Chapter+4

Judi Dench was playing Juliet at the Old Vic in 1961. It was in Act III, scene ii, where she is told by the Nurse that Romeo has killed Tybalt and been banished. Coming to the end of the long emotional speech in which Juliet defends Romeo, Judi Dench asked, “Where is my father and my mother, nurse?” “Here we are darling. Row H,” came a cry from the stalls. Quoted by Peter Hay in //Theatrical Anecdotes//. New York: Oxford University Press, 1987, p. 266.

When stink bombs were thrown at the cast of an anti-war off-off-Broadway play in 1966 the six actors in the play, which was set in Vietnam, decided to respond by turning the other cheek. Before leaving the stage, they turned their backs on the hostile audience and lowered their trousers. Quoted by Gayles Grandreth in //Great Theatrical Disasters//. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1982, p. 133. __CHAPTER IV__ __Audience__ __Always an Audience__ We learn the fundamentals of being an audience from a very early age. The child “acts” for her/his parents. Witness the applause or joy, the scolding or scowling at a child’s “performance.” A child cries and the parents try to figure out what is wrong. Are its diapers soiled, is it hungry, is it cold, warm? Is it in pain? How can they meet the precise needs of a sobbing child?

Children become an audience for their parents too, especially when told to do so. “Listen to what I’m trying to tell you!” “I’m going to show you this for the last time.” Being an audience is a learning experience. We grow up and socialize because we learn by being an audience. We learn what to do and what not to do. We often learn what to think and feel, as well. We also learn how to mask our feelings and how to cope with them.

Audiencing is a continual and ongoing activity of human beings. Even in the solitude of your own room when you are reading a book you become an audience for the writer’s words and ideas. You make the choice to listen or ignore, to reflect or to skim. The words you are reading just now are being addressed to you. They may interest or bore you. You react. You are an audience of one. Yes, you.

What are the fundamentals of being an audience? Basically there are three -- listening, deciding how to respond and, reacting. We listen in our mind or through our ears to what is being communicated. We decide how to respond to what we “hear.” We may store the information we hear, we may make a mental note about the importance of what is being listened to and think about it later or decide to do something about it. And finally we may react. Reaction may be immediate or delayed. Laughter is a reaction. Applause is a reaction. Cheering, whistling, jeering, chanting, these are reactions too but only a few of the possible reactions to what we hear and see.

__Bridge to and from the Theatre__

A theatre audience is a special kind of audience–a group or assembly of listeners and spectators. Theatre throughout the world is ordinarily a collection of individuals. It is a place for people to come together in a communal setting into situations which are focused and in which they may be expected to receive a performance as silent participants or in which they may be expected to interact with the performers and other members of the gathering. The process of going to the theatre has certain ritualistic characteristics which are similar to those at the very roots of civilization.

Today’s audience member create bridges between his/her life and his/her experience in the theatre. It starts with a decision to attend a performance. What causes people to go to theatre in the first place? What attracts them? Is it the advertisement that appears in newspapers, on billboards, flyers, on radio or television that attracts attention and draws them in? Is it reviews of the work that attracts attention. Is it word of mouth? Is it a voluntary or involuntary act? How urgent is it? How important can it be to do so?

The decision to attend may involve being accompanied by someone else or going with a group. Ordinarily, tickets must be purchased (or at least found available) to assure a place to sit. Money is exchanged for a paper ticket which allows the participant to see a show, as well as to participate in the event of the experience. When money is not exchanged the audience is still expected to experience and to participate on some level in the activity. In many ways attending a theatre event is like forging a contract.

There is the question of what to wear? How will others dress? How should I appear? How will those I’m going with dress? What is appropriate?

There is also the question of transportation. Can you walk from where you are? Will it be necessary to drive, to take a bus, a subway, a train? Are there parking issues to face? Will the car be safe? How much will it cost to park? Should one (must one) go early enough to eat nearby? How late will the event last? Are there things to do afterward? Does the mode of transportation permit me/us to get home at a convenient time?

The bridging continues with your interactions with the theatre and the spaces designed to accommodate audiences. What is the box office like? Are the personnel friendly? Is it easy or difficult to get tickets? What is the lobby like? Is it comfortable or crowded? Is there a program? Is there a souvenir program? Are the ushers friendly and helpful? Must you find your own seat or be guided there? Are the restroom facilities adequate? Do they offer easy access or must you negotiate stairs to get to them? How difficult will it be to use them at intermission time owing to the crush of a crowded lobby? Are there a sufficient number to meet the needs of the audience? Is there a place for concessions? Can one check coats, bags, etc.? If you have a hearing impairment are there aids to boosting the sound so that one may hear properly? Is there provision for signing a production for the hearing impaired? What is the general environment of the house? Is the temperature just right or does it require some adjustment to make yourself comfortable.

Do the other members of the audience make you feel at ease and welcome? Is there reason to feel that you are one among others who are happy to be there, unwilling to participate? Just who are these other people?

Audience reaction to the event may be gauged by the laughs or the applause. A sensitive audience member may be able to tell if the house is sympathetic or antagonistic to the work and/or the players. How does that mix of responses translate to you? Does it influence your opinion of what you are experiencing?

After the show is over there is usually a swift cooling down period, a disengagement from the event, from the theatre. Eventually you move back into a pattern of life with which you are familiar, back into your own world at home or work taking with you only your memories of the event and perhaps some souvenirs to savor at a later date. There are tangible artifacts of a temporal, fleeting and perhaps memorable experience.

__Asian Theatre Audiences__

Ours is not the only kind of audience experience as you might have guessed. Many genre of Asian theatre–the Kabuki and Noh of Japan, the Yakshagana and Kutiyattam of India, to name only four representative examples–provide audience experiences which are unique and of particular interest to us in the West for the cultural dimension they bring to our own experience in the theatre as theatre patrons. Below are but several selected kinds of experiences that may be found in these countries.

