The Compton Players' NEWSLETTER AUGUST 2002

Contents

Editorial - The big challenge
The CP emailer
Toby or not Toby?
Wallingford
Breathing

News of former members
Summer play readings
Molière
The night of the molières
Under Milk Wood: first thoughts
CP Calendar
Next newsletter

The big challenge

Since the last newsletter, Wallingford has come and gone, as has the summer play-reading season, and we're now gearing up for Eric's production of Under Milk Wood in the autumn. The sheer size of cast for this makes it the big challenge, but everyone seems very enthusiastic and I'm sure any difficulties will be overcome.

Rob has now officially handed over the reins of the newsletter to me. Rob has done a magnificent job with the newsletter for many years now, and it will be a hard act to follow. As well as writing (and press-ganging others into writing) articles on a very wide variety of subjects, Rob has introduced theatrical quotes and anecdotes to fill in some empty spaces. I shall attempt to continue in the same vein, and I'm very pleased that Rob has contributed an article on Molière for this issue, with - I hope - a follow-up article to come in a future edition.

The CP emailer

This is now up and running, in a rather leisurely fashion. All CP members who have email should have had several emails by now (if you're not sure, the last one was from Mark and titled "Of mice and tea chests" on 1st August). If you're not getting CP emails, and you want to, email me at .

Toby or not Toby?

I went to the Watermill to see Love in a Maze by Dion Boucicault (didn't like it, but Marguerite, The Times and the Newbury Weekly News did). One of the characters is called Sir Toby Nettletop, but the first time his name was used, he was called Tony. What would you do in their position? Switch back to Toby and hope nobody noticed? Make a joke of it (It's Toby, dear boy)? Or stick with Tony? This was what the Watermill cast did, although our programmes told us it should be Toby. Right or wrong?

'For the theatre one needs long arms; it is better to have them too long than too short. An artiste with short arms can never, never make a fine gesture.' 

Sarah Bernhardt

Wallingford

Compton Players and The Henley Players turned up to perform at the Wallingford Festival on 17th June and, half an hour before curtain up, the main fuse for the stage lights blew. An emergency call to the electricity board elicited a leisurely response - they'd be there in about an hour. Well, the show must go on. Fortunately, Compton Players' set was tiny - the interior of a garden shed - and could be lit with a couple of lights rigged up to the still-functioning mains, and the fuse was fixed in time for The Henley Players.

A nail-biting time for all the Compton Players cast and crew, especially Nick, the stage manager, who discovered that he was now operating the lights as well, but we took it in our stride.

In fact, the temporary lighting worked very well, adding an extra bit of atmosphere. Brenda and Mike produced excellent performances in Frank Vickery's Green Favours, complemented by the much-admired set with the rain cascading down the window. Congratulations to them, and especially to Tracey for a great first production.

Here's Dave's spookily prescient cartoon, produced before the fuse blew.

Breathing

Following on from Stuart's sessions on breathing, there was an article in The Times on 3rd June by Daniel Rosenthal about Patsy Rodenburg, voice coach to the National Theatre and the Guildhall School of Speech and Drama. Rosenthal had a session with Rodenburg in the foyer of the Olivier Theatre, working on a piece from Romeo and Juliet. This is an extract from his article.

She asks me to try one of her favourite warm-up exercises - mouthing the speech without saying it. I immediately begin, as she had hoped, to "feel the physical distress in the words". 

Next, I deliver the lines out loud. "You're speaking it very clearly," Rodenburg says, "but the sound is coming from the top of your ribcage, so you have not got access to the freedom of your voice and you're struggling to communicate. I need to get you more supported and open." 

She instructs me to stand and push with all my might against the foyer wall while delivering Capulet's speech. She calls this "the cheapest trick in the book" but, by George, I think I got it. In that strained position you naturally breathe from the abdomen and your voice is liberated. 

Her next trick is even more effective. She has me invert and lift one of the Olivier bar chairs over my head. With my upper body muscles supporting this weight, I have to breathe from the abdomen as I recite the speech. "You hear how you got more variety into the speech because you weren't trying to produce the power from your chest?" asks Rodenburg. "Even if you know the speech intellectually, you can't discover the rhythm until you give it oxygen. 

