People by Henirk Ibsen, which won a creation grant for the promotion of culture and tourism from the Cauca Valley Government in 2008. He also teaches theatre classes at the Pacific Coast Branch of Cauca Valley University.
CAST
Doaker Charles, retired, owner of the house - Ferley Salazar Balanta
Boy Willie, Doaker’s nephew - Luis Fernando Borja
Berniece, Boy Willie’s sister - Marling Rentería
Lymon, Boy Willie’s companion - Johnny Castillo
Marietta, Berniece’s daughter - Thalía Ivonne Meza
Harvey, preacher, suitor to Berniece - Oscar Javier Martínez
Wining Boy, Doaker’s brother - Juan Ricardo Buenaventura
Grace, an unknown woman - Jensy Renteria
Direction: Manuel Francisco Viveros
Production: Diego Fernando Burgos
Set Design: Angélica Lorena Hurtado
Costumes: Angélica Lorena Hurtado
Musical Arrangements: Mauricio Nieto Lugo
Project Director: Everett Dixon
CONTRIBUTORS: MINISTRY OF CULTURE/CAUCA VALLEY UNIVERSITY
Minister of Culture: Paula Marcela Moreno
President, Cauca Valley University: Iván Enrique Ramos
Vice-President, Research: Carolina Isaza de Lourido
Director, Four Words Theatre Research Group: Everett Dixon
Director, Cauca Valley University,Pacific Coast Branch: Jesús Glay Mejía
Theatre Arts Department Chairman: Gabriel Uribe
This is a co-production of the Four Worlds Research Group, funded by the Cauca Valley University Office for Investigation, and the Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists, funded by the Pacific Coast Branch of Cauca Valley University.
Buenaventura, 2009.
and the Four Worlds Theatre Research Group present:
THE PIANO LESSON
by August Wilson
Direction: Manuel Francisco Viveros
Adaptation: Everett Dixon, Manuel Viveros, Diego Burgos and the Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists
La Lección de Piano (de la selva) in the XII Festival Iberoamericano de Teatro de Bogotá
Marling Rentería and Jhonny Castillo as Berenice and Limón (Photo by Everett Dixon)
Brief History of the Workshop
The Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists is the result of an initiative of the Theatre Arts Department of the Cauca Valley University in Cali and the Arts Section of the Ministry of Culture, with the support of the University’s Pacific Coast Branch in Buenaventura.
As written in the original document when it was first presented: “This project seeks to promote arts and theatre training initiatives at an informal level in parts of the country that have been neglected in terms of artistic formation.” Its basic objective was to compensate for the lack of theatre instruction in certain parts of the country, and to strengthen the cultural identity of the Pacific Coast.
The Young Artists bring us the African Colombian identity, sharing onstage their experiences and beliefs, creating new audiences capable of criticizing the personal and social relations around them.
This project has not only met its expectations, but with time it has turned into a source of creation, investigation and knowledge in the theatre arts for the Buenaventura community.
Persevering in this process is all the more important because this group of young artists is an example of how dedication, effort and discipline can bring real betterment to the difficult social and security conditions in Buenaventura, and maintaining this kind of alternative is an example of spirit and bravery for the whole country.
THE PIANO LESSON – A FAMILY CONFLICT
The play is the story of a dispute between a brother and a sister over an old relic of the family inheritance: a legacy which represents their ancestors and connects them to their roots. Boy Willie arrives at Doaker’s house with the desire to transform the family history, and to do so, he must confront his sister Bernice, who will refuse to let go of the past.
The play talks of the moral and spiritual values of the African American culture, not just of the northern continent, but of the southern continent as well. In this way we must face the problems of adapting to western life, and the search for an identity that belongs to this continent and not to the exploitation of vestiges of an uprooted African heritage.
The piano becomes a metaphor for a poignant heritage which motivates and troubles all of the members of the family. The old relic is the only story left to them, the materialization of a painful past which still weighs down on them, a past which they don’t know what to do with anymore.