In the tiny villages of South Kanara, a region of the State of Karnataka in South India, Yakshagana is popularly performed during the dry season. This colorful, exuberant mixture of dance, dance-drama, highly exaggerated acting punctuated by driving music and song fills the countryside for much of the year. The mythological stories which make up Yakshagana’s repertory are often performed in flat paddy fields, cleared of their stubble starting around 9 P.M. and continuing uninterrupted until dawn. Performers hold forth in these simple surrounds to the pleasure of those who watch the performances free of charge. Performers are often commissioned by whole villages and are paid a flat fee. Near the playing area local vendors sell tea and coffee, sweets and salted snacks, toys for the children, and cigarettes for the adults. A schoolhouse or a tent serves as a dressing room. Curious children peep through any available opening to watch the performers put on exaggerated makeup, elaborate crowns, always mindful of their ritual offerings to deities before they enter the acting area. People feel free to sleep next to the playing area if they feel tired. Children are often the first to fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning. Inevitable a thundering drum sound will wake everyone for an important entrance or a fight sequence.

Further South in some of the temples of the State of Kerala performances of Kutiyattam are held in the sacred compounds of Hindu temples. These temples are restricted to Hindu devotees and although restrictions are becoming less stringent today, few spectators who are not Hindu dare to venture into the compounds to watch a performance. Kutiyattam performances are rituals honoring the chief deity of the temple and may be performed even if there is nobody present to witness the event. The environment of the temple theatres is somber and totally unlike the raucous public spaces devised for Yakshagana. Audiences sit on the cool stone floor in front of a low raised stage, men on one side and women on the other. They are usually dressed in snow white clothing. As a sign of respect, the men remove their shirts on entering the temple and remain shirtless throughout the performance. Like many evening events in India the Kutiyattam performance begins after the evening rituals have been completed in the temple compound. An act of a play may take several days to complete with nightly performances beginning around 8 or 9 P.M. and continuing until just before midnight, except on the final day of performance in which the full act of the play is performed. Ritual festivals in the temple usually signal the occasion of a Kutiyattam performance.

In sharp contrast to these two examples are the Kabuki and Noh performances of Japan. Kabuki began as a popular theatre genre appealing to middle class merchants about the same time that Shakespeare’s plays were being performed. Special theatres were built in the pleasure quarters of most Japanese cities and attracted devoted spectators to see parts of plays. Today the large Kabuki theatres still retain some of the glamour of their colorful origin. Devotees patrons pay extraordinarily high ticket prices to sit in the best seats on the main floor near a 90 foot wide stage created to highlight the actors against elaborate scenic backgrounds. Patrons have a choice of many restaurants in the theatre and they punctuate their theatre going with pauses to eat and visit. Many of them attend as part of theatre parties and in groups. Sometimes their tickets are provided by companies who take it as their duty to provide their employees with opportunities to see important cultural events such as the Kabuki. Patrons who are “Kabuki mad” may shout their approval to their favorite performer. Applause at the end of a production is not the usual sign of appreciation. Kabuki audiences express their approval precisely when they believe an important moment has occurred. At certain seasons of the year, actor line the stage and bow respectfully to the patrons and even throw presents to them in the house as a sign of their respect for their importance in the theatre process.

The Noh theatre of Japan is quite different in atmosphere. Audiences which attend the Noh are usually older and quite respectful during a performance. In a traditional theatre tatami mats may cover the main audience space and spectators sit near hot braziers to keep warm during cold weather for the older theatres do not have central heating. The stage is a roofed structure with a long bridge connecting the backstage to the performance area. The smell of the space is fresh. Around the stage is a path of white gravel punctuated with large stones. Three fresh pines grow in front to the bridgeway. When the gravel stones and pines are splashed with water a fresh natural sent is produced in the auditorium. The Noh plays are notoriously slow in pace and take patience to become familiar with. Performances are highlighted by dance accompanied by drums struck by hands and sticks. A bamboo flute provide an eerie background to the action. Actors chant their lines as do chorus members seated to the side of the performance area in full view of the spectators. Like the Kutiyattam, this is a theatre with ritual values, steeped in Zen Buddhist beliefs. The spectators are not there to be entertained but to participate in the beauty of the moments produced by the eerie combination of sounds and controlled movements. Noh is like a Haiku poem, shorn of elaboration, quite unlike the Kabuki which derived from it.

__Example of a Western Audience Experience in Context__

//The Matchmaker// by Thornton Wilder is best remembered today as the basis of the popular musical comedy //Hello, Dolly!// starring Carol Channing which was turned into a film with Barbra Streisand. The play was also a popular success in its own day in the mid-1950s in New York and a few years earlier at the Edinburgh Festival and afterward in London’s West End, before it arrived triumphantly on Broadway.

Wilder based //The Matchmaker// on a not so popular work he wrote in 1938 called //The Merchant of Yonkers// which was panned by the critics when it was first produced. //The Merchant of Yonkers// was derived from material in the Viennese playwright Johann Nestroy’s 1842 farce entitled, //He Intends to Have a Fling (Einen Jux will er sich machen).// That work grew out of John Oxenford’s English original of 1835 entitled //A Day Well Spent//. Wilder, like many good playwrights before him found and reworked older plays that were popular in their time, capitalizing on a good story. He brought his own particular skill as a playwright to this project. From the critical reception of //The Matchmaker// he finally got the formula right.

