Today in Theatre History: MRS. IBSEN GIVES BIRTH TO HENRIK–March 20, 1828

Little Henrik.  Had he survived, he'd be 187 today.

Marichen’s little Henrik. Had he survived, he’d be 187 today.

On this very day (March 20) in 1828, Marichen Ibsen, wife of wealthy merchant, Knut Ibsen of Skien, Norway, gave birth to a healthy baby boy.  For some reason they decided to name him Henrik and eventually got him involved with the town’s league of youth, hoping to interest him in becoming a master builder and break his unsettling habit of sitting for hours in his sister’s doll’s house slamming the little front door.  Henrik’s other obsession–ghosts (that he swore he saw emanating from the burial mound in the basement)–became particularly worrisome for his parents, who felt it might brand him for life and stir up resentment from the local pillars of society, especially Olaf Liljekrans (who always fancied himself a bit of an armchair emperor and Galilean anyway).  But Henrik knew instinctively they were all pretenders–and so, like the Vikings of Helgeland, he began keeping company with the lady from the sea, who smelled of kelp and tended to visit every other Thursday as well as St. John’s Eve, despite the Vikings.  Sensing imminent raid and plunder, he quickly tired of kelp and soon love’s comedy overwhelmed Henrik.  In a fit of uncontrollable laughter he ran off to Rosmersholm with Lady Inger of Oestraat’s daughter, Cataline, and her odd little sister, Norma, cryptically declaring he’ll return only “when we dead awaken,” causing his mother to shout, “Stop it with the ghosts already!” as she stormed out of the house slamming the front door repeatedly for dramatic effect.  Multiple redundancies not withstanding, this amused Henrik to no end.  Shortly after, during the annual feast at Solhaug, Henrik got into a particularly bitter altercation with local enemy of the people, John Gabriel Borkman, who had drunkenly spewed a little eyolf on Henriks’s new saddle shoes while attempting to pluck a hedda gabler with his teeth.  Avoiding a roundhouse right, Borkman made a wild duck to his left, cuffing Henrik squarely on the eye .  From then on, whenever Henrik smiled, people noticed a slight peer gynt.

There.  I think that just about covers his entire dramatic canon.  You’re welcome.

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Today in Theatre History: SHAKESPEARE ARRIVES IN NEW YORK–March 5, 1750

The version used by Murray and Kean for the premiere in New York.

The version used by Murray and Kean for their NYC premiere–clearly chosen to soothe the rebellious spirits of an American audience.

This day in theatre history–March 5, 1750–marks the first verifiable performance of Shakespeare in the city of New York when a semi-professional assemblage of colonists performed Richard III at an improvised playhouse on Nassau Street.  But this was not the version we know today.  It was, instead, a popular 1700 adaptation by Colley Cibber that preserved only 800 of Shakespeare’s original lines, added a completely new first act based on the murder of Henry VI, and enhanced the on-stage violence–just the sort of mollifying amusement for a mid-century colonial American crowd.  The performance began “precisely at Half an Hour after 6 o’clock,” stipulating with knowing authority that, “no persons to be admitted behind the scenes.”  The evening was produced by Walter Murray and Thomas Kean, two entrepreneurs from Baltimore who created the first recognized touring company of players in the colonies.  Little is known of the physical playhouse, having likely been a warehouse hastily converted for the purpose with a temporary stage, a small pit and even smaller galleries.   Tickets could be had at a nearby printing shop– “PITT 5s.  Gallery 3s.”  Little else is known, unfortunately.  Murray and Kean continued to perform sporadically over the next year or so.  But by 1752, they’d been supplanted by the arrival of the famed Hallam family from London, the first true professional company to hit the colonies.  Nonetheless, on this day, Shakespeare finally arrived in New York City for the very first time.

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Today in Theatre History: PAUL ROBESON AS OTHELLO–August 10, 1942

Paul and Uta share a lighter moment.

Uta and Paul share a lighter moment.

On this day in theatre history (August 10, 1942) one of the greatest actors of the 20th century, Paul Robeson, first performed what would eventually be recognized as among the greatest roles of his career:  Othell0.  Directed by the legendary Margaret Webster with Jose Ferrer as Iago and Uta Hagen as Desdemona, the production opened at the Brattle Street Theatre in Cambridge, Massachusetts, becoming an instant hit.  The show soon moved to the Shubert Theatre on Broadway, where it ran an astounding 296 performances (from October 19, 1943 to July 1, 1944), setting the record for the longest run of any Shakespeare play on Broadway–a record that remains unbroken to this day.

