Conference Trip

This weekend I attended the Western Society for French History conference (WSFH). It was my first time at “the Western,” and I enjoyed it very much.  I decided to go to this conference instead of ASTR (American Society for Theatre Research) partly because it was closer to home and partly because it forced me to work on a project that I should be preparing to publish as an article. I presented on eighteenth-century Parisian brothel plays, with a specific focus on the relationship between prostitutes and police as represented in three plays. My panel was called “Arresting Exchanges: Constructing Identity in Police Archives.” It was a bit chaotic to start because the program indicated that we had been assigned to the same room as a different panel (on Algeria). But everyone worked efficiently to straighten out the mix-up, and we ended up with a good audience. The audience included a leading expert on elite prostitution in eighteenth-century Paris. I was citing her work in the paper, but had not met her before. So I was a little nervous. But she was very encouraging. It was especially productive to meet with historians’ resistance to using plays as historical sources. This helped me to figure out where not to send this essay, and reminded me that I do belong in Theatre Studies.

One funny thing about this conference was the etiquette around language. People kept asking permission to speak in French, or apologizing for speaking French even when their paper titles were in French in the program. I went to one panel where two speakers presented in French (with requisite apologies), and then the commenter spoke in English, and apologized for speaking in English. The same dance happened during the Q&A, with the speakers asking permission to respond in French to questions that had been asked in English. It was all very polite, but it felt a little unnecessary. 

Almost every panel I attended featured a commentary at the end, usually by a senior scholar. These were always generous and rigorous, offering lots of positive feedback as well as questions for further exploration. And the papers were generally engaging and well-presented. It was great to think about things specific to social and cultural history in the eighteenth century, and I was reminded of several texts (mainly libertine novels) that will be of interest for other projects

Shakespeare and Translation: Thoughts on OSF's "Play On!"

I have been following the controversy over Oregon Shakespeare Festival’s translation initiative and wanted to write down my thoughts about it.  Arguments against this project have a tendency to make several assumptions. I do not find these assumptions especially surprising, but from my perspective they should be questioned (as most assumptions should).

Assumption 1: There is a unified version of Shakespeare (generally the First Folio), and companies with “Shakespeare” in their names are obligated to uphold this standard version.

Here is OSF’s mission statement: "Inspired by Shakespeare's work and the cultural richness of the United States, we reveal our collective humanity through illuminating interpretations of new and classic plays, deepened by the kaleidoscope of rotating repertory." This project strikes me as falling squarely within their mission.

You can argue that their mission statement has de-emphasized Shakespeare by reframing their work as “Inspired by,” and you’re welcome to be upset by that. But this is not unique among Shakespeare companies. The Utah Shakespeare Festival “presents life-affirming classic and contemporary plays, with Shakespeare as our cornerstone." The Illinois Shakespeare Festival uses “the artistry and humanity of the Shakespearean canon as our constant touchstone.”  There are dozens if not hundreds of Shakespeare companies, and these companies take a range of approaches to Shakespeare. Almost all of their missions emphasize connecting with audiences or making Shakespeare live for today. I found two that use the word “preserve” in their mission statements, and only the Colorado Shakespeare Festival uses it in reference to preserving the works of Shakespeare.

In theatre practice today, there are multiple Shakespeares. This does not even go into the instability of Shakespeare’s texts, as anyone who has read the First Quarto Hamlet can attest: “To be or not to be—ay, there’s the point.” Anthologized and paperback versions of Shakespeare are heavily edited, and editors have made choices about language. Those editorial practices have changed over time. This project strikes me as a new kind of artistic editing.  

Assumption 2: The word “translation” must refer to linguistic translation; these versions should be called adaptations because they are being translated from English to English.

Some theorists of translation would use a much wider scope for the word: “cultural translation” and “intersemiotic translation” do not necessarily imply linguistic translation. Analysis of translation generally requires a transfer from a source culture to a target culture. I think that Shakespeare’s culture was significantly different from our own and requires cultural translation. Indeed, in practice we already translate Shakespeare to our own culture because the majority of productions do not use boys to play women.  

When Nick Bottom returns to his friends after his change in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Peter Quince says, “Bless me: thou art translated.” I hesitate to mention this because of the nature of Bottom’s transformation, but it is evidence that there are multiple definitions of “translate,” and Shakespeare used the word differently than we might.