The reviewers in the New York newspapers all scrambled to be the first to lavish superlatives on the production December 6, 1955 editions//. The Journal American// proclaimed “Bright Fun Scores a Hit,” the //New York World-Telegram// called the production “Delightful,” the //Daily Mirror// pronounced it “A Hilarious Comedy,” and the //New York Post// called it “The Comic Triumph of Ruth Gordon,” the star of the show.

Everyone from the playwright to the cast, director, and designers were praised without exception. Below are two reviews demonstrating the ability of critics to spot and proclaim a success. No doubt their voices helped to make the production a financial success at the box office. Both John Chapman and Water Kerr were distinguished critics of the time.

“‘Matchmaker’ a Glorious Farce Played by 17 Perfect Comedians” by John Chapman in the //Daily News//, December 6, 1955.

Even without sound, “The Matchmaker” would be the funniest thing on Broadway, for it is a long, lunatic ballet which has had no peer since the early Marx Brothers movies. With sound–words written by Thornton Wilder and spoke, growled, squealed and roared by a wonderful company headed by Ruth Gordon, Eileen Herlie and Loring Smith–it is ten times funnier.

This perfect entertainment opened last evening at the Royale Theatre, and if the stony- hearted stage manager hadn’t finally ordered the curtain held down and the house lights turned up, the audience might be there this morning, cheering. I’d rather be there than were I at this moment of turning in a report, for cheering on a typewriter offers difficulties. The machine goes clackety-clack when I want it to go “Yeeow!”

“The Matchmaker” is Wilder’s reworked version of an old play of his called “The Merchant of Yonkers,” which failed to arouse much mirth when it was produced here a good many years ago. For more than a year Miss Gordon has been having a success in it in England. So far as I am concerned, she can settle down on 45th St. and play the fool thing until she becomes an old lady.

My memory of “The Merchant of Yonkers” is not clear, so I can’t be an expert and tell what magic Wilder wrought to turn it into “The Matchmaker”–but I can be absolutely certain that the new play would not be as enchanting as it is without the direction of Tyrone Guthrie. Guthrie has keyed up a remarkable company of comedians to the perfect pitch for split-second farce, and has yet allowed them–and the audience–to savor the lines of Wilder, which are so often brilliant, sage and witty. Now and again–as when an actor steps downstage to chat with the audience–the method is the same as the devices used in “The Skin of Our Teeth,” but the result is infinitely funnier.

It would be a disservice to author, director and actors to say too much about the plot, for it is a farcical plot which must be kept spinning in the air and not allowed to fall flat on the sheet of newsprint. The locale of “The Matchmaker” is Yonkers and New York City and the time is the early [18]80s. Locale and time give the scenery and costume designer, Tanya Moiseiwitsch, opportunity for some extravagant and delightful nonsense of her own.

Loring Smith is a miserly Yonkers storekeeper who browbeats everybody, including his niece, his clerk, his apprentice and his barber. A widower pushing 60, he has figured on marrying again and has consulted a matchmaker, Miss Gordon. She finds a mate for him. He doesn’t realize it until it is too late, but the mate is Miss Gordon.

The play begins in the Yonkers store moves to the New York hat store run by Miss Herlie– the daffiest hat store ever. From there it goes to a garden restaurant at the Battery–the daffiest restaurant ever. Then it winds up in the home of Esme Church, who is something like the Duchess in “Alice in Wonderland,” and this is the daffiest home ever, with all its birds sleeping in covered cages, its silent pipe organ and its stuffed fish above the hall door.

I won’t try to convey to you just why Miss Gordon and her playmates are so captivating beyond saying they are a happy company. There are 17 actors in the cast and each must be giving the top performance of his career. You should find out why for yourself and not from me.

Walter F. Kerr was among the many critics to add his voice to the praise lavished on Wilder’s play. He wrote the following evaluation, simply entitled //‘The Matchmaker’// in the //New York Herald Tribune//, December 6, 1955. It is quoted in its entirety.

“We’re terribly innocent!” cries a breathless young apprentice, popping his head out from under a restaurant table-cloth, as a lanky friend of his falls clattering out of a nearby clothes closet and Ruth Gordon gives her skirts a thorough shaking out to make sure there’s nobody hiding there.

//“The Matchmaker”// which came sailing into the Royale Monday night like a Christmas card three weeks early, is a wonderfully innocent play. It has amused Thornton Wilder to remember–with rhapsodic fondness–the antic paper-doll farces that once sent the audience of an earlier and less troubled generation into gales of helpless laughter.

Though he has nominally based his spectacular spree on a particular German comedy by Johann Nestroy, he has actually been busy taking a veritable inventory of the comic spirit, itemizing all the dives into cupboards, all the absurd uprushings of love, and even all the picture-postcard settings that have ever done duty in the cause of merriment.

Having got them all together, he has invented a little toy theater in which to show them off. Because Mr. Wilder has a kind of parental tenderness for all such foolishness, and because he has a positive genius for getting hold of the essential joy of anything he touches, the gales of laughter come roaring back.

Every one has caught the hang of things. Before the curtain is really up, designer Tanya Moiseiwitsch has already crayoned, in the most festive colors, a rambling little travel poster carrying us from Yonkers to New York in the 1880s. Thereafter, in wing-and-drop style, she has drawn enchanting gas chandeliers, antiquated pipe-organs, and no fewer than five curtained bird-cages–all clustered happily inside a rustic rose-trellised frame.

Director Tyrone Guthrie has leaped into the fray with the enthusiasm of a child tearing open birthday presents. Mr. Guthrie knows exactly how to scoot two people out of one entrance while two others are sliding, at the same pace, in another. In fact, he knows how to double and quadruple Mr. Wilder’s tongue-in-cheek inventions. At one time or another you are apt to find two middle-aged ladies kicking their heels high in the air simply because they are passing one another, while assorted low-comedy characters tumble gleefully off benches in the general windstorm. I suspect that visions of waiters caught in folding screens and Neapolitan accordion-players slipping wildly around corners are going to haunt you for quite a time after your visit.