"Now, breathing as you did when you lifted the chair, pace the foyer as you speak, and change direction every time there's a shift in Capulet's thoughts." 

For a non-actor like me this feels embarrassing, although I see the exercise's value. In performance, such blatant physical acknowledgement of the rhythm would make Capulet move like Groucho Marx. Yet this exaggerated approach should instil a sense of rhythm that can be retained and exploited even when delivering the speech without moving an inch. 

From this more solid physical and vocal foundation, she guides me patiently through six more renditions. I can't vouch for my acting, but if you listened to the tape of our session I hope each successive "take" would sound better than the last. The abdominal breathing and heightened awareness of rhythm gave me the confidence to add colour to what began as a monochrome, monotonous delivery.

Patsy Rodenburg has a new book, Starting Shakespeare, published by Methuen, and she has written previous books The Right to Speak, The Need for Words and The Actor Speaks.

'He [Stephen Joseph] believed that all of us shouldn't be purely concerned with our own little role in theatre, that theatre people should be total theatre people. That, in fact, if you were an actor, that didn't mean that you didn't know about the box office. In fact, on the contrary, you should know how ticket stubs were dealt with. I found it invaluable that he would not think it peculiar that an actor should work the sound. In fact, if an actor was interested in the sound, then it seemed a very good reason for him to work it; and if necessary, one would re-write the play, in order that he could work it - give him an early exit so he could play the music.'

Conversations with Ayckbourn, Ian Watson, 1981

When we read Arms and the Man, I noticed Shaws slightly eccentric punctuation, missing out many, but not all, of the apostrophes. For example, we had dont, havnt (without the e) and youre, but he retained the possessive apostrophes (madam's, Bluntchli's), and it's/its always got its right spelling.

So why not go the whole hog and abolish the apostrophe? I mean, whats the point in sometimes having an apostrophe in "its", except to annoy pedants (like me) when people get it wrong? Get rid of it altogether, and the problem goes away. There are some other problems, though; particularly for words ending in "ll", where there could be confusion if you take the apostrophes out of we'll, he'll, she'll, I'll.

But punctuation was just the start. Shaw had some seriously weird ideas on spelling too, and he left money in his will to develop and promote a new alphabet that would give consistency and simplicity to the spelling of English. There was a public competition for the new alphabet, which offered £500 as a prize. By New Years Day 1959, the closing date of the competition, 467 entries had been received. Of these, four were judged to be worthy of reward, and the author of each received £125. The intention was that the four designs would be merged together to produce one super-alphabet, but the final alphabet was based largely on the design of Kingsley Read, an architect and designer.

The Shaw Alphabet consists of 53 letters and 8 vowel markers. Each Shaw letter signifies only one sound, whereas almost every Roman letter has multiple pronunciations depending on the letters around it. For example, in the regular alphabet, a silent "e" changes the pronunciation of earlier vowels, and an "h" following most letters will also change how that letter is pronounced. The Shaw letters are completely unrecognisable; for example is the letter Kaf, corresponding to our c or k. The heading of this article spells Compton Players in the Shavian alphabet.

With the money that was left in the legacy, the vast majority was used to produce the only book that has so far been printed in the Shavian alphabet: a version of Shaws play Androcles and the Lion. It was published by Penguin Books on 22nd November, 1962. Around 47,000 copies were printed in total: 13,000 in hardbacks for distribution to libraries around the world, and the rest in orange paperbacks for public sale. A continuing interest developed, but the book went out of print, and popular interest diminished.

Summer play readings

Our summer season of play readings in the Scout Hut started with our autumn production, Under Milk Wood, followed by Dave's spring production of Arms and the Man, which we all liked. Next was Up and Coming, Eric Chappell's comedy about political shenanigans at a party conference. This had a lot of funny lines, but the general feeling was lukewarm, and it would be difficult to stage, needing a large set with lounge and bedroom.

Alan Ayckbourn's Body Language was about two women whose heads are cut off in a helicopter accident and sewn back on the wrong bodies. This was a long but very funny play that we all enjoyed, but it would be difficult to stage (some of the dialogue is in an imaginary eastern European language).

