Alfred Jarry - From Of the Uselessness to Theatre of the Theatre (1896)
King Ubu (1982)
Let us note that there are many theatre audiences, or at least two: that of the intelligent, small in number, and that of large number…’ So wrote Jarry in reply to a questionnaire in 1896. He speaks again here for the former, whose number he now puts at five hundred.
What follows is an index of certain things that are notoriously horrid and incomprehensible to these five hundred spirits, and that encumber the stage uselessly: above all the scenery and the actors.
The scenery is hybrid, neither natural nor artifice. If it looked the same as nature it would be a superfluous duplicate…. It is not artifice in the sense that it does not offer the artist a realisation of the outside world seen through himself, or better created by himself….
There are two kinds of setting: interiors and open air. They claim to represent rooms or natural fields. We shall not go back over the question of the stupidity of trompe l’œil;1 it is agreed upon once and for all. Let us simply say that the said trompe l’œil creates an illusion for those who see crudely, that is to say, do not see, and shocks and offends those who see in an intelligent and discriminating fashion, by presenting them with a caricature by someone with no understanding. Zeuxis deceived brute beasts, they say, and Titian an innkeeper….
We have tried heraldic scenery, that is to say, designing the whole of a scene or act in a unified and uniform hue, the characters passing harmonically on the field of a coat of arms…each entering into the locality desired, or better, if the author has known what he wanted, into the true scenery which appears on stage by a process of exosmosis. The signboard brought on according to changes of location avoids the periodic recall from the world of the mind caused by physical changes of scenery— scenery one perceives above all at the moment one sees it to be different.
In these conditions, every part of the scenery that meets a special need— a window that is opened, a door that is burst through—is a prop, and can be brought on like a table or a torch.
With make-up the actor assumes the character’s face and should assume his body. Expressions, the play of the visage etc., are various contractions and extensions of the facial muscles. People have not considered that under the assumed face and the make-up the muscles remain the same, and that Mounet and Hamlet do not have the same zygomatic formation, although anatomically they are believed to be one man—or the difference is said to be negligible. By means of an enclosing mask, the actor should substitute for his head that of the CHARACTER in effigy. This would not have, as in the antique world, the appearance of tears or laughter (which are not characters) but the character of the part: the Miser, the Hesitant One, the Covetous, piling up his crimes…
And if the eternal character of the part is included in the mask, there is a simple means, similar to a kaleidoscope or even more a gyroscope, to highlight, one by one or severally, chance moments…. By slow movements of the head, from up to down and down to up, and librations from side to side, the actor moves the mask’s shadows over its whole surface. And experience proves that the six main positions (and the same for the profile, though these are less distinct), are sufficient for every expression. We do not give instances, because they vary according to the original essence of the mask; and because all those who have known how to look at a Guignol could verify them.
As they are simple expressions, they are universal. The grave error of present pantomime is that it ends up with a conventional mime language, tiresome and incomprehensible. An example of this convention: a vertical ellipse around the face with the hand and a kiss on that hand to express beauty are supposed to suggest love.—Example of a universal gesture: the puppet shows his amazement by a violent recoil and by banging his head against the wings.
Through all these incidental happenings the intrinsic expression subsists, and in many scenes the best thing is the impassivity of the mask as it dispenses its hilarious or solemn words. This can be compared only to the inorganic nature of the skeleton concealed under the flesh, whose tragicomic quality has been recognised throughout the ages.
It goes without saying that the actor must have a special voice, which is the voice of the role, as if the mouth cavity of the mask could emit only what the mask would say if its lip muscles were supple. It is best for them not to be supple, and for the delivery throughout the play to be monotone.
From Twentieth-Century Theatre: A Sourcebook Translated by Richard Drain and Micheline Mabille
What follows is an index of certain things that are notoriously horrid and incomprehensible to these five hundred spirits, and that encumber the stage uselessly: above all the scenery and the actors.
The scenery is hybrid, neither natural nor artifice. If it looked the same as nature it would be a superfluous duplicate…. It is not artifice in the sense that it does not offer the artist a realisation of the outside world seen through himself, or better created by himself….
There are two kinds of setting: interiors and open air. They claim to represent rooms or natural fields. We shall not go back over the question of the stupidity of trompe l’œil;1 it is agreed upon once and for all. Let us simply say that the said trompe l’œil creates an illusion for those who see crudely, that is to say, do not see, and shocks and offends those who see in an intelligent and discriminating fashion, by presenting them with a caricature by someone with no understanding. Zeuxis deceived brute beasts, they say, and Titian an innkeeper….
We have tried heraldic scenery, that is to say, designing the whole of a scene or act in a unified and uniform hue, the characters passing harmonically on the field of a coat of arms…each entering into the locality desired, or better, if the author has known what he wanted, into the true scenery which appears on stage by a process of exosmosis. The signboard brought on according to changes of location avoids the periodic recall from the world of the mind caused by physical changes of scenery— scenery one perceives above all at the moment one sees it to be different.
In these conditions, every part of the scenery that meets a special need— a window that is opened, a door that is burst through—is a prop, and can be brought on like a table or a torch.
With make-up the actor assumes the character’s face and should assume his body. Expressions, the play of the visage etc., are various contractions and extensions of the facial muscles. People have not considered that under the assumed face and the make-up the muscles remain the same, and that Mounet and Hamlet do not have the same zygomatic formation, although anatomically they are believed to be one man—or the difference is said to be negligible. By means of an enclosing mask, the actor should substitute for his head that of the CHARACTER in effigy. This would not have, as in the antique world, the appearance of tears or laughter (which are not characters) but the character of the part: the Miser, the Hesitant One, the Covetous, piling up his crimes…
And if the eternal character of the part is included in the mask, there is a simple means, similar to a kaleidoscope or even more a gyroscope, to highlight, one by one or severally, chance moments…. By slow movements of the head, from up to down and down to up, and librations from side to side, the actor moves the mask’s shadows over its whole surface. And experience proves that the six main positions (and the same for the profile, though these are less distinct), are sufficient for every expression. We do not give instances, because they vary according to the original essence of the mask; and because all those who have known how to look at a Guignol could verify them.
As they are simple expressions, they are universal. The grave error of present pantomime is that it ends up with a conventional mime language, tiresome and incomprehensible. An example of this convention: a vertical ellipse around the face with the hand and a kiss on that hand to express beauty are supposed to suggest love.—Example of a universal gesture: the puppet shows his amazement by a violent recoil and by banging his head against the wings.
Through all these incidental happenings the intrinsic expression subsists, and in many scenes the best thing is the impassivity of the mask as it dispenses its hilarious or solemn words. This can be compared only to the inorganic nature of the skeleton concealed under the flesh, whose tragicomic quality has been recognised throughout the ages.
It goes without saying that the actor must have a special voice, which is the voice of the role, as if the mouth cavity of the mask could emit only what the mask would say if its lip muscles were supple. It is best for them not to be supple, and for the delivery throughout the play to be monotone.
From Twentieth-Century Theatre: A Sourcebook Translated by Richard Drain and Micheline Mabille