Ruth Gordon, as a lady who is supposed to be helping a rich merchant find a wife but who is actually eliminating the competition, rustles onto the stage like a red-wigged tornado. Miss Gordon was pushing her first scene a little harder than was necessary last evening/ twenty minutes later, though, she was blissfully in command of the hoots, growls, grimaces and umbrella-thrashings that drive the nonsense along.

And, like the others in an extraordinarily polished company, she is able to turn the romp into affecting sentiment before the evening is done. This new, and rather surprising note, is first touched upon by twos enormously gifted players: Eileen Herlie, as a milliner who wants to get married because she is looking forward to the fights, and Arthur Hill, as a chief clerk in the merchant’s shop who wants to mix the virtues of the poor, with the meals of the rich.

As these two stumble upon one another in the unpredictable merry-go-round Mr. Wilder has devised, there is a sudden, unaccountable glow in the air. Out of nowhere a gentle strain of emotion materializes, and as these good folk simply stare at each other, or join a few friends in a quiet rendition of “Tenting Tonight,” a mere joke becomes an oddly touching memory-piece.

The other performances are dandy, too: Loring Smith’s strutting merchant, Prunella Scales’ flustered ingenue, Robert Morse’s baffled juvenile, Peter Bayliss’ red-nosed coachman, Patrick McAlinney’s philosophical low-comedy Irishman.

As Ruth Gordon is turning the tide from knockabout farce to pleasant reminiscence, she says of a faded oak-leaf that has fallen out of an album that “It didn’t have color and it didn’t have life.” Mr. Wilder has deliberately fashioned a comedy out of a old oak-leaf. But he has given it the color it had the day it sprouted, and he has–by some curious alchemy– given it exhilarating life besides.

__Example of an Asian Theatre Performance in Context–Kutiyattam, the Sanskrit Theatre of India__ The following material is drawn from //Indian Theatre: Traditions of Performance//, edited by Farley P. Richmond, Darius L. Swann, and Phillip B. Zarrilli. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1990, pp. 106–115. It is meant to serve in stark contrast to the kind of audience participation experience presented above. The kind that is found in most Western theatre today. Kutiyattam is the Sanskrit Theatre of Kerala State, South India. It may be the oldest continuously performed theatre in the world and for that reason alone it is significant. The annual kutiyattam performance at the Vatakumnathan Temple theater of Trichur starts on Vijayadastami Day, an auspicious occasion in the Hindu calendar. Every year Madhavan Cakyar and his party of performers from the town of Irinjalagada come to Trichur, a city in central Kerala, South India to perform an act of a play. Between October 14 and 20, 1975, they produced “Tornayudhankam,” Act III of Bhasa’s //The Consecration ofRama// (Abhisekanatakam), a six-act drama. Bhasa’s //The Consecration of Rama// deals with events drawn from the //Ramayana//, the great and popular Hindu epic. In particular it begins at the point after Ravana, the demon King of Lanka, has abducted Sita, Rama’s devoted wife, and taken her to his palace in Lanka (the modern Sri Lanka). The events set in motion in Act I, the alliance of Rama with a band of monkeys led by Sugriva and Hanuman, culminate in the eventual overthrow and death of Ravana and the reunion of Rama and Sita in Act VI. Act I establishes Rama’s divinity as the reincarnation of Visnu and his prowess as a mighty warrior. He kills the monkey King Bali so that Sugriva may forge the monkeys into a well-disciplined and faithful army to serve him in his imminent conflict with Ravana. In Act II, Hanuman, Rama’s monkey general, flies to Lanka, discovers Sita in Ravana’s beautiful garden, observes Ravana’s fruitless attempt to seduce her, and appears before Sita and assures her that Rama will soon come to free her. The act concludes as Hanuman joyfully sets out to destroy the garden. In Act III we learn from Sankukarna, one of Ravana’s attendants, that the garden has been destroyed. He fears that the king will fly into a rage when he hears the news. Hearing the report, Ravana, as expected, is furious. He orders various guards and soldiers to capture, bind, and bring Hanuman to him. Many attempts are made, but all fail. Finally Hanuman allows himself to be taken captive so that he may see the famous ten-headed demon king. Before the monkey enters the king’s presence, Ravana speculates that the destruction of his garden is probably the result of a curse laid on him when he shook the very foundations of heaven and disturbed the god Siva and his wife Parvati residing there. Ravana’s brother Vibhisana begs him to release Sita so that the kingdom may be saved from destruction at the hands of Rama and his mighty army of monkeys. Ravana arrogantly rejects the idea and orders Hanuman to be brought forth. Hanuman enters and proceeds to insult Ravana in various humorous ways. Boastfully he predicts the fall of Lanka at the hands of the monkey hordes. As a punishment for his insulting remarks, Ravana orders that Hanuman’s tail be set afire. Vibhisana renews his pleas that Ravana relent and send Sita back to her husband. Vibhisana is banished and elects to join Rama and the side of righteousness. He predicts Ravana’s downfall and his own rise to the throne in order to rebuild the kingdom and restore Lanka to its former glory. The remaining acts of the play demonstrate how Ravana is defeated and Rama and Sita are reunited. Performance Procedures for “Tornayudhankam”