Hewlett at Othello (1887)

Hewlett as Othello (from an 1887 reprint)

Most histories credit Robeson with being the first African-American to perform Othello on a professional American stage.  But this may not be the case.  While Robeson gets the credit, it’s likely that James Hewlett earned the honor back in 1821 while a leading actor with the African Grove Theatre in New York City.  The evidence is not entirely clear–Odell, for instance, fails to mention Hewitt in the role while acknowledging him as a popular Shakespearean actor.  But other secondary sources appear to confirm Hewlett’s singular achievement as the country’s first African-American Othello.  Whether the African Grove qualifies as a fully professional theatre is debatable, of course, but in no way diminishes its importance to American history or the significance of Hewlett’s performance.  And Hewlett as Othello must have been a remarkable experience for any 19th century audience–as impressive and bold, I would guess, as Robeson’s groundbreaking work in the 20th century.

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Today in Theatre History: THE FLAMMABLE BEGINNINGS OF CHICAGO THEATRE–February 24, 1834

Chicago in 1833, just before the theatrical explosion of 1834.

Chicago in 1833, prior to the theatrical explosion of 1834.  Looking very closely, one can just make out Steppenwolf’s first theatre in the upper lefthand corner.

It was on this very day in theatre history (February 24) that Chicago saw its very first documented theatrical performance back in 1834.  A “Mr. Bowers,” billed as a “professeur de tours amusant,” gave an evening’s performance on an improvised stage in the house of one “D. Graves.”  At the time, Chicago was the largest commercial settlement in Illinois with a population of 3200 inhabitants and fifty-one stores.  As described in some detail in the Chicago Democrat, Mr. Bowers performed a series of tricks that began with his impersonation of:  “Monsieur Chaubert, the celebrated Fire King, who so much astonished people of Europe, and go thro’ his wonderful Chemical Performance.  He will draw a red hot iron across his tongue, hands, &c. and will partake of a comfortable warm supper, by eating fire balls, burning sealing wax, live coals of fire, melted lead.  He will dip his fingers in melted lead, and make use of a red hot spoon to convey the same to his mouth.”  The second act consisted of Bowers introducing “many very amusing feats of Vantriloquism [sic] and Legerdemain, many of which are original, and too numerous to mention.  Admittance 50 cents, children half price.”  There is no indication if Mr. Bower’s performance was a success.  And nothing more was heard from him after this announcement.  But clearly it was a very short step from eating fire balls and displays of vantriloquism [sic] to the extraordinarily vibrant theatrical scene we find in Chicago today.   Within just a few months, in fact, the very first groups of university students were already setting up their storefront theatres on the northside in hopes of becoming the next “Mr. Bowers.”  I guess Chicago theatre had to start somewhere…

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Today in Theatre History: WHITE RATS ON STRIKE!–February 22, 1901

The original White Rats--preparing to take on the Keith-Albee vaudeville chain by posing for a photo.

The original White Rats–preparing to take on the Keith-Albee vaudeville chain by first posing for a photo.  Just look at all them beady little eyes…

On this day in theatre history (February 22) in 1901, a group of American vaudeville performers, fed up with the Keith-Albee conglomerate, staged a strike against the Vaudeville Managers Association (VMA)–which Keith-Albee controlled.  Their key complaint was the 5% fee (or kickback) performers were required to pay to VMA in order to secure booking at the most popular venues.  Known as “The White Rats,” the union was formed the year before as a way to protest the oppressive practices in an increasingly lucrative industry.  Curiously, the White Rats were surprisingly effective in this initial strike, considering they were not yet a fully recognized union (that wouldn’t happen until 1910 when the AFL granted them a charter), and given the general distaste big business had toward labor organization.  Within a few days, most of the VMA branches had acquiesced and agreed to drop the fee.  Within a month, Keith and Albee (yup, that’s Edward’s adoptive grandfather) both claimed to have always disliked the 5% kickback scheme anyway and the White Rats won.  Their success was probably due to their rather moderate demands and the fact that VMA was not keen to lose a cent of revenue to their strongest competitor–cinema.  But their luck wouldn’t last.  In 1916, the White Rats staged another strike and this time VMA was not in such a generous mood.  In retaliation, Albee announced a nationwide blacklist that barred any members of the union from being booked in any of the nearly 15,000 theatres under the control of the VMA.  After a year, the strike failed and the union disbanded.  It would take the famous 1919 strike by Actors’ Equity to finally turn the tide of unionized theatrical entertainment in the United States.  Nonetheless, the White Rats are remembered as one of the early attempts to improve the lives and working conditions of professional performers, though their efforts are now often forgotten by students of American theatre.