This is an adaptation of the original play, and of course our piano has its own characteristics. In our version, we have only changed names and places, but the original text is maintained almost entirely.
As far as we can tell, this is the premiere of this play in the Spanish-speaking world.
The Author
August Wilson (1945-2005) Radical and provocative playwright, born in 1945 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, whose original name was Frederick August Kittel. His father was a German immigrant who worked as a baker and almost never appeared at home, which is why his African American mother, Daisy Wilson, divorced him. The playwright would later take on his mother’s name.
Awarded the Pulitzer Prize en 1987 and 1990 for his plays Fences and The Piano Lesson, Wilson dedicated himself to recovering the stories of rebellion, dignity and happiness of the black community in the United States during the XX century, in a collection of ten theatre plays, one for each decade, eight of which were premiered on Broadway. He told the story of the arrival of the African slaves to America, the experiences of the grandchildren and great grandchildren of those slaves, and the actual situation of the many middle-class families who would prefer to forget this painful past.
The Pulitzer prize-winning playwright Tony Kushner, author of Angels in America, considers Wilson to be a “giant of the American theatre”. Kushner states that in the tradition begun by Eugene O’Neill and Arthur Miller, “he wrote dramas of social commitment, straightforward and realistic, y re-conquered for the theatre a territory which was considered lost.” However, the playwright’s conviction of the importance of connecting cultural creation with the social reality of a country also gained him enemies. There were some who called him a “separatist” who wanted to turn art into politics.
The Director
Manuel Francisco Viveros. African Colombian artist, graduate of the Theatre Arts Department of the Cauca Valle University, participant in more than five international festivals, Viveros is one of the most highly recognized African American actors of Colombia. He was a member of the former Corporación Teatro del Valle, with which he performed in various productions of the classical repertory, such as Condenado por Desconfiado by Tirso de Molina, Othello by William Shakespeare, and Uncle Vanya by Anton Chekhov. In 2004, he was named coordinator for the Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists, and has staged two productions, Beef, no Chicken by Derek Walcott (co-directed by Everett Dixon), and The Cretins by Roald Dahl. He is currently part of the directing team of the Fundación Teatro del Valle Independiente, of which he is also a founding member. In 2008, he premiered An Enemy of the People by Henirk Ibsen, which won a creation grant for the promotion of culture and tourism from the Cauca Valley Government in 2008. He also teaches theatre classes at the Pacific Coast Branch of Cauca Valley University.
CAST
Doaker Charles, retired, owner of the house - Ferley Salazar Balanta
Boy Willie, Doaker’s nephew - Luis Fernando Borja
Berniece, Boy Willie’s sister - Marling Rentería
Lymon, Boy Willie’s companion - Johnny Castillo
Marietta, Berniece’s daughter - Thalía Ivonne Meza
Harvey, preacher, suitor to Berniece - Oscar Javier Martínez
Wining Boy, Doaker’s brother - Juan Ricardo Buenaventura
Grace, an unknown woman - Jensy Renteria
Direction: Manuel Francisco Viveros
Production: Diego Fernando Burgos
Set Design: Angélica Lorena Hurtado
Costumes: Angélica Lorena Hurtado
Musical Arrangements: Mauricio Nieto Lugo
Project Director: Everett Dixon
CONTRIBUTORS: MINISTRY OF CULTURE/CAUCA VALLEY UNIVERSITY
Minister of Culture: Paula Marcela Moreno
President, Cauca Valley University: Iván Enrique Ramos
Vice-President, Research: Carolina Isaza de Lourido
Director, Four Words Theatre Research Group: Everett Dixon
Director, Cauca Valley University,Pacific Coast Branch: Jesús Glay Mejía
Theatre Arts Department Chairman: Gabriel Uribe
This is a co-production of the Four Worlds Research Group, funded by the Cauca Valley University Office for Investigation, and the Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists, funded by the Pacific Coast Branch of Cauca Valley University.
Buenaventura, 2009.
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