Day One: October 14, 1975: The entire performance is devoted to the entrance dance of Sankukarna, Ravana’s attendant. Preparations begin in the theater late in the afternoon with the placing of ritual offerings to the left of the lamp and a full measure of rice to the right. Stalks of banana trees with bunches of unripe bananas and thick saffron colored coconuts are attached to the pillars to the right and left of the lamp. Decorative strips of palm fronds hang gaily below the stage roof. The whole effect is simple, natural, and charged with ritual significance. After the daily rites in the sanctum sanctorum have been concluded, about 9:30 P.M., a young apprentice of one of the drummer families tones up the wicks burning in the oil lamp and the tuning of the drums commences with special rhythmic patterns. Short religious songs follow, sung by the Nangyar, seated in their regular place upstage right. Then an attendant lights a third wick of the lamp and tones up all the wicks to indicate that the play is about to begin. He recites a verse in Sanskrit and briefly outlines the story in old Malayalam and sprinkles water and flowers stage center in honor of Brahma, the god of creation. About 10:00 P.M. the curtain is held behind the lamp and Sankukarna enters to the alternating acceleration and deceleration of the drums. He holds his headdress as though to indicate that something dreadful has happened. After circling the stage several times and sprinkling holy water on his face, he crosses to the curtain and takes his position for his entrance. The curtain is removed and the actual entrance (purapad) begins. What follows is based on the introductory scene from Act III of the staging manuals. The Sanskrit text is translated as follows: Sankukarna: Hello! Who is on duty at the Golden Gate Entrance (tornayudha)? Portress: (Entering) Sir, it is I, Vijaya. What shall I do for you? Sankukarna: Oh, Vijaya, convey this message to His Majesty, the Lord of Lanka. The garden is almost destroyed. For Mandodari, our Lord’s chief queen, although fond of ornaments does not pluck the sprays out of kindness; wherein even the Malaya breezes do not blow out of fear; and whose plants are untouched by the hand; that garden of Indra’s foe is destroyed. Let the matter be reported. Portress: Sir, I have never seen a person who is always in attendance on the king show such fright. How did this happen? Sankukarna: Lady, this is an urgent matter. Please convey the message to the king, Portress: Sir, I shall. (Exit) Sankukarna: (Looking in front) Lo! Here is His Majesty, the Lord of Lanka, coming this very way. And he, with eyes wild and resembling white lotuses, with blazing golden torches going before him, full of fury, he is rushing forward in haste like the sun engaged in ending an Age (yuga). (Bhasa 1968, 86-88) Although the exchange is short, probably requiring less than two minutes to perform, the actor playing Sankukarna requires two hours to complete the scene. In order to focus all the attention on Sankukarna, the lines of Vijaya are spoken by the Nangyar-caste performer from her place stage right. Because she is not participating in the acting of the scene she does not wear a costume or special makeup. In the traditional fashion, the actor playing Sankukarna, who incidentally is not the best actor of the Irinjalagada Temple theater, chants a short passage of dialogue articulating the separate gestures for each word. Then he repeats the gesture text at a slower pace exaggerating the facial expressions which are appropriate for the mood of each word. This part of the action is accompanied by drums. Finally he repeats the entire passage a third time gesturing and chanting the text as before. Several points in the text are expanded through the gesture language, based on instructions in the staging manuals. For example, when Mandodari, Ravana’s chief queen, is mentioned, Sankukarna digresses from the story by taking the role of the queen and her maidservants. He mimes the ladies going to the garden. The maidservants unfold the queen’s long black hair, then they tie it up again in a knot, and apply vermilion to the center parting to symbolize that she is a married woman. But neither of them is pleased. Something is missing. They decide that they need to pick a fresh leaf from the garden to adorn one side of her hair. But then they conclude that Ravana will become very angry if they dare to pick it. Mandodari starts to pluck the leaf then she hesitates and resolves, “No, if I pluck it, it will fade.” This section is acted by Sankukarna to indicate that the garden is so jealously guarded by Ravana that even his chief queen is afraid to adorn herself with the slightest fragment of the beauty it has produced. At another point in the scene Sankukarna elaborates on a verse to show that even the sun is afraid to harm the garden. It begins when Sankukarna takes the part of Ravana talking with his ministers at court. He persuades them to come with him to the garden to enjoy its pleasures. When they arrive they find the leaves of the trees have withered. Ravana shouts for his gardeners and demands to know why the plants look so poorly. The trembling gardeners tell him that the rays of the sun have caused the leaves to wither. Ravana becomes angry and draws his sword and forces Surya, the Sun God, to fall at his feet and beg Ravana’s forgiveness. Ravana extracts a promise from him never to shine on Lanka and impolitely kicks him aside. The brief digression ends at the point when Sankukarna reiterates that “such a garden has been destroyed.” The day’s program ends when the actor turns around three times and touches the stage and then his head three times as a sign of respect. As the drums play a special rhythmic pattern to indicate that the program has concluded for the evening, the hundred or so spectators who have gathered to watch the event slowly rise and disperse. There is no applause. It is now 11:30 P.M. Only hushed exchanges among friends and relatives and the buzz of hundreds of crickets that populate the temple grounds break the silence. The actors and musicians hastily take off their costumes and makeup and make their way to the cramped living quarters provided them during their stay in Trichur. Day Two: October 15, 1975: When I arrived at the theater about 9:00 P.M., Sankukarna