I think the term “artistic editing” might be a better one, but I suspect that OSF chose “translation” in opposition to “adaptation.” I’m seeing a lot of lamentation that these playwrights have not been commissioned to do adaptations, which would be more interesting. Some of them already have! If you aren’t familiar with Shishir Kurup’s Merchant on Venice, go read it.     

I’m not a linguist, but I think there is some merit to the suggestion that Shakespeare’s English is not the same as contemporary American English. It has been 400 years since Shakespeare’s death. It has been 600 years since Chaucer’s death. We don’t expect the average person to read Chaucer in Middle English.  As Lue Douthit points out, it’s harder to catch all that beautiful, complex language while listening than while reading.

Assumption 3: These versions will be staged at OSF and will then be published and will become the new standard versions of Shakespeare and then the real Shakespeare will be lost forever!

This fear ignores some realities of the commissioning process and rights. Many plays get commissioned and are never produced by the company that commissions them.  These translations will presumably require a royalty fee.   Many productions of Shakespeare happen because Shakespeare is in the public domain. If these versions are bad, they won’t get done.  But I suspect they won’t be bad.  If they are good, I think the most likely outcome is that these versions will lead to more productions of lesser-known Shakespeare plays.

The first time I got excited about Shakespeare was in a visual and linguistic translation: I read a comic book version of As You Like It when I was in eighth grade. I have since read most of the Shakespeare canon, performed in several of the plays in college, served as a TA for a Shakespeare class, and now regularly teach Shakespeare in Theatre courses. If these translations provide a successful first exposure to Shakespeare, they may actually recruit Shakespeare enthusiasts, some of whom might even join the cult of the First Folio.

Cinematic and Theatrical Techniques in Troop Beverly Hills

I wrote the following post for the summer course I am teaching, which is called THR 350: Plays as Film. The first unit is on the terms "theatrical" and "cinematic," and students are asked to track theatrical and cinematic techniques in one of the top 50 highest-grossing films (or a personal favorite film. My post is a little bit longer than the suggested length of 500 words.

Cinematic and Theatrical Techniques in Troop Beverly Hills

One of my favorite movies is Troop Beverly Hills, a 1989 comedy starring Shelley Long and directed by Jeff Kanew. This film is not even close to the top 50 highest-grossing films of all time, but I watched it often with my sisters growing up, to the point that most of my family can recite lengthy portions of the dialogue.  It is a film that offers a balance between theatrical and cinematic strategies, primarily because the central protagonist is a larger-than-life persona.

Shelley Long plays Phyllis Nefler, a housewife and socialite who is going through a “terribly messy divorce” from husband Fred Nefler, played by Craig T. Nelson. Jenny Lewis (now a singer-songwriter) plays Hannah Nefler, Phyllis’s daughter. Phyllis becomes the leader of Hannah’s Wilderness Girl troop, leading to much mother-daughter bonding and to Phyllis finding meaning in life. Phyllis’s main antagonist is Velda Plendor (played by Betty Thomas), the District Leader of the Wilderness Girls organization who clashes with Phyllis over what it means to be a Wilderness Girl.

Troop Beverly Hills makes use of cinematic elements to tell the story in two main ways: location shots indicate realistic places, and juxtaposition shows the passage of time. The film begins with an animated title sequence that transforms into a real-world setting, using a cinematic technique known as a dissolve. Other key location shots include shops on Rodeo Drive, the steps of a courthouse, and a log over a ravine in the film’s climactic scene. The realism of these locations is often increased by the use of extras, who inhabit the space along with central characters in the film, but whose behavior is not important to the narrative of the film. For example, when Velda walks toward the hotel where Phyllis and her troop are staying, two joggers run by. These extras add to the sense that the characters from the film are inhabiting the real world. (Because the “real world” of this film is Beverly Hills, the joggers are Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon, who starred in a number of beach-related teen movies in the 1960s. This casting adds a layer of intertextuality that may push toward theatricality, if viewers recognize Frankie and Annette.)

Another cinematic strategy is the use of juxtaposition to show the passage of time. In a long sequence, Phyllis leads Hannah’s troop in earning a series of merit badges. Each segment is introduced with a shot of Phyllis sitting at a table, reading the Wilderness Girl Handbook. The camera focuses on the book so that the spectator can see the topic of the patch the girls are going to earn. Then the girls enact the requirements for earning the patch. A shot of the Dance patch is followed by a scene in which Phyllis teaches the troop nostalgic dances such as the Frug and the Mashed Potato.  A close-up on the “Create-A-Patch” page shows Phyllis drawing a diamond for the Jewelry Appraisal Patch, which leads into a scene in a jewelry store. While this type of juxtaposition would be possible on stage, it is much more frequently used in film and is clearly a cinematic technique. (A related technique is known as montage; all of the Rocky films feature montage sequences that show Rocky training for a boxing match.)   

