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Studies and articles The Compagnie des Quinze by Jane Baldwin
Studies and articles The Compagnie des Quinze by Jane Baldwin | The Compagnie des Quinze by Jane Baldwin |
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Page 3 of 6 Alternating in repertory with Noé was Le Viol de Lucrèce, a four-act adaptation of Shakespeare’s poem, which opened on March 21, 1931. Saint-Denis’s inventiveness lay in combining distinct styles: Medieval, Renaissance, Greek tragedy, and the Noh. The idea of the Greek chorus and likely symbolist productions led Saint-Denis to use an incantatory delivery. These myriad influences, particularly the Noh, which had fascinated Saint-Denis since the Vieux-Colombier School’s aborted production of Kantan, functioned as a springboard for the creation of an original work. For the Noh aspects he turned to Arthur Waley’s No Plays of Japan (1922) and Noel Péri’s Cinq Nô: drames lyriques japonais (1921), whose translations contain rudimentary stage directions. The woodcuts in Péri’s book seem to have motivated some of Saint-Denis’s stage pictures. The Quinze’s permanent architectural setting shared similarities with the Noh stage, which too is roofed over and supported by columns. Waley's encapsulation of the Noh was adopted by Saint-Denis and Obey: "At its simplest, the Nô play consists of a dance preceded by a dialogue which explains the significance of the dance or introduces circumstances which lead naturally to the dancing of it." Le Viol de Lucrèce is more narrative than dramatic and, as in the Noh, its plot is simple and drawn from a literary source. Lucrèce depends heavily upon movement for its theatrical effectiveness. The dance and movement of the Noh is a stylized language of gesture, known to the audience. The Quinze, however, were not playing to an audience of initiates. In creating an imagistic language for Lucrèce, they were faced with problems of intelligibility and cultural relevance. Their solution was drawn in part from the adaptations of the Noh, in part from the then new phenomenon of the radio sportscaster. The Noh is essentially a two-character play made up of the principal actor (the shite) who dances and a subordinate role (the waki) who supplies the exposition and leads the main character toward the climactic moment of the dance. But it is the chorus, sitting motionless at the side of the stage, who narrates the dance to the accompaniment of music. Similarly, Lucrèce makes use of narrative devices, two récitants, and a chorus. The musical element was not incorporated. While the Noh has only one main character, Lucrèce has two, the eponymous heroine and the rapist Tarquin. The company's most vocally proficient performers, Suzanne Bing and Auguste Boverio, recounted the story, while the actors mimed the action. The female narrator spoke for Lucrèce (Marie-Hélène Dasté), the male for Tarquin (Aman Maistre). Like the waki and the announcer, they furnished the exposition and set the scene for events to come. In the Noh theatre the waki never portrays a female role. To underscore their archetypal godlike quality as observers of human folly and suffering, the narrators alone were masked. For the sake of vocal clarity they wore half- masks, bronze in color. This was a reversal of the Noh convention where a mask is worn only by the shite. His mask is a distinguishing feature that sets him apart from the other actors, as it did for the narrators of Lucrèce. Costumed similarly in long robes and flowing hair, the narrators' gender differences were minimized. After the introductory scenes, which they performed downstage, the narrators sat on either side of the set on immense thrones placed before the pillars, seldom leaving their places. Each throne was reached by a step as though it were a pulpit. The waki, after his introductory scene, remains seated at the side of the stage at his pillar. By contrast, the shite is always center stage. Lucrèce too played almost all her scenes center stage, most often on a raised platform. In her first scene, Lucrèce was found upstage center, surrounded by her maids, spinning. Her slow, deliberate movements owed their inspiration to the Noh. But critics were struck by the resemblance of a medieval tapestry come to life. From all reports, Saint-Denis staged the play as a series of tableaux vivants, whose images long remained with the audience. Lucrèce employs two choruses from the Western tradition, one representing the military, and the other, Lucrèce’s female servants. The role of the male chorus is slight and expository. The women, on the other hand, enhance the play; they furnish atmosphere and reflect, through gesture and pantomime, Lucrèce's virtuous qualities. The play's crucial scene is, of course, the rape, the whole of Act II. It was akin to the dance of the shite, but with significant differences. Unlike the Noh, Lucrèce was not drawing on centuries-old gestural and movement patterns. Lucrèce's movement was far more depictive. While no music was used, discreetly chosen sounds contributed to the emotional impact. Here, Saint-Denis again adapted the dreamlike tempo of the Noh. But, although the scene began very slowly, it built to an overwhelming crescendo. When the curtain rose, Lucrèce lay asleep in a large canopied-covered bed on a raised platform. All was still, then "a bell of delicate timbre struck twelve." The female narrator entered from up right, carrying a large book, walking soundlessly. The only sound was the tinkling of keys at her belt. Crossing to her throne, the Récitante paused by the bed, listening to Lucrèce’s breathing. She was joined by the male narrator who entered from the opposite side and moved to his chair. He described the lustful thoughts of Tarquin, while the actor mimed his journey through the sinuous passages of the palace, reached the bedroom, forced open an invisible door, entered, opened the hangings surrounding the bed, reached out and caressed her breast, as she awoke with frightened moans. The two Récitants withdrew keening and Tarquin gave a cry of triumph as he forced Lucrèce to submit. This poetic stylization of violence was remarked on by most reviewers. Norman Marshall, the British critic, left this description: The actor was never more than a few feet away from the bed as he mimed his journey . . . yet so completely had we been induced to forget the conventions of the realistic theatre that the bed, instead of being an incongruous distraction, became the symbol of Tarquin's desire; we saw it not as a tangible object but as the image burning in Tarquin's brain, drawing him irresistibly towards his crime. The scene’s erotic qualities were also commented upon and compared by at least one critic to Nijinsky’s Afternoon of a Faun, almost twenty years before: Such perfect boldness, such pure realism, where had we seen this before? A memory rose to the surface, clung to me, an old memory. The faun Nijinsky having managed to obtain from the desired nymph only the veil fallen from her shoulder, stretched out on it and mimed the act of love. There was all the beauty of the world, stylized by an artist of genius, in the figure of the eternal gesture. Neither critics nor audience perceived the Noh influences on the production. The exception was Arthur Waley who visited Saint-Denis’s dressing room and introduced himself saying, “I am glad to see that my work on the Japanese Noh plays has not been wasted.” Lucrèce found greater favor with Paris’s audiences than Noé. And again the avant-garde theatrical community rallied round. Playwright Henri Ghéon wanted to collaborate with the group; Dullin, completely won over, reiterated his offer. Copeau, always hypercritical, told the anxious actors that the performance was a respectable first attempt. Trying to soothe their wounded feelings, Saint-Denis reminded the company that this was just another "numéro Copeau." Possibly rancor towards the project underlay Copeau's attitude; Saint-Denis and Obey had accomplished one of his major aspirations. Their Paris season lasted three months before Jean Tedesco, owner of the Vieux-Colombier, reclaimed his cinema. An assessment of the season reveals that the company was neither the success it had hoped to be nor a failure. The renovation of the theatre had been costly and box-office receipts insufficient. Although Pierre Fresnay had been a creditable Noah, the experiment had harmed the company’s morale without producing the expected financial benefits. After Fresnay's departure, Boverio and Michel alternated playing the demanding role of Noah and harmony was restored. Whereas Boverio had vocal power that Saint-Denis lacked, Michel brought an authentic peasant quality to the part. |
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