had not completed his makeup. A few elderly ladies and men were scattered about the auditorium. Some of them were fast asleep on the floor. At 9:10, the first drum sounds were played and around 9:30 Sankukarna entered. Korchukuttan Cakyar, another actor in Madhavan Cakyar’s troupe, plays the role this evening. All the ladies stand when the actor enters, as though to show their respect for his character. This is the first day of the elaboration of the story (nirvahana) based on extraneous verses taken from the staging manuals. The primary aim of Sankukarna elaboration is to enact the events that led up to those concerned with Act III of the play. Emphasis is placed on stories from the life of Ravana—his birth, the attainment of his boon of “unkillability,” how he frightened Kubera, the god of wealth, into leaving the city of Lanka, how Ravana became master of Lanka, the elaborate description of the beauty and majesty of the city, Ravana’s coronation, the preparations of Ravana and his demon companions for a hunt, how he met Mandodari in the forest, his marriage to her, and finally how he made love to her. The actor follows the usual pattern for performing the verses and dialogue with an elaborate gesture language. The only thing unique about the performance is that the female cymbal player recites the extraneous verses as the actor performs the appropriate gestures. The performance is also somewhat unusual in that the actor remains seated on a stool during most of the performance. When he depicts the preparations of the demons for the hunt he rises and does various movement patterns reminiscent of those used in the martial art tradition of Kerala. The performance ends about eleven with the actor reciting a silent prayer facing in the direction of the temple deity. The ladies in the audience quickly rise as a sign of respect when the actor makes his exit to the dressing room. The small crowd disperses rapidly, probably because the next day is a working day. Day Three: October 16, 1975: The elaboration continues. The role of Sankukarna is played by Parmeswaran Cakyar, the father of my teacher. All the stage decorations have been removed. The festive atmosphere of the first few days is now gone. About half-past nine Sankukarna enters, sits on the stool, and begins to perform. He tells more stories from the life of Ravana. They relate how Ravana refused to listen to the good advice of Kubera, his brother, how he killed Kubera’s messenger, the fight between them and the eventual insults Kubera was forced to bear, how Ravana rides in the aerial cart Puspaka and bumps into the Kailash mountain on which Lord Siva sits, his description of the size and shape of the mountain and of the love scene between Parvati and Siva just prior to being disturbed by the jolt of Ravana’s aerial cart, the lifting of the mountain by Ravana, how Siva pushes the mountain down with his little toe to the dismay of Ravana, and finally, the naming of Ravana, “the demon with the roaring cry.” After the elaboration has been completed for the evening, the actor silently prays facing the temple deity, touches the stage and then his head three times as a sign of respect, and exits. The performance ends about three hours after it began. Day Four: October 17, 1975: This is the third day of the elaboration. Tonight Korchukuttan Cakyar, the youngest performer in the company, plays Sankukarna. The performance begins about 9:30 P.M. and concerns the following events: how Ravana refuses to accept the boon offered by Siva’s wife, the curse she utters, “Oh, Ravana, your destruction shall be caused by a woman,” how Ravana was also cursed by Nandi, the bull, to be defeated by a monkey, how the other gods took flight when Ravana attempted to pick a fight with them, and the battle between Ravana and Yama, the God of Death, who is eventually defeated in the conflict. The performance ends about 10:30. Day Five: October 18, 1975: This marks the end of Sankukarna’s elaboration and the entrance of Ravana. The performance begins about a quarter past nine. Sankukarna describes how Indra is defeated, how the trees of Indra’s garden were stolen from heaven and planted in Ravana’s garden. Sankukarna finally comes to the part in the story in which he acts out, “such a garden has been destroyed.” He retires to the dressing room. At 11:05 he returns and performs all the text that was recited and acted on the first day. About midnight Ravana makes his entrance from behind the curtain. Madhavan Cakyar, the leading actor of the group, portrays the demon king, and he does so extremely well. His eyes are unusually wide and expressive, showing the intensity and arrogance of the demon king. Torches are held by attendants at both sides of the oil lamp. Oil is poured into the bowl of the lamp and the wicks are toned to provide the maximum visibility for his entrance. The curtain is pulled aside and Ravana grunts and groans to show his demonic and unpredictable nature. The entrance paints a vivid picture of the arrogant demon king. It comes to a conclusion about 1:15 A.M.  Day Six: October 19, 1975: This is the first day in which the actual kutiyattam takes place, that is, in which more than one actor appears on the stage at the same time. The scene opens with Ravana and Sankukarna. Sankukarna is played by Korchukuttan Cakyar and Ravana is acted by Kuttan Cakyar. The performance is short, starting about half past nine and ending by eleven. At the end of the scene the actor playing Ravana turns on the stage three times and then touches the stage and his head three times as a sign of respect. Day Seven: October 20, 1975: This is the last day of the kutiyattam performance, the day in which the remaining part of the Sanskrit text is enacted. Madhavan Cakyar, the senior actor of the Irinjalagada Cakyar family, plays Ravana, Parmeswaran Cakyar enacts Hanuman, and Kuttan Cakyar plays Vibhisana. About three hundred fifty people assemble to watch the show. There is a general sense of excitement. A light rain begins to fall, pattering gently high overhead on the copper shingles of the theater roof. Faint thunder is heard. The air is thick and warm. A full measure of rice has been placed stage left of the lamp and the eight auspicious things lie on a banana leaf stage right. When the performance begins with the entrance of Ravana about