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Today in Theatre History: “MERDRE!” UBU BREAKS THE MOLD–December 10, 1896

Representation of Père Ubu by Alfred Jarry Deu...

King Ubu–looking like merdre.

On this very day in theatre history–December 10, 1896–23 year-old Alfred Jarry and his adolescent-minded buddies in Paris staged the world premiere of Ubu Roi–a deliberately shocking social farce meant to draw attention to the rise of aesthetic anarchy.   The piece was designed to destroy the staid precepts of conventional theatre and entertainment while opening up new ways to present art and critique traditional modern culture and aesthetics.  With its provocative opening line:  “Merdre!,” the play is generally regarded as the first significant salvo from the avant-garde in what would soon lead to Futurism, Dada, Surrealism and the other great nonconformist artistic movements of the early 20th century.   Among those in attendance that evening was William Butler Yeats who recognized the production’s importance as the beginning of an extraordinary revolution in theatre–a revolution that Yeats himself would soon contribute to through his own brand of unconventional writing.  Many claim that the play is a proto-Absurdist piece, though I think applying such a term is a bit anachronistic.  It was most certainly the start of anti-conventional expressionism in theatre and it would lead to a complete revision of the Aristotelian model of dramatic analysis and appreciation.  Not bad for a 23 year-old playwright whose opening line was shit.

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Today in Theatre History: THE ENGLISH PLAYHOUSE RESTORED; OR, “TENNIS ANYONE?”–November 8, 1660

Killigrew imagining how easy it would be to convert a tennis court into a playhouse.

Killigrew imagining how easy it would be to convert a tennis court into a playhouse–with man’s best friend by his side–Charles II.

It was on this day in theatre history–November 8, 1660–that the first major professional playhouse in London opened after the restoration of Charles II as King of England.  During the Puritan Interregnum, of course, commercial theatre was banned.  But in the spring of 1660, the Puritans gave up running the country, Charles II returned to England to continue the monarchy, and theatre was restored.  Given that most of the old playhouses from the early 1600s had been destroyed or ruined under Puritan rule, theatrical entrepreneur and courtier, Thomas Killigrew, decided to use an existing structure to house his King’s Company.  Like so many European cities at that time, London was fat with private indoor tennis courts.

Multiple French persons playing tennis in a potential playhouse.

A perfectly viable playhouse being used by multiple French persons for the playing of sport.

That’s how the game was played back then–indoors, like a double-sided version of racquetball, bouncing off the walls and over a slack net in the middle.  The game’s conventions dictated that courts be long and narrow, with high ceilings and built-in galleries along at least one wall and at the back, making a playhouse conversion that much easier.   Simply construct a raised stage at one end, take down the net, and VOILA!–you’ve got yourself an instant theatre, complete with box seating.  In fact, the term for such auditoria was known as “pit, box, and gallery,” reflecting the penchant of many 17th century theatre managers for adapting tennis courts for use as temporary playhouses–a lesson Killigrew undoubtedly picked up in France where the practice was quite common.  Killigrew’s Kings Company dominated the London theatre scene for almost three years.  But soon they began losing audiences to William D’Avenant’s new playhouse–another converted tennis court just around the corner in Lincoln’s Inn Fields called Lisle’s Tennis Court, housing the Duke’s Company.  Moreover, D’Avenant’s theatre had “moveable scenery” with a state-of-the-art wing and groove system.  Technology, it seems, wowed ’em back then too.  So in 1663, Killigrew built a new playhouse–from scratch–on Bridges Street (what would become known as the Drury Lane Theatre) with all the latest scenic technology.  It didn’t last long, of course,  the Great Fire of 1666 burned everything down, including both theatres.  But by then, the age of the indoor playhouse, complete with the latest Italianate scenery, had been firmly establish in London.  And English theatre was now on the fast-track to utter ruin.  But that’s a story for another day…

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