The theatrical aspects of Troop Beverly Hills center on the outlandish antics of the character Phyllis Nefler. Phyllis is constantly trying to be the center of attention, putting herself into situations where she has an audience. She takes the stage at several troop meetings, in a courtroom, and at a lavish party. During an extended sequence related to cookie sales, Phyllis and the troop perform an elaborate “Cookie Time” song-and-dance number surrounded by orange and green cookie boxes. Phyllis also organizes a fashion show highlighting the “Wilderness Look,” her own revised take on the Wilderness Girl uniform (in collaboration with her tailor, Henri).  Costume is a significant theatrical aspect of this film; Phyllis’s outfits frequently call attention to herself. In this and other ways, Shelley Long’s portrayal of Phyllis Nefler is comparable to Rosalind Russell’s Mame Dennis in Auntie Mame.  Auntie Mame offers an excellent example of theatrical strategies on film: many scenes end with the lights fading into a blackout, as though Mame were on a stage. Troop Beverly Hills doesn’t go quite that far, but we do frequently see Phyllis alone, talking to herself or to an object as though she had an audience. At the very beginning of the film she addresses a jewel-encrusted frog: “I’m going kiss you, froggy, and turn you into a handsome prince.” Later, she ruminates on her life changes in a monologue about metaphorical patches, such as the Divorce patch. This theatrical relationship to the audience is somewhat similar to Matthew Broderick’s narration in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, though Phyllis never acknowledges the viewer in the way that Ferris does.             

Troop Beverly Hills thus incorporates both theatrical and cinematic strategies. In this case, the theatrical strategies tend to focus on giving a sense of character. Phyllis is placed in theatrical situations to show us that her character has a big personality, but her soliloquies allow for a more intimate relationship with the audience. Nevertheless, cinematic strategies keep the film grounded in reality. Though Phyllis is a larger-than-life, theatrical character, the world she inhabits is based on the reality of Los Angeles. Cinematic techniques also allow the filmmakers to demonstrate the passage of time. As we watch other films in this course, try to track how filmmakers deploy both cinematic and theatrical strategies.  

Anish Kapoor, the Rococo, and Political Pornography

I have not been to Versailles to see Anish Kapoor's piece "Dirty Corner," but I have been following the controversy over it, and I don't really understand why it is controversial.

This article by Jonathan Jones explains two of the main reasons I find this piece delightful: 

http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/jonathanjonesblog/2015/jun/04/anish-kapoor-versailles-vagina-not-shocking

As a giant seashell surrounded by rocks, "Dirty Corner" offers a literal representation of the rococo, raised to the grand scale of Versailles. The likely origin of the term "rococo" is "rocaille," which describes a design style that was invested in seashells and rocks.  Rococo art and design flourished under Louis XV.  Reacting to the straight lines of classicism, rococo art values the curves that are found in nature (see Hogarth's "Analysis of Beauty").  But the playful designs of porcelain (especially at Sevres) push color far out of natural palettes.  If you tour the Grand Trianon, there's a whole set of eighteenth-century furniture that is very close to the shade of pink on the triangular rocks in the background.

Jones also mentions political pornography that surrounded Marie Antoinette. Chantal Thomas has analyzed this phenomenon quite thoroughly in her book The Wicked Queen, which includes some translated examples.  Marie Antoinette was variously accused of being a lesbian and a nymphomaniac in these pamphlets, many of which took the form of plays. (There's one called Le Godmiche Royal, which means "The Royal Dildo." It's a dialogue between Marie Antoinette and her sex toy.)

The yonic imagery was not what I found most compelling about "Dirty Corner," but the vandalism seems intent on fixing the meaning of the piece as a vagina and not a seashell.  In all the photographs I've seen of the vandalism, the color, spray, and location of the paint suggests semen. Are the vandals trying to push the perceived obscenity of the piece further, so that others will share their view that this is beyond the realm of good taste? To re-assert a masculine authority over feminine imagery by making it more "dirty"?