a quarter after nine, the women in the audience stand. Ravana begins in a thoughtful mood. He performs the following ideas from the text: Ravana: Oh, alas! Lanka cannot be thought of even mentally by gods and demons (although) united. Yet a monkey has indeed entered it, defying the ten-necked (me). (Bhasa 1968, 97) This portion takes about forty-five minutes to perform; then he acts the defense of Lanka, taking the roles of his soldiers preparing to do battle, showing their cocky and proud attitudes toward the invaders. Next he acts verse twelve from the text of the play. Ravana: Moreover, After conquering the triple world with its gods and demons in battle and proceeding proudly to Kailash, I, having shaken Siva together with his queen and surrounded by his ganas, obtained a boon from him; but again, a curse was laid on me by Parvati and Nandi as they were not paid any regard (by me). Could that (curse) be (operating now) on me, through the disguised form of a monkey? (Bhasa 1968, 97-98) About 10:45 he begins to act a special, long-awaited section of the show called the Kailasodharana, the lifting and throwing of the Kailash mountain. This takes Madhavan Cakyar a whole hour to complete. It is a thrilling tour de force of kutiyattam acting in which the actor describes the size and majesty of the mountain using only his eyes. It is one of several superb examples of how the actors use facial expressions to tell a story. The climax comes when the actor mimes lifting, throwing, and catching the mountain. The spectators sit in awe of Madhavan Cakyar’s powers of concentration and his ability to create the impression of a mountain simply through his facial expressions. The second tour de force of the evening follows shortly thereafter when Ravana takes the role of Lord Siva sitting on his heavenly throne holding Parvati on his lap. Switching back and forth between Siva and Parvati, Madhavan Cakyar portrays the charming scene of jealousy when Parvati sees Ganga, the river maiden, in Siva’s hair. The scene is acted entirely in gesture and contains the following text taken from the staging manuals: Parvati: Oh husband, what is it I see in your hair? Siva: (Silently thinking) What is to be said to her? All right, I’ll play a little trick on her. (Aloud) Oh Parvati, haven’t you heard there is water in my hair? Parvati: Oh husband, I see a face! I see a face! What is the reason? Siva: Oh Parvati, that’s not a face. It’s a lotus. Parvati: Oh husband, I see curls of hair. What is the reason? Siva: Oh Parvati, they aren’t curls. They’re bees. Parvati: I see eyebrows. Why is that? Siva: They aren’t eyebrows. They’re waves. Parvati: Oh husband, I see eyes! What is the reason? Siva: Oh Parvati, they’re not eyes. They’re fish. Parvati: Oh Lord, I see a pair of breasts! Why? Siva: Oh, they’re not breasts. They’re a pair of Chakravaka birds. Parvati: (To herself) He is deceiving me. I’ll go to my father’s house for sure. (To her maids) Oh maids, we shall go to my father’s residence. (3)   Ravana then shows how Parvati becomes troubled by the shaking of the mountain when Ravana accidentally drives into it with his aerial cart. He stands on the stool taking the role of the frightened queen. Then he shows how Ravana is exhausted from having thrown the mountain up and having caught it. Ravana exits to the dressing room. It is now 1:15 A.M. and the actor playing Ravana’s brother Vibhisana makes a brief entrance from behind the curtain. He shows that he is happy to see Ravana. Then he exits. Ravana reenters and sits on the stool at one side of the lamp. Vibhisana reenters and takes his place at the other side of the lamp and they act a short scene in which Ravana refuses to give up Sita. Both exit. About 1:40 Hanuman enters, hands bound behind his back and accompanied by two guards. The actors who represent the guards have their heads covered with red cloth to show that they are characters, but they are not fully costumed. Hanuman wears a spectacular costume and makeup. His body is almost completely covered with tiny cotton balls; even small bits of cotton dot his face, which is elaborately painted with red makeup. He has a long tail made of palm fronds covered with white cloth. A short tug-of- war ensues between Hanuman and the attendants. He breaks away and shows that he has let himself be bound by the guards so that he might be brought before Ravana. He smells his long tail, slaps his thighs, and performs various monkey antics to demonstrate his great prowess. Hanuman exits with the attendants. About 2:15 A.M. the stool representing Ravana’s throne is placed stage right center, and the stool for Vibhisana is placed stage left center. Ravana and Vibhisana take their places and Hanuman enters skipping. He takes his seat on a stool right of Ravana. Vibhisana and Ravana go through their chanted dialogue, verses, and gestures only once, without the usual repetition of the material and without the accompaniment of the drums. Hanuman chants the following verse and performs the gesture accompaniment: “I am the direct son of the wind-god, born of Anjana; and am the monkey named Hanuman sent by Raghava (Rama).” (Bhasa 1968, 102) Hanuman counts Ravana’s heads throughout Ravana’s response. The audience seems delighted with this and his other antics. Eventually Hanuman is sent off to have his tail set afire and Vibhisana is banished. Ravana is left alone on the stage. He performs several actions which suggest that he is flying. He concludes the program by reciting and acting the last lines of the text of Act III: “Alas! Vibhisana is gone. I shall arrange for guarding the city.” (Bhasa 1968, 113) It is now three in the morning. Madhava Cakyar takes off his headdress and does the concluding rituals. He washes his legs in front of the lamp, performs the symbolic act of bathing, using holy water, and extinguishes all but one wick of the bell metal lamp. Then he falls on his face in prayer facing the temple deity. The spectators stand and fold their hands in prayer, facing the stage. A bit of applause breaks out after the last sounds are played on the drums. The weary spectators trudge out into the chill night. Drops of rain begin to fall. There is a sudden dash to get home before a shower breaks. And another ritual kutiyattam performance comes to a close at the great Siva Temple of Trichur.