It Started With a Kiss is the first John Godber play that I recall us reading. It was about students in the seventies, man, and although it had some funny lines, we generally weren't impressed.

The final play that I got from Reading library was Who Dies Wins by Seymour Matthews. Described as a comedy thriller, it was well written but rather over-elaborate, and turned out to be an Agatha Christie type of detective story, with the detective relying on information that we couldn't know.

The season finished with a reading of Trolley Rage by Jasper Utley (Liz's brother) - a one-act play set in a supermarket, which was generally liked.

I feel that these play-reading sessions are a good opportunity to get together during the summer months, and to read some new things, particularly some of the latest releases from French's catalogue, which we are lucky to be able to get from the excellent drama section of Reading Library.

Molière

Jean Baptiste Poquelin was born in 1622 in a home in the middle of Paris. From birth his future seemed assured as a royal upholsterer. For that was the occupation of his father and other members of his family. In order to better prepare him for his role at court his father arranged for him to have the best education possible at the Collège de Clermont in Paris. For a time he also studied to be a lawyer and then, at the age of 21, he completely altered the course of his life. He gave up all pretence of becoming a royal functionary and instead became an actor and changed his name to Jean Baptiste Molière.

This was a much more radical step than it would be in our own day. As an upholsterer to the King, Poquelin/Molière would enjoy prestige and prosperity. As an actor he would be regarded as a rogue and a vagabond, not even considered fit to be buried in consecrated ground.

At some point in this early period of his life, probably at the age of nineteen, Poquelin/Molière had met Madeleine Béjart, an actress five years older than himself. It's reasonable to suppose that she played a part in Molière's decision to become an actor. Whether she did or not she was to remain with him for most of his life. With her and a group of friends he formed an acting company known as the Théâtre Illustré. It was not a success financially - Molière was twice imprisoned for debt during the year 1643 and as a result the company decided to leave Paris and take to the roads of France.

For twelve years they gave performances in the towns and villages of France, gaining a growing reputation for themselves as actors and entertainers. During this period Molière, as well as acting and producing, began to write, usually under great pressure. And found that audiences liked what he wrote.

In 1658 the company returned to Paris and it was there, one autumn afternoon in the Palace of the Louvre that their future opened up. On the 24th of October they gave a performance of Corneille's Nicomède and a short piece by Molière himself and thus came to the attention of the king.

And this was no ordinary king: Louis XIV, le Roi Soleil, the Sun King, a ruler who was making himself the centre of French society and his court the most cultivated and prestigious in Europe.

Molière and his actors came under the King's protection. Being in the king's favour also meant that the resources of the court were often available for performances and music for some productions was composed by the court composer, Jean Baptiste Lully. The King himself also took part in some performances and on occasion Molière dined with the King an extraordinary privilege for an actor, considering that some aristocrats were never invited to do so.

Perhaps, in their separate ways, both Molière and Louis XIV were modernisers of a kind. The King had taken a firm grip on a country which had previously been wracked by civil wars and his ministers had reformed various institutions. Molière in his plays satirised hypocrisy and attacked stupidity masquerading as authority and privilege.

By this Molière may seemed to have been in an ideal situation but in fact his life during this period was far from easy, either privately or professionally. Firstly, he was seriously ill. Modern thinking is that he may have been suffering from advanced tuberculosis; he also had severe gastric disorders which may have been caused by the tuberculosis or which may have been a separate, additional illness. He had also married, late in life, a much younger wife, Armande Béjart, a talented actress in his company. She was almost certainly the younger sister of Madeleine and was well known for her affairs. The marriage did not appear to be a happy one but the exact nature of the relationship remains obscure.

Professionally, Molière had to deal with intrigue from rivals at Court and to counter the activities of rival theatre companies. He was also working at a ferocious pace: of the 95 plays produced at his theatre, the Théâtre Richelieu, during this period he wrote 31 of them as well as producing and acting in most of them.