__Views of a Practitioner__

Audiences have a decided part to play on in the theatre and need not always rely on the critics who write for newspapers, radio, and television. Of course the role of professional critics is important but not without some controversy especially among people in the theatre community. The following opinions about the role of the audience and theatre critics provides useful information which may prove useful to you as you actively participate in the theatre.

Blanche Yurka, in her book //Dear Audience; A Guide to the Enjoyment of Theatre//. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hall, Inc., 1959, provides the perspective of a seasoned audience member as well as someone intimately connected with the theatre community. The following remarks are extracted from pp. 96-98 of her work.

Professional critics are simply those who have concentrated their attention on the theatre and have learned to express themselves clearly and succinctly. They too, oddly enough, are human beings (though some actors may dispute this) with eyes, ears, and powers of observation with which you also are blessed. But the critic has become an informed person, either through sheer exposure to the theatre or through following the bent of his natural curiosity in his chosen field. Probably you have no intention of being a professional critic yourself, but you can learn to bring the qualities of a trained critic into the theatre with you if you will. Ideally speaking, the purpose of criticism should be to evaluate how successfully the author’s concept has been expressed by him and how successfully the actors have interpreted that concept. Beyond this it becomes a question of how much the critic and you have liked the subject matter presented. Your own ability to appreciate a play or a performance will be enhanced if you learn to look for these two concepts.

If you can separate the player from the part in your mind’s eye, you will have progressed a great deal. Of course a really clever artist won’t permit you to do this. He can make //his// way of playing a part seem the only right way, and we are willing to forgive the worker of such magic.

An intelligent actor accepts criticism with grace provided he is not being made the victim of a wisecrack. Sheldon Cheney, in his book, The Art Theatre, has this to say on the subject: ‘There are far too many reviewers with a show-off complex. A facility for clever writing betrays them.’

The perceptive faculty which I hope you will develop will enable you to recognize the sort of verbal buffoonery which for a few years passed for criticism. Happily, this style of reviewing has been largely replaced by a more thoughtful and literate kind of appraisal.

In their turn, actors must learn to accept criticism honestly made and to benefit by it. It is dangerous to sit in one’s ivory tower marinating the ego. Actors must be sensitive, but the ego is one part of their psyche which they cannot permit to be easily bruised.

Never hesitate to write to an actor, giving him your frank opinion, pro or con. But remember that very few workers in the theatre are entirely free to choose their own material. You must remember, too, that no artist can always turn out a masterpiece. (In the theatre we call a smash hit a masterpiece.) You must also remember when you attend a performance of a play you have not seen before that you yourself are, in effect a first- nighter. You have the same privilege of judging what you see as has the professional critic. You should come with no preconceived notions. The trouble is that all too often you do come with preconceived opinions based on what your favorite critic has said about a play, a picture, or a TV show. Unfortunately, most people know all too little about what they are seeing or hearing.

One of the reasons why baseball is so popular is because people //do// know a lot about it. They know the box scores of their favorite players; they know whether they are hitting well this season as compared to last. To be sure, you and I can go to a baseball all game without knowing these things. We can even get a lot of pleasure out of just watching. One cheers with the crowd merely because excitement is contagious. But if you know the rules, the fine points of the game, if you can recognize a foul ball, a good pitch–if you can appreciate great skill when you see it–if you know what is going on, you can have a far better time than if you don’t.

What makes you applaud–or yawn–when you see a play? Why do you get a great deal from some plays and little or nothing from others?

In a world where you have movies an television as well as live drama, you probably see more entertainment than a dozen critics reviewing plays nightly would have seen twenty- five years ago. But how much do you know about what you are seeing and listening to? Do you simply like or dislike, accept or reject? One performance may prompt you to say, ‘That was swell.’ To another your reaction may be, ‘That’s terrible! Turn it off!’ Rarely do you say, even to yourself, ‘That was good because...’ or, “It would have been better if...’ You may not get much nor retain much of what you have seen and heard. But if you do know what is behind the work of your favorite performers as well as you may know the technique of your favorite ball players your perception will be keener, your judgment more accurate, and most important of all, you will have a better time.

Theatre isn’t like any other art form, which can excite alone, unseen or unheard. a masterpiece of painting can hang in a gallery, loftily indifferent as to whether you see it or not. It can afford to wait. A great book can collect dust on the library shelf; it too can wait. But an actor’s performance cannot wait. In its very essence it is living communication. its life is of the moment and then it is gone. Gone, except for the effect it has had on you.

Blanche Yurka goes on to assert your right to express your own opinions and to engage in improving the performances you see. Her remarks are taken from pp. 129-130.

If you do want better ‘live’ theatre and more of it; if you are one of the many thousands in this country who seldom (perhaps never) see stage plays performed by professional companies and devoutly wish that you could; if you feel that there are all too few first-rate movies and far too many third-rate ones; if you are sometimes heard to moan over the current state of television and to sigh for more mature dramatic shows of top-notch quality– then I say to you, ‘Speak up.’ For it is truly up to you to demand what you want, to make your voice heard. Believe it or not, the kind of theatre which we will have in the future, no matter through what media it is presented, depends not only upon the gifts of the playwrights, the talents of the performers, the perspicacity and pursestrings of producers and managers, distributors and booking agents. It depends largely upon //your// tastes– and your willingness to express those tastes by shunning what you //don’t// want and shouting for what you do.

Not that you will get what you want–in the quality and quantity you want it–overnight. Far from it; we both know that. But there //are// things you can do to help bring live professional theatre to communities far from Broadway. . . . .you can make your opinions felt, register your approval or disapproval of the movies and TV shows you are getting, by telling the men who make them–and your local movie-house or TV-station manager as well–what you honestly think, backed up by knowledgeable reasons for why you think it.

Ms. Yurka recommends a simple formula for you to use when attending a production. It is provided here as a guide to apply to your own playgoing experiences.

1. What is the play about? Answer in a brief sentence. 2. How well has the author told his story? 3. Does the subject matter seem worth while to you? 4. Have the actors, supporting players as well as stars, successfully conveyed to you the author’s intent? 5. Is the physical production realistic or imaginative? Would you say that it is inadequate, good, or superb? 6. How did the audience seem to respond to the play? How much were you influenced by the comments of people in the lobby between the acts? 7. Could you, without reading any reviews, urge your friends to see the play? Do you take the trouble to do this after seeing a play you like? 8. Would your interest in a given play lead you to search out and read other plays by the same author? pp. 101-102.