The greatest threat to Molière, however, was from the Catholic Church and, in particular, the Archbishop of Paris; a man, oddly enough, noted for his own lax morals. Molière made fun of many groups: doctors were a favourite target, so was pretentiousness of any kind, but a particular target was religious hypocrisy. Tartuffe, sometimes translated into English as The Hypocrite, was based on a real life incident in which a religious hypocrite had swindled his landlord and, at the same time, seduced his wife. Molière used the play to attack the more hypocritical aspects of religion. The Archbishop successfully persuaded the King for eighteen months that the play should not be performed. When this tactic was eventually unsuccessful he then threatened with excommunication anyone who attended a performance. This again delayed the play's performance for several years. When it was eventually performed it ran for sixty performances, an unprecedented length of run in the theatre of the day.

All of this took its toll of Molière's already failing health. By a strange irony, or perhaps he planned it, his final play was Le Malade Imaginaire, The Imaginary Invalid, at the Théâtre Richelieu with himself in the title role. Friends and supporters, seeing his fragile state of health, begged him to postpone the production but this he declined to do. At the fourth performance he became ill on stage but carried on until the end of the play, after which he was quickly carried to his house nearby.

Molière died before his wife, Armande, could reach him, and also before a priest came. This meant that he did not receive the last rites, nor did he renounce the role of actor as his former mistress, Madeleine, had done when she had died a year previously. Whether Molière would have done so, given the opportunity, is open to speculation.

All of this meant that the Archbishop of Paris could decree, quite legitimately, that Molière would be buried in unconsecrated ground along with murderers and the unbaptised. His horrified wife appealed directly to the King who made it clear to the archbishop his will that the playwright should be buried in consecrated ground. And so he was, although without any of the usual ceremony.

Thus, in an age when these things mattered, the King made clear to all that he considered acting to be an honoured profession and that its practitioners were to be treated as other men and no longer as rogues and vagabonds. Thus Molière enhanced the place of the theatre and its actors in death as he had in life.

Rob Bell

The night of the molières

Unlike London with its West End and New York with Broadway, Paris has no particular 'theatre quarter'. Instead, the Parisian theatres are spread throughout the capital. There are many of them, offering a wide range of entertainment.

The French have their own version of theatre awards known as 'the molières' in recognition of the man they claim as their greatest playwright. The awards are given out at a prestigious ceremony in the spring known as La nuit des molières and transmitted on TV. This year was the 16th year of the molières; there were 68 nominations covering various categories such as acting, set-design, production, costumes and so on. The ceremony was broadcast live from the Mogador Theatre in Paris.

As you might expect, most of the productions which won molières have seen their bookings double as a result. Some of them have extended their runs, both in Paris and in any proposed provincial tours.

Taken from La Vie Outre-Manche, published bimonthly by Concorde Publications, 8 Skye Close, Maidstone, Kent ME15 9SJ

Under Milk Wood: first thoughts (second thoughts come later)

I cannot remember exactly when I first encountered Under Milk Wood, or even whether it was on the radio or from the printed page. I only know that it has been a favourite with me for well over forty years. I bought my first copy whilst still a young art student, and produced illustrations for it as part of my coursework. I learned chunks of it by heart, just to be able to recite aloud those wonderful words. It was inevitable therefore, that I should eventually one day wish to create a 'production' of this masterpiece. I believe it is quite the most original play ever written especially for the medium of radio. And therein lies the problem.

Unlike small children, Under Milk Wood was meant to be heard not seen. Listening to it one conjures up in the mind's eye a host of colourful characters. Translating it to the stage necessitates making those characters actually visible, without distracting from the sound of the words.

Since tentatively suggesting Under Milk Wood as a possible autumn production, I have spent many weeks struggling with various ways in which to do this. With first rehearsals imminent, I know what I want to do, and where I want to go, but parts of the map are still missing.

For a production to succeed, the director must believe in it, genuinely want to do it, and enjoy the process. If nothing else, this will be a steep learning curve for all involved, including myself. I visualise something quite different, certainly from anything Compton Players or I have done before. We shall be taking exciting risks, pushing back boundaries. Come with me into the unknown, and please bring with you the missing parts of the map.

Eric Saxton

CP Calendar

'Actors are the jockeys of literature. Others supply the horses, the plays, and we simply make them run.'

Ralph Richardson

Next newsletter

All offerings to me, by email to , or by post to Paul Shave, Windrush, The Ridge, Cold Ash, Thatcham, RG18 9HX, 01635 866800. By